#thank you so much for giving me the chance to talk about this

[sweetpupii]

tw: non-con, somno, fingering & cunnilingus ( r!receiving ), reader cries just a little, praising, overstimulation, abby being the sweetest girl ever ( pretty ironic ) | 1.6k words.

having long nails is great.

they look cute, you can match them with your outfit and your makeup, you get some compliments, they're amazing at scratching and all that.

“wanna know what's frustrating though?” you start, mindlessly scrolling on your phone while abby looks at your new set of nails, her own unmanicured hand holding yours. “not to be, you know, nasty but I feel like I'm gonna slash my pussy open if I try to stick a finger in there the wrong way.”

only a low hum of agreement can be heard from the blonde as she leans back against the couch of your shared apartment, tracing the design that's beautifully decorating the nail on your middle finger. yeah, that looks like it would hurt real bad.

“then get a toy. there is more stuff you can use.”

“of course I know that, but I don't have time either. at this point I feel like a nun!” a ( kinda whiny ) sigh escaping your lips at the mere thought of all the weeks spent unsatisfied. coming home late and tired didn't give you much time to even grab a toy like abby suggested.

but luckily, you have a very thoughtful roommate!

this woman would do anything—and I mean anything—to see you happy because that's what friends are for. helping and supporting each other during tough times and, let me tell you, being sexually frustrated definitely counts as one.

“abby? what the fu—mhggm” her hand quickly went over your mouth to stop your protests to get louder and more panicked while the other worked to keep your legs and arms from pushing her face away. why are you acting so surprised to see her in between your legs when she's just trying to help? it's not like you would be able to push her away but jeez, didn't expect such an ungrateful response.

yes, she woke you up by making out with your pussy but you were basically asking for it earlier.

“gonna make you feel good.” she promised before she kept lapping at your cunt like a starved woman. slurping you up like you're her favorite dish. feeling the vibration of your desperate, muffled sounds against her palm made her speak again. “shh, I won't hurt you.”

taking off your underwear while you sleep, holding you down, forcing your mouth shut and your legs open doesn't hurt! not if you stay still, at least.

her plan was simple.

if she made you feel good by eating you out, using her own fingers to reach places you currently couldn't ( and probably have never been able to ) reach while you slept then you would surely wake up in a good mood and thank her with that precious smile of yours and maybe even a kiss.

but noooo, you decided to wake up in the middle of it and panic. ugh, just when your body was responding so well to her touch. she had seen the way your cunt was glistening when she started to slowly kiss it. the moonlight slipping through your curtains making the sight even prettier, and she'll be lying if she said the thought of taking a picture didn't cross her mind.

but a little crying from you won't stop her, even if she feels the hot tears against her skin.

she's still holding your legs open so she can continue to suck and lick at your clit, tongue tracing each fold and sensitive bit. your hips bucking into her face—but she's not sure if you're liking it and want more or you're trying to push her away.

“don't scream, okay baby?” she whispered against the soft skin on your inner thigh, peppering small kisses, while looking up at your watery eyes, “I'll be so gentle. trust me.”

actually, what other choice do you have? this woman can literally bench press 205 lbs. you get on her bad side and a single smack takes you back to your mother's womb. she has a mean right hook too, those punching bags stand no chance.

but again, it's abby who we're talking about.

the blondie that cuddles you to sleep anytime your bed feels too cold, who makes stupid jokes to cheer you up even if she cringes so fucking hard immediately after, who lets you try to count every freckle on her skin without even asking why, who can listen to you talk for hours and pay attention to every word, the one that drunkenly tells you how glad she is that you're her roommate and friend while kissing your shoulder even if deep down she wishes for more than that and stares at you as if you are the most important thing in the world—because to her you truly are.

so maybe she really just wants to make you feel good...

the second the fear and confusion in your eyes turns into something more calm, seeing the slow nod of your head, the small hiccup and your legs no longer struggling, she pulls her hand away from your mouth to trace the other set of lips, gathering the mixture of her saliva and your fluids on her fingertips before gently pushing one inside. “there we go…nice and slow.”

she might've been wrong for not asking first but how was she supposed to resist the feeling of your warm, tight walls squeezing her fingers just right as she curls them inside. soaking her knuckles in a shiny coat of stickiness that makes her want to dive in face first again and taste it until it becomes the only flavor she'll ever remember.

once she's sure that you're wet and comfortable enough, another thick digit slides in, the stretch earning a moan from you that has abby feeling like angels are singing and welcoming her to heaven. god, she has waited for so long to hear those sounds out of your lips—sounds caused by her, not your vibrator nor whoever you used to invite over thinking you two were quiet. ( she could hear you every.single.time… and honestly? it was so good to get a free show. )

even if her pace was somewhat slow, the thrusts of her fingers still managed to produce soft, wet noises that filled the room as they combined with your heavy breathing.

“told you I'd be gentle.” she cooed against your abdomen, trailing her kisses up your torso until she finally reached your lips. the same lips she has been dreaming of kissing since she moved in, since she first saw you smile, since you finally laughed at something she said, since the first time she saw them in a pretty shade of lipgloss. it's better than she ever imagined and she knows she'll ask ( beg ) for more from now on.

she's head over heels if you couldn't tell already.

“a warning would've been nice.” your quiet words bring a sheepish smile to abby’s face as she sighs, pulling her face away just a little, “sorry, you looked so stressed lately, I figured you wouldn't mind…”

abby aims to please even if she doesn't realize how bad her impulsive thoughts are before she acts on them. but look at the bright side; from now on you have a girl who's willing to drop to her knees and bury her face between your thighs at your own home almost 24/7!

after a bit, she starts to notice that the clenching and throbbing around her fingers gets more frequent and your moans louder, meaning she can finally speed up the pace. burying herself deep into your cunt to reach all the perfect spots she knows you've been missing. “fuck, you're so pretty. I wish you could see yourself…dripping all over the bed.”

she’s breathless as if she was the one getting touched, her own underwear damp just from seeing and pleasing you. can you blame her? she feels like a child on christmas morning.

“that's it, doing so good.”

oh, how she adores the way your hips tremble underneath her. making a mess on your bed sheets as you throw your head back—which she takes as an invitation and buries her face there. inhaling your scent like it's the only thing keeping her alive, like you're the oxygen she needs.

“gonna come? I can barely move my fingers with how tight you are.” liar. no matter how much you squeeze she's pumping them in and out without a single bit of effort. working out daily really pays off in the most satisfying ways. plus, you're too wet and it slides in and out very easily.

and god, her words make the flutter in your lower belly even worse. your hand gripping at her forearm, nails digging so hard she takes it as “it's too much.” when in reality she had fucked you so dumb with her fingers that reaching for abby was purely out of instinct.

she can't even understand the words ( babbles ) coming out of your mouth, all her pussy-drunk mind is able to register is the whiny tone tone in your voice because yes, she's as fucked out as you are.

the loud cry that escaped your puffy lips while repeating her name over and over definitely woke up a neighbor or two and just the thought of it makes abby's ego go up to the roof. who's making the prettiest girl in the building come? abigail motherfucking anderson.

her fingers continue their movements, a bit sloppier than before, but they keep going nonetheless. thumb circling your sensitive clit to add more stimulation.

she shushed your whimpers with soft kisses on your your temple and held you still to keep the overstimulated jerking off hips from pushing her away.

“you can take a little more, you're a big girl.”

and she's an insatiable woman.

masterlist ♡ taglist — @1ckyporcelainbunny @patronagrona

[kaiyunsim]

paw paradise —

pairing : idol!jake x daycare worker!reader

summary : jake's dog, layla, has been attending a doggy daycare and has taken a liking to you… and maybe the owner too.

a/n : i love jake. i love golden retriever energy.

— wc : 1.1k — not proof read —

jake sim has always been a morning person. the soft light spilling through his curtains, the chirping of birds outside his window, and most importantly, the enthusiastic barking of his golden retriever, layla, are enough to pull him out of bed with a smile. layla is practically vibrating with energy as jake clips on her leash.

“ready for daycare, girl?” he asks, scratching behind her ears. layla responds with a happy bark, tail wagging furiously.

every morning, jake drops layla off at a local doggy daycare while he heads to practice. it’s a cozy little place tucked between a coffee shop and a florist, with colorful murals of dogs painted on the outside walls. it’s called "paw paradise," and it’s as much of a haven for jake as it is for layla.

you work there, and you’ve seen layla plenty of times. she’s impossible to miss, bounding in with her golden coat practically glowing, a stark contrast to the sleepy-eyed boy holding her leash. you’ve always thought jake was cute in an approachable, golden-retriever-boy kind of way, but you’ve never had the chance to really talk to him. he’s usually in and out within minutes, his mornings rushed and busy.

one morning, you’re at the front desk, checking in dogs and chatting with their owners, when jake walks in. his smile is soft but genuine as he approaches, layla’s leash wrapped securely around his hand.

“hey,” he says, sliding the daycare’s sign-in clipboard toward himself. “how’s it going?”

“it’s good,” you reply, trying not to sound too nervous. “how about you?”

“can’t complain. layla’s been up since six, so she’s ready to burn off some energy.”

as if to prove his point, layla wags her tail so hard that her whole body shakes. you laugh, crouching down to give her a few pats. “she’s such a sweetheart.”

jake’s grin widens. “she likes you. that’s rare; she’s usually all about the dogs.”

it’s a small comment, but it sticks with you. there’s something about the way he says it, casual but warm, that makes your chest flutter.

after jake leaves, you’re busy with the usual daycare chaos—feeding schedules, playtime rotations, cleaning up after the more “exuberant” dogs. but layla’s easy. she gets along with everyone, her gentle nature making her a favorite among the other pups. you find yourself sneaking her extra belly rubs during breaks, thinking about her equally charming owner.

the days pass in a blur of wagging tails and barking dogs. jake becomes a familiar face, always polite and friendly, but never lingering too long. you start noticing little things about him: the way he always thanks you before leaving, the way he scratches layla’s ears like she’s the center of his world. it’s endearing, but you keep your distance. after all, he’s just another client.

one weekend, the daycare hosts a small "pup playdate" event for clients and their dogs. it’s meant to be a casual gathering with snacks, games, and plenty of room for the dogs to play. you’re busy setting up when jake arrives, layla trotting happily beside him.

“hey,” he says, balancing a tray of cupcakes. “i brought these. figured the humans might want snacks, too.”

“nice touch,” you reply, smiling. “you didn’t have to, though.”

“well, layla insisted,” he jokes. “and by insisted, i mean she stared at me while i baked.”

throughout the event, you notice how easily jake fits in. he chats with other dog owners, laughing as layla plays tug-of-war with a beagle while she is twice her size. at one point, he joins you by the snack table, where you’re refilling bowls of treats.

“this is really nice,” he says. “you guys put a lot of effort into it.”

“thanks,” you reply, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “it’s fun seeing all the dogs together.”

“you’re good at this,” he adds, his voice warm. “the dogs love you. layla especially.”

his words catch you off guard, but before you can respond, a chorus of barking erupts as the dogs chase after a stray ball. jake laughs and jogs over to join the chaos, leaving you feeling oddly flustered.

a few days later, jake surprises you again. this time, it’s a rainy morning, and he’s soaked from head to toe when he walks in. “i forgot my umbrella,” he explains, shaking water off his jacket. “but layla needed her playtime.”

you grab him a towel, trying not to laugh. “here, dry off before you catch a cold.”

as you softly dry his hair, you notice how his usually neat appearance is a little disheveled. it’s strangely endearing, and you can’t help but offer him a cup of tea from the staff kitchen.

“you don’t have to,” he says, but you wave him off.

“consider it a thank-you for all those coffees you’ve brought me.”

the two of you sit by the window, watching the rain as layla happily plays in the indoor area. the conversation flows easily, moving from lighthearted topics to deeper ones. jake tells you about how he adopted layla during a tough time in his life, how she’s been his constant source of joy. you share stories about your journey to working at the daycare, your dreams of opening your own place someday.

these little moments start to add up. jake’s visits become a highlight of your day, and you find yourself looking forward to seeing him more than you’d like to admit. but it’s still just friendly… at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

one evening, as you’re locking up the daycare, jake’s car pulls into the parking lot. layla’s head pops out the window, barking happily when she sees you.

“hey,” jake says, stepping out of the car. “i know it’s late, but we were just at the park and thought we’d swing by.”

“lucky me,” you say, grinning. “what’s up?”

jake rubs the back of his neck, looking unusually neevous. “actually, i wanted to ask you something.”

“oh?”

he takes a deep breath. “i was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime. like, just us. no dogs.”

your heart skips a beat. “i’d like that,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

jake’s face breaks into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “great. how about this weekend?”

“it’s a date,” you reply, and layla barks as if in agreement. “c’mon in, i’ll give you a ride home”

“if you insist” you couldn’t hold back a smile.

you’ve always believed in the magic of dogs, but you never one to lead you to someone like jake.

turns out, paw paradise really is paradise after all.

[pomefioredove]

omg i LOVE the concept of cookies as asks so can i have a sugar cookie, #8, with chocolate drizzle and marshmallows thank yeww 🙏

t-t-total idia victory!

order #8, sugar with chocolate drizzle and marshmallows

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ internet connection

tropes: ex (mutuals) to lovers, roommate au characters: idia additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu

It was the closest experience to dating Idia had ever gotten, and likely the only experience he'd ever get again.

Three months.

Three perfect, blissful months.

That's 13.0357 weeks, 91.2501 days, 2,190 hours of chats, voice calls, and texts with someone he had almost considered his.

He was raising his confidence stats to ask them out when they sent him a message, which would be their last:

"router busted. sry. will get it fixed soon"

That was weeks ago.

Idia couldn't blame them. They were going to get tired of him eventually, and ghosting him, sucky as it was, was still the easiest way to let him down.

Then, at least, he could pretend that they were telling the truth.

"Come on, Idy! This is your chance! You'll never get over them if you never meet anyone else!"

Ortho's cheery, hopeful words twist Idia's stomach with guilt. He knows that. Of course he knows that.

He buries himself deeper into his blankets. "I don't want anyone else,"

"It's only for a few weeks. Maybe you'll make friends!"

Unlikely. Idia doesn't have the social XP for that. Who would want to be friends with him, anyway?

He can't even keep Magicord mutuals.

Then again, he has no other choice.

The Prefect had asked to stay somewhere with a high-speed internet connection while post-S.T.Y.X. Ramshackle was being repaired, and Ortho had volunteered Idia.

And his room.

Ugh. Why can't anything go right for once?

Idia hides under his covers like a small child, drowning the sound of the door and voices in PreMo.

He honestly doesn't know a lot about you. He doesn't get out much, and even if he did, you've always got those OP normie friends around you.

He knows you don't talk much. He's actually never heard you talk at all.

Whatever.

Idia only emerges from his blankets when his ears are ringing from the music and his body is sore from stillness.

He takes off his headphones and reads the room.

There's Ortho, projecting a beam of light on the wall, and there's Grim, chasing it, and there's you.

You seem a little out of place, awkwardly sitting on the floor when there are chairs and tables, your bags still at your sides, unpacked.

Something about you makes him feel at ease. Weird.

"Oh- Idy!" Ortho chimes. Idia jumps, and then everyone is looking at him. Crap.

"We were wondering when you'd come out! The Prefect has a question for you!"

You give Ortho a panicked look, as if to say you most certainly did not have a question for him. Idia has his own suspicions.

"About the Wi-Fi," Ortho chimes. "They really need to get online."

Idia narrows his eyes. His brother can handle something as simple as that.

"...O-okay," he mumbles. "I guess."

He reluctantly gets out of bed and sits beside you. At least with an objective, he isn't so nervous. You hand him your phone, some sad secondhand thing, and he puts in the password for you.

"Lemme know if it's slow. I've been working on upgrading the router, and it's been a little laggy," he hands your phone to you.

"Shouldn't be a problem, though."

You take it. "I can't complain, I don't have a router at all right now,"

Idia's face turns red.

His eyes go wide.

He can't place it, at first. What's that weird feeling? What is it about you-

You notice his expression. "Uh... did I say something?"

And when you speak again, just like that, Idia jumps to his feet.

"IT-IT'S YOU!"

"You?" Grim asks.

"You?" Ortho echoes.

"Me?"

Idia feels like he's losing his mind, his anxiety cracking and breaking away, shock taking its place.

"Y-yes, you! I know that voice! Don't you- you recognize mine too, don't you?!"

Your eyes widen.

"Oh... no... no way,"

"I-I can't believe this!" he says, suddenly grinning. "You weren't lying about the router, it must've got totally busted when S.T.Y.X- oh, crap. IT'S ALL MY FAULT!"

"Idy..." Ortho warns. "Your heart rate is-"

"I know! I know, I just- I can't believe it- you, of all people,"

He sits again, shaking. It takes you a moment to catch up.

"I... I wasn't lying," you mumble. "I've been trying to get a decent internet connection since we got back, but..."

"This is the guy?" Grim mumbles to you. He is ignored.

Idia feels lightheaded. This isn't real. This isn't happening. This is some weird dream.

He can't seem to stop grinning, anyway.

"Will you go out with me?!" he asks, without thinking at all. But not even the sinking feeling in his stomach is enough to ground him.

You stare back, your own eyes wide.

And then, in your familiar voice, in your familiar easing presence: "I'd like that,"

[imreidswifey]

The Profiler’s Heart -S.Reid Fanfic-

Words: 20k+

Summary: The Profiler’s Heart, is a heartfelt romance with Dr. Spencer Reid, the brilliant yet socially awkward FBI agent from Criminal Minds. What begins as a simple, chance encounter at a local coffee shop transforms into a deep and transformative relationship. Over time, Spencer slowly lets you into his world, keeping his newfound happiness a secret from his team as he struggles with his own vulnerabilities.

A/n: As you may have noticed I have not been posting as much because I have been working on this!! It is a very long read so get comfortable (Around 20k+ words)

Warnings:

Mental Health Themes, Trauma & Emotional Struggles, Mature Themes & Emotional Content, Slow Burn Romance, Spoilers for Criminal Minds, Language: The story includes some strong language and emotional intensity in dialogue, Romantic Relationship Dynamics, Slow Development.

———————————————————————————-

The familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as you pushed open the door to your favorite coffee shop, the bell above jingling softly. It was a small, cozy space, tucked away on a quiet street—a haven for anyone seeking a little peace. You’d been coming here for months, drawn to the warm lighting, mismatched chairs, and the faint hum of classical music playing in the background. Today was no different. You approached the counter, exchanging a quick smile with the barista as you placed your usual order, then made your way to your favorite seat by the window.

You had just settled in with a book when you noticed him walk in. He wasn’t entirely new to the coffee shop—you’d seen him a few times before—but he always seemed to come and go without much interaction. He was tall and lanky, his slightly unkempt hair giving him an air of quiet distraction. Today, he looked even more out of place than usual, wearing a sweater vest over a button-down shirt and a tie that seemed just slightly too tight. As he reached the counter, he fumbled briefly with his wallet before ordering in a low, hesitant voice.

“Black coffee, no sugar.”

He stood awkwardly while waiting for his drink, his gaze darting around the room before landing on your table. The coffee shop was unusually crowded today, and there weren’t many seats left. When his coffee arrived, he hesitated for a moment, then approached your table, holding his cup with both hands as though it might steady him.

“Excuse me,” he said softly, his voice almost drowned out by the chatter around you. “Is this seat taken?”

You shook your head, offering a polite smile. “Not at all. Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, lowering himself into the chair across from you.

He placed his coffee on the table and pulled a thick book from his bag. You tried not to stare, but the title caught your eye—An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations.

“Light reading?” you asked, tilting your head toward the book.

He glanced up, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Adam Smith is… surprisingly engaging,” he replied, his tone measured and deliberate.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s one way to describe it. Most people would’ve gone with ‘dense’ or ‘impenetrable.’”

His smile widened slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “I suppose it depends on what you’re looking for. It’s fascinating when you think about how his ideas laid the foundation for modern economics.”

“True,” you conceded, closing your own book and leaning forward slightly. “But do you ever read anything just for fun?”

He hesitated, as though the question caught him off guard. “I do,” he said after a moment, though his tone carried a hint of defensiveness. “But I suppose my idea of fun might be… unconventional.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Don’t worry. I’m not judging. I mean, I’m sitting here reading 19th-century poetry for fun, so I’m probably not one to talk.”

His gaze flicked to the cover of your book, and he nodded appreciatively. “Emily Dickinson. Her work is deceptively simple but incredibly profound.”

“You’re a fan?” you asked, surprised.

“Of her conciseness, yes. She had a remarkable ability to convey complex ideas with very few words,” he said, then added, almost shyly, “Though I can’t say I’ve read all of her work. There are still… gaps in my literary knowledge.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way he spoke—thoughtful, deliberate, as though each word had been carefully chosen. It wasn’t the kind of conversation you were used to having with strangers in coffee shops, but there was something refreshing about it.

For the next half hour, the two of you exchanged snippets of conversation between sips of coffee and moments of quiet reading. You learned that his name was Spencer and that he worked in a field he described only as “challenging.” He asked about your interests with genuine curiosity, his sharp mind evident in the way he seemed to absorb every detail you shared.

When it was time for you to leave, you hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should say anything. In the end, you simply stood, offering him a small smile. “It was nice talking to you, Spencer. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

He looked up from his book, his expression softening. “Likewise. And… thank you for letting me sit here.”

You nodded and walked away, feeling an inexplicable sense of warmth. As you stepped outside, you glanced back through the window and saw him watching you, his book forgotten on the table.

You didn’t know it yet, but that moment was the beginning of something that would soon become a part of your routine—and, eventually, your life.

The coffee shop was quieter today, the usual mid-morning rush giving way to a lull that left most of the tables empty. You had claimed your usual spot by the window, your coffee steaming gently on the table, and a fresh novel open in your hands. You weren’t expecting to see him again so soon, but as the door jingled softly, you looked up instinctively.

There he was.

Spencer walked in with the same slightly awkward air, his satchel slung over his shoulder and his tie slightly askew. This time, though, he spotted you almost immediately. His gaze lingered for a moment, a flicker of recognition crossing his face before he moved to the counter to place his order.

“Black coffee, no sugar,” he murmured, just loud enough for the barista to hear.

You went back to your book, though your focus wavered slightly. When he approached your table, coffee in hand, you glanced up again.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his tone polite but hesitant.

You gestured to the empty seat with a smile. “Not at all. Looks like it’s becoming a habit.”

He sat down carefully, placing his coffee on the table and pulling a notebook from his bag. The book from last time was absent, but he seemed just as engrossed in whatever he was working on. For a few minutes, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the only sounds the faint rustle of paper and the clink of ceramic mugs.

It was Spencer who broke the silence first. “What are you reading today?”

You held up the cover for him to see. “It’s a mystery novel. Nothing as dense as Adam Smith, but it’s a fun read.”

He tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Mystery novels are interesting. They rely on a careful balance of misdirection and logic. Do you prefer ones with a twist ending or ones where you can solve the puzzle before the protagonist does?”

You considered the question for a moment. “I like the ones that make you think you’ve figured it out, only to completely surprise you in the last chapter. Keeps things exciting.”

He nodded, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of his coffee cup. “The element of surprise is important, but so is fairness. A good mystery should give you all the clues—you just have to know how to interpret them.”

“Is that something you’ve studied?” you asked, leaning forward slightly.

He hesitated, his expression shifting as though he were carefully choosing his words. “In a way. My work involves… patterns, logic, and deduction. It’s not exactly the same as a mystery novel, but there are parallels.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That sounds fascinating. What do you do, exactly?”

He hesitated again, glancing down at his notebook as if it held the answer. “I work for the FBI,” he said finally. “In the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Your eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s incredible. You’re a profiler, then?”

He gave a small nod, his expression modest. “Yes. We analyze criminal behavior to help solve cases. It’s… challenging, but rewarding.”

“That sounds like the kind of job that would keep you up at night,” you said, your tone curious but gentle.

He gave a faint smile, his gaze distant. “It does, sometimes. But it also gives me a chance to help people, which makes it worth it.”

There was a quiet intensity in his voice that made you pause. It was clear that his work was more than just a job to him—it was something deeply personal.

“Sounds like you’re pretty good at it,” you said softly.

He looked up, startled, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I… try to be.”

The conversation drifted after that, touching on lighter topics. He asked about your work, genuinely interested in what you had to say, and you found yourself sharing more than you expected. There was something disarming about his quiet attention, the way he seemed to hang on every word.

Before long, an hour had passed, and you realized with a start that you needed to get going.

“I should probably head out,” you said, gathering your things. “But this was nice. I’m glad we got to talk again.”

Spencer nodded, his expression softening. “Me too. And… thank you for letting me sit here.”

You smiled. “You don’t have to thank me for that. Besides, I’m starting to think you’re better company than I expected.”

A faint blush crept up his neck, but he didn’t look away. “I’ll… see you around, then?”

“Definitely,” you said, giving him a small wave before heading out the door.

As you walked down the street, you couldn’t help but feel lighter somehow, as though the conversation had brightened your day in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Back at the coffee shop, Spencer sat for a moment, staring at the empty seat across from him. He pulled out his notebook and jotted something down—a brief note in his neat, precise handwriting.

For the rest of the day, he carried that moment with him, and though he didn’t say a word about it to anyone, his coworkers at the BAU couldn’t help but notice the faint smile that lingered on his face.

It was raining the next time you saw Spencer, a steady drizzle that painted the streets in a muted haze. The coffee shop was busier than usual, filled with people seeking shelter from the weather, and the hum of conversation blended with the rhythmic patter of rain against the windows. You were perched at your usual table, a warm mug in your hands, when the door jingled and Spencer walked in, shaking droplets from his hair.

He scanned the room, his gaze landing on you almost immediately. You raised a hand in a small wave, and his lips curved into a soft smile as he made his way over.

“Crowded today,” he remarked, his voice low but warm as he slipped into the seat across from you.

“Seems like everyone had the same idea,” you replied, gesturing toward the line snaking its way to the counter. “You might be waiting a while for your coffee.”

He glanced at the line, then back at you. “That’s all right. I’m in no hurry.”

There was an ease to his presence now that hadn’t been there before, a quiet comfort that made you smile. Over the past few weeks, your conversations had become more frequent, the once-occasional meetings in the coffee shop turning into something you both seemed to look forward to.

“Working on anything interesting today?” you asked, nodding toward the notebook he’d pulled from his bag.

Spencer opened it carefully, revealing pages filled with neat, precise handwriting and diagrams that looked more like they belonged in a science journal than a coffee shop. “Just some notes,” he said, brushing his fingers over the edge of the paper. “It helps me organize my thoughts.”

“Mind if I take a look?” you asked, intrigued.

He hesitated for a moment before sliding the notebook across the table. You skimmed the page, your brow furrowing as you tried to make sense of the densely packed information.

“This… is definitely not light reading,” you said with a laugh, handing it back to him. “Is this for work?”

“In a way,” he said, tucking the notebook back into his bag. “I like to stay ahead, so I do a lot of independent research. It helps when I’m working on particularly complicated cases.”

You nodded, impressed. “You really don’t stop, do you?”

Spencer looked at you, his expression thoughtful. “I suppose not. But I enjoy it. There’s always more to learn, and I find comfort in that.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause. There was a vulnerability beneath his words, a quiet admission that spoke to the way his mind worked—always racing, always searching for answers.

“Well, if you ever need a break from all that learning,” you said lightly, “you know where to find me.”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The line at the counter finally thinned, and Spencer stood to get his coffee. When he returned, he carried two cups instead of one, placing one in front of you with a sheepish smile.

“I noticed you were almost out,” he said, gesturing toward your empty mug.

You blinked, surprised. “Thank you, Spencer. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged, his cheeks faintly pink. “It’s nothing. Consider it a… small token of appreciation.”

“For what?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“For… this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the table. “Talking. Listening. It’s nice.”

You smiled, touched by his sincerity. “It is. I’m glad we met.”

For the next hour, the two of you fell into easy conversation, your voices weaving through the ambient noise of the coffee shop. Spencer told you about his love of obscure trivia and his penchant for collecting rare books, and you shared stories from your own life, finding common ground in unexpected places.

At one point, he hesitated, glancing down at his coffee cup as though gathering his thoughts. “Would you… be interested in going to the museum sometime?” he asked, his tone careful but hopeful.

You tilted your head, surprised but pleased. “I’d love to. Which one?”

“There’s an exhibit on mathematical paradoxes opening this weekend,” he said, his enthusiasm breaking through his usual reserved demeanor. “It’s fascinating how something can appear contradictory but still hold a deeper truth.”

His excitement was contagious, and you couldn’t help but grin. “Sounds like fun. Let’s do it.”

The smile that spread across his face was unguarded, and you realized then how rare it was to see him so openly happy. It was a side of him you hoped to see more of, and as the rain continued to fall outside, you felt a quiet certainty that this was the beginning of something special.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer carried that same certainty with him when he left the coffee shop that day. For the first time in a long while, he found himself looking forward to something outside of work, and though he kept his happiness tucked away like a secret, it shone through in small, quiet ways that didn’t go unnoticed.

At the BAU, Penelope Garcia was the first to comment on the change.

“Spence, you’ve been smiling more lately,” she said one afternoon, leaning against his desk with a knowing look. “Something you want to share?”

He shook his head, his ears turning pink as he focused intently on the file in front of him. “Nothing in particular,” he murmured, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that didn’t escape her sharp eyes.

“Uh-huh,” she said, narrowing her gaze. “We’ll see about that.”

Spencer didn’t respond, but as Penelope walked away, he allowed himself the smallest of smiles, his thoughts drifting back to you and the quiet joy you’d brought into his life.

The BAU was a place where secrets rarely lasted long. The team’s job, after all, was to dissect behavior and unravel mysteries. As close-knit as they were, each member had an uncanny ability to notice even the smallest shift in one another’s routines. It was only a matter of time before they turned their collective attention to Spencer Reid.

It started with little things.

“Is it just me,” Penelope Garcia mused one morning, leaning dramatically against Derek Morgan’s desk, “or is our resident genius unusually… chipper lately?”

Morgan looked up from his case file, an amused grin tugging at his lips. “C’mon, Baby Girl. Reid’s always in his own world. What are you noticing?”

Penelope gestured emphatically with her glittery pen. “He’s been smiling. Like, actual smiles. And—get this—he whistled in the break room yesterday. Whistled!”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Whistling’s a crime now?”

“No, Derek,” she said with mock exasperation. “But it’s unusual for our dear Doctor Reid. He’s not exactly the whistling type. Something’s up. I can feel it.”

David Rossi, who had been quietly listening from his desk nearby, chimed in. “It’s true. Kid’s been humming, too. I caught him doing it while going through the case files last night.”

Emily Prentiss joined them, holding a mug of coffee and looking intrigued. “Wait. Reid? Humming? What’s next—Reid cracking jokes?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Rossi said with a smirk. “Mark my words: there’s something—or someone—making him happy.”

Penelope’s eyes lit up at the possibility. “Someone? Oh, now this is interesting. What if he’s secretly dating someone and didn’t tell us?”

Morgan laughed, shaking his head. “You’re jumping to conclusions. Just because he’s smiling doesn’t mean he’s got a secret girlfriend.”

Penelope crossed her arms. “Oh, you think so? Then how do you explain the sudden wardrobe upgrade? He wore matching socks two days in a row last week. That’s not a coincidence.”

Emily snorted into her coffee. “Matching socks are the evidence we’re going with?”

“I have my methods,” Penelope said dramatically. “And my gut is never wrong. I’m telling you, there’s a mystery here, and I am determined to solve it.”

Rossi leaned back, a knowing look on his face. “Whatever it is, let him have his secret—for now. If it’s important, he’ll tell us.”

But Penelope wasn’t about to let it go that easily.

Meanwhile, Spencer was doing everything he could to keep his private life private.

He’d always been meticulous about compartmentalizing his personal and professional worlds, but ever since he’d started spending more time with you, it had become harder to maintain the separation. The team’s inquisitive glances and subtle comments hadn’t escaped his notice, and it was making him increasingly anxious.

During lunch in the break room, JJ sat down beside him, her expression casual but her tone careful. “So, Spence. Anything new going on in your life?”

He froze for a split second, his fork hovering over his salad. “Uh… no. Not really.”

“Nothing at all?” she pressed gently.

“Nope. Just the usual,” he said quickly, focusing intently on his food.

JJ raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. She exchanged a look with Emily across the room, who gave her a subtle nod.

Spencer knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

That evening, after a long day at work, Spencer met you at the coffee shop where it had all started. You were already seated at your usual table, a warm smile lighting up your face when you saw him.

“Hey, you,” you greeted as he slid into the seat across from you.

“Hi,” he said, his expression softening in your presence.

But you could tell something was bothering him. His brow was furrowed, and he kept fidgeting with the edge of his coffee cup.

“Everything okay?” you asked gently.

He hesitated, then sighed. “It’s my team. They’re starting to notice… changes in my behavior. Penelope, especially. She’s like a bloodhound when it comes to figuring things out.”

You tilted your head, concerned. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s just… they’ll want to meet you. And once they do, they’ll start meddling. They mean well, but they can be… overwhelming.”

You reached across the table, covering his hand with yours. “I get it, Spencer. They’re your family, and you want to protect this part of your life for a little while longer. But…”

“But?” he prompted, his eyes searching yours.

“But maybe letting them in wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” you said softly. “From what you’ve told me, they sound like amazing people who care about you. I’d love to meet them someday—when you’re ready.”

He looked down at your hand on his, his expression conflicted. “What if they start analyzing us? Or worse, what if they don’t think I’m… good enough for you?”

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “First of all, you’re more than good enough. And second, I can handle a little scrutiny if it means being part of your life in every way. Besides, I think they’d like me.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “They’d more than like you. They’d adore you.”

“Then what are you so worried about?” you teased gently.

Spencer let out a soft laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “I guess… I’m just not used to sharing this part of my life with anyone. It’s new for me.”

“It’s new for me, too,” you admitted. “But we’re figuring it out together, right?”

“Right,” he said, his smile growing.

At the BAU the next day, Penelope was on a mission.

She cornered Morgan in the bullpen, her eyes gleaming with determination. “I’ve been doing some digging, and I think I’m onto something.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Digging? Garcia, you didn’t—”

“Relax,” she said, waving a hand. “I didn’t hack anything. I’m just observing. And based on my observations, Reid is definitely hiding something—or someone.”

“What makes you so sure?” Morgan asked, crossing his arms.

“He’s been leaving earlier than usual, taking lunch breaks outside the office, and—get this—he turned down a weekend trivia marathon to ‘run errands.’ Who turns down trivia, Derek?”

“Okay, you might have a point,” Morgan admitted, though he still looked skeptical. “But if the kid’s got a secret girlfriend, don’t you think he’d tell us eventually?”

Penelope sighed dramatically. “Eventually? Do you know how long eventually could take with Reid? We could all be retired by then!”

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. “All right, fine. Keep sleuthing. But don’t push him too hard. The kid’s entitled to his privacy.”

Penelope grinned. “Oh, I’ll be subtle. Like a ninja.”

Morgan muttered under his breath, “Subtle is not in your vocabulary.”

That evening, Spencer found himself staring at his phone, your encouraging words from the night before echoing in his mind. He knew you were right—his team was his family, and they deserved to know about you. But the thought of their teasing, their endless questions, and their well-meaning meddling made his stomach twist.

After a few moments of hesitation, he opened the group chat.

Spencer: Can we all meet for dinner tomorrow? My treat. There’s something I’d like to share.

The replies came almost instantly.

Garcia: OMG, yes! Is this about what I think it’s about???

Morgan: I’m in. But if it’s not about what she thinks it’s about, you’re buying dessert too.

JJ: Sounds great, Spence. Can’t wait!

Prentiss: This better be good. Rossi and I are skipping wine night for this.

Spencer sighed, already regretting his decision, but there was no turning back now.

The next day, as the team gathered at a cozy Italian restaurant, Spencer felt his nerves building with every passing minute. But then he thought of you—your steady reassurance, your warm smile—and it gave him the courage he needed.

“Okay, Reid,” Morgan said, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve been acting all secretive for weeks. Spill it.”

Spencer took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across the table. “There’s… someone I’d like you all to meet. Someone important to me.”

The table fell silent for a moment, and then Penelope let out an excited squeal. “I knew it!”

Spencer winced but pressed on. “Her name is [Your Name]. We’ve been seeing each other for a little while now, and… well, she means a lot to me.”

JJ smiled warmly. “Spence, that’s wonderful. We’re so happy for you.”

“Yeah, kid,” Morgan added, grinning. “It’s about time you found someone who makes you smile like that.”

“Thanks,” Spencer said, his cheeks turning pink. “I just… I wanted you all to know. And she’d like to meet you, too.”

Penelope clasped her hands together, her eyes shining with excitement. “When? Where? I need details!”

“Soon,” Spencer said, his smile growing despite himself. “But… promise me you’ll go easy on her.”

“No promises,” Rossi said with a smirk, raising his glass in a toast. “To Reid and [Your Name]. May we get to meet her soon—and may she survive this group.”

Laughter erupted around the table, and for the first time, Spencer felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He didn’t know what the future held, but he knew one thing for certain: with you by

The day had arrived, and Spencer was pacing his apartment like a man preparing for battle. He had gone over every possible scenario in his mind: what his team might say, how you might respond, and how much teasing he would inevitably endure. Despite your reassurances that everything would be fine, his anxiety hummed like static in the background.

“Spencer,” you said gently, stepping into his path and placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “Take a deep breath.”

He halted mid-step, looking down at you with wide, nervous eyes. “What if they don’t like you?”

You smiled softly. “Then they’d be the first people in your life to have terrible judgment.”

He let out a nervous chuckle, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “You don’t know them like I do. They’re going to analyze everything. And Penelope… she’s going to want to know everything about you.”

“Good,” you said, squeezing his arm. “I’m an open book. Besides, it sounds like she already likes me, and she hasn’t even met me yet.”

Spencer hesitated, then sighed. “You’re right. I’m overthinking this.”

“You? Overthinking? Never,” you teased, earning a small smile from him. “Come on, Spencer. Let’s go. The sooner we get there, the sooner you can stop worrying.”

The restaurant Spencer had chosen was cozy and unassuming, with warm lighting and a menu that promised hearty Italian fare. You arrived hand in hand, his grip tightening slightly as you walked through the door.

“Over here!” Penelope’s cheerful voice rang out, and you turned to see her waving enthusiastically from a large round table in the corner. The rest of the team was already seated—Derek, JJ, Emily, Rossi, and Aaron Hotchner, all watching your approach with varying degrees of curiosity.

“Hi, everyone,” Spencer said, his voice quieter than usual. “This is [Your Name].”

You offered a warm smile, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement as six pairs of eyes turned to you. “Hi. It’s so nice to finally meet all of you.”

Penelope was the first to react, jumping up from her seat and pulling you into a hug before you could blink. “Oh my gosh, it’s so nice to meet you! I’ve been dying to know who’s responsible for putting that adorable smile on our boy genius’s face.”

“Uh, thank you,” you managed, laughing as you hugged her back. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

When Penelope finally released you, Derek stood, his expression warm and teasing. “So, you’re the one who’s been keeping Reid all to yourself. I’m Derek Morgan. You ever need anything—or if he ever gets on your nerves—you call me.”

“Nice to meet you, Derek,” you said, shaking his hand. “And don’t worry, Spencer’s been a perfect gentleman.”

“Of course he has,” Derek said with a wink. “The kid’s a saint.”

The introductions continued around the table, each team member greeting you with a mix of curiosity and warmth. JJ’s smile was kind and welcoming as she shared stories about Spencer’s quirks, while Emily’s dry humor had you laughing within minutes. Rossi was effortlessly charming, offering you a wine recommendation before the server even approached.

And then there was Hotch.

He was quieter than the others, his expression measured as he shook your hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said simply, but there was something in his steady gaze that felt like approval.

As the dinner progressed, you couldn’t help but be impressed by how much this group felt like a family. They teased each other mercilessly, but the underlying affection was unmistakable.

“So,” Penelope began, leaning forward with her chin propped on her hand. “How did you two meet? Was it one of those adorable movie moments where you bumped into each other and spilled coffee everywhere?”

“Not quite,” you said, glancing at Spencer, whose cheeks had turned pink. “We met at a coffee shop, though. He was sitting in the corner reading a book, and I… well, I couldn’t help but say hi.”

“Classic Reid,” Emily said, smirking. “Always with his nose in a book.”

“Hey,” Spencer protested weakly, earning a round of laughter.

“It worked out, though,” you said, smiling at him. “Because he said hi back.”

“And the rest is history,” JJ said warmly.

As the conversation continued, you found yourself feeling more at ease. Penelope’s bubbly energy was infectious, and Derek’s playful jabs at Spencer had you laughing until your sides ached. Even Rossi, with his sharp wit, made you feel welcome, sharing anecdotes about Spencer’s early days in the BAU.

But it was Hotch’s quiet observation that stuck with you the most.

“You make him happy,” he said simply when the others were distracted by a debate about dessert.

You glanced at Spencer, who was laughing at something Derek had said. “He makes me happy too.”

Hotch nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. “Good. He deserves that.”

By the time dinner ended, you felt like you’d known Spencer’s team for years. They walked you to the door of the restaurant, Derek and Penelope insisting on giving you a round of hugs before you left.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Penelope said. “We expect you to join us for trivia night sometime.”

“I’d love that,” you said, smiling.

As you and Spencer walked to the car, his hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a way that felt easy and natural.

“Well?” you asked, glancing at him. “How do you think it went?”

“I think it went… really well,” he said, his voice tinged with relief. “They love you.”

“And I love them,” you said sincerely. “They’re amazing, Spencer. It’s no wonder you consider them family.”

He smiled, his eyes soft as he looked at you. “Thank you for doing this. I know it wasn’t exactly a quiet night out.”

“It was perfect,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder as you walked. “And now I understand why you were so nervous. They’re protective of you, but it’s only because they care.”

“They do care,” he agreed. “But I care about you, too. And seeing you with them tonight… it just felt right.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and when you reached the car, you turned to him, your hand resting lightly on his chest. “I’m glad we did this, Spencer. You don’t have to keep parts of your life separate anymore—not with me, and not with them.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I know. And I’m grateful for that. For you.”

As the two of you drove home, the city lights blurring in the distance, you couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of contentment. You had taken another step forward together, and as you glanced at Spencer, who was humming softly along to the radio, you knew that this was just the beginning of the many adventures yet to come.

The case had hit Spencer harder than he had anticipated. It wasn’t the nature of the crime—it wasn’t even the investigation itself that had him on edge. It was the familiar feeling of helplessness, the weight of memories he had long buried surfacing unexpectedly. The case involved a series of abductions, and the helplessness of the victims—who had been taken from their homes, without a trace—was something Spencer couldn’t ignore. It brought back too many painful memories of the time when he had been kidnapped, the hours that had stretched endlessly as he fought to stay alive. It wasn’t the first time a case had triggered his trauma, but something about this one felt more personal. The terror in the victims’ eyes, the hopelessness in their families, was too close to home.

He had been quiet all day, retreating inwardly, the weight of his thoughts dragging him into himself. His usual sarcasm and jokes were absent, and his responses to questions were short and distant. Spencer wasn’t the type to show weakness, especially in front of his team, but anyone who knew him well could sense the shift. Penelope had been the first to notice, giving him a concerned look across the room as he sat staring blankly at his computer screen. Derek, always the observant one, had seen it too.

It wasn’t long before Spencer excused himself, claiming to need a break from the team’s discussions. He knew they’d want to talk about the case—everyone was anxious to make progress—but he couldn’t focus, couldn’t give them what they needed. Not now.

You had been waiting for Spencer at home, preparing dinner when he texted you that he would be late. You knew the team had been working a difficult case, but you hadn’t anticipated how much it would affect him. As you set the table, your thoughts turned to Spencer. Lately, you had noticed that he seemed more closed off than usual. He had always been a bit reserved, but it felt different now. More distant. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering him, but you didn’t know how to help. You had tried talking to him a few times, but he always brushed you off with a smile or a joke.

When Spencer arrived home, it was later than usual. He walked through the door, his shoulders slumped, his usual energetic stride replaced by a slow, weary gait. You had been waiting in the living room, a quiet concern in your chest as you stood to greet him.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked, your voice gentle.

Spencer didn’t immediately respond, his eyes lost in thought as he dropped his bag on the floor and hung his coat. You could see the exhaustion in his face, the dark circles under his eyes, and the way his shoulders sagged as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

“Spencer?” you said again, a little softer this time, stepping closer to him.

He finally met your gaze, his eyes glassy, though he quickly tried to mask the vulnerability behind a forced smile. “I’m fine,” he said, though the lie was evident.

You stepped forward, reaching out to touch his arm, offering him the comfort you knew he needed, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it. “Spence, you don’t have to hide it from me. What’s going on?”

His eyes flickered away from yours, and for a moment, he seemed like he might retreat into his usual defenses. But then, without warning, he let out a long breath, the weight of the day settling on him. “I… I’m not sure I can handle this case. It’s bringing up too much. Too many memories I’ve tried to forget.”

You nodded, understanding immediately. Spencer’s past, his time being held captive, his struggles with addiction, and the emotional toll of the job—it was a lot for anyone to carry. You had seen glimpses of it in the months you had been together, but he had always kept the more painful pieces of himself hidden, buried beneath his intellectual armor.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked softly.

Spencer’s eyes briefly flickered to yours, as if measuring how much he was willing to share. After a moment of silence, he sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he murmured, voice breaking ever so slightly. “I just… I feel like I’m reliving it. The helplessness. The fear. It’s all coming back, and I can’t stop it.”

Your heart ached for him, but you remained quiet, giving him the space to continue.

“I thought I was over it,” he said, his voice quieter now, vulnerable in a way you had never heard before. “I thought I had it all under control. But this case… it’s like it’s ripping open old wounds I never knew were still there.”

You took a step closer, gently placing your hand on his chest. “Spencer, you don’t have to go through this alone. You don’t have to carry this burden on your own.”

He looked down at your hand, then back up at you. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “I don’t want to burden you with my problems. You deserve someone who isn’t broken.”

Your heart swelled with emotion at his words. “You’re not broken, Spencer. You’re human. You’ve been through so much, and it’s okay to feel all of it. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here, no matter what you’re going through.”

He let out a shaky breath, the weight of his emotions beginning to show on his face. Spencer had always been the one to hold it together, to be the strong one for everyone else. But in this moment, you could see that he was human, too, and that he needed someone to lean on just as much as the rest of them did.

“Tell me what you need,” you whispered, cupping his cheek gently. “Let me help you.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, searching your face as though looking for something. Maybe reassurance. Maybe understanding. Maybe even permission. “Just… stay with me,” he whispered. “Stay with me while I try to make sense of it. I don’t know how to handle this, but I don’t want to be alone.”

You nodded immediately, pulling him into an embrace. Spencer’s arms wrapped around you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt the full weight of his exhaustion. He didn’t have to say another word. You could feel the turmoil within him, the fear, the confusion, and the deep sadness that clung to him like a shadow. And as you held him close, you knew you would be the steady presence he needed to get through it.

“I’m right here, Spence,” you murmured into his hair, your voice steady. “You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone again.”

For a long while, neither of you spoke. You simply held each other, letting the silence comfort you both. Spencer’s breathing began to slow as he relaxed into your embrace, but you could feel the tension in his body—the tightness of unresolved emotions still lurking beneath the surface.

After what felt like an eternity, Spencer pulled away slightly, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t know what to do with all this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to let it go.”

“You don’t have to let it go,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You just have to process it. And I’ll help you. We’ll do it together, okay?”

He nodded, his gaze softening. “Okay.”

Over the next few days, Spencer allowed himself to lean on you in ways he hadn’t before. He didn’t bury his emotions as deep, didn’t retreat into the quiet isolation that had once been his defense mechanism. You were there, offering him space to talk when he needed it, and offering silence when that was what he craved. You didn’t push him to get over it, didn’t try to fix him. You simply gave him the one thing he had needed all along: your presence, your unwavering support.

And slowly, he began to open up. He talked more about his past—the things he had never shared, the things he had never wanted to confront. He spoke about his time in captivity, the moments that still haunted him, and the way it had affected the person he had become. He spoke about his mother, his struggles with addiction, and how he sometimes felt like he was walking a tightrope between who he wanted to be and who he feared he might become.

Through it all, you listened. You didn’t offer solutions, didn’t try to change his perspective. You simply let him speak, giving him the safe space to express what had been locked away for so long.

One night, as you both sat on the couch, his head resting on your shoulder, Spencer spoke again, his voice quieter than before.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his words barely a whisper. “Scared that I’m never going to be okay. That I’ll always be carrying this with me.”

You turned your head to kiss his temple softly, your hand gently tracing the lines of his jaw. “We’re going to figure it out together. You don’t have to carry it alone, Spencer. I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”

His eyes met yours, and for the first time in a long while, there was a glimmer of hope in them. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection for him. “I’ll never give up on you, Spencer. Not ever.”

And in that moment, as you held him close, you both realized that despite the challenges you faced, you were stronger together. Spencer had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but now, he didn’t have to carry it alone. You were his support, his rock, and in return, he had begun to trust that he wasn’t just surviving—he was healing. Together.

The journey ahead wouldn’t be easy, but one thing was certain: you would face it side by side. And with each passing day, Spencer found himself thinking more and more about a future that was no longer clouded by fear, but illuminated by the love and strength you had built together.

The drive to the small town was quiet, the world outside the car slipping by in muted shades of gray and green. Spencer’s hand rested on the steering wheel, his fingers drumming lightly to a rhythm only he could hear.

His gaze was fixed on the road, but there was an undercurrent of anticipation in the air. You sat beside him, your hand resting on your lap, but your mind was elsewhere.

Today was different. Today, Spencer was taking you to meet his mother. Diana Reid. You had heard about her many times—the challenges Spencer had faced growing up, the deep bond they shared despite the complexities of her illness. Spencer had always spoken of her with such tenderness, but there was also a sadness there. A reluctance. As if meeting her, truly being part of that chapter of his life, was something he had only now begun to feel ready for.

You could sense the nervous energy radiating from him, even if he wasn’t overtly showing it. He had always been a man of intellect, his thoughts swirling around his cases, his team, his work—but today, it was personal.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the quiet between you. Spencer glanced over at you, offering a small, tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… it’s a big step, you know?” You nodded, understanding completely. “I know. But I’m here, Spence. Whatever happens, I’m here.” He gave you a brief, grateful look before focusing back on the road.

The drive was longer than you expected, and as you neared the outskirts of the town, Spencer’s usual quick pace slowed. He turned onto a smaller, tree-lined street, eventually pulling up to a modest house at the end of the road. The house had a quiet charm to it—simple, cozy, the kind of place where the walls held memories and time moved at its own pace.

Spencer parked the car in front of the house, but he didn’t immediately get out. Instead, he sat there, hands gripping the wheel, eyes fixed on the house in front of him. You waited patiently, knowing this moment meant something significant to him.

“I’ve never really brought anyone here before,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to meet her. But it’s not easy for me. I…” His words faltered as he turned to you, his eyes soft and vulnerable. “I want you to understand why she’s so important to me. But I also want you to understand that it’s not always easy with her. Her illness…it’s complicated.” You reached over, placing your hand on his arm. “I know, Spence. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, for whatever comes.” Spencer let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

Slowly, he opened the door and stepped out, holding his hand out to you. You took it without hesitation, your heart swelling as you followed him to the front door.

Spencer rang the doorbell, his finger tapping nervously against the frame. A few moments later, the door opened, and standing there was a woman whose face you had seen in countless photographs and heard about in Spencer’s stories. Diana Reid. She was dressed simply, her hair long and silver, her eyes slightly unfocused but kind. There was a certain fragility to her, a delicate air that made her seem more like a bird than a person. But her smile was warm, genuine, as she looked from Spencer to you. “Spencer,” she said softly, her voice wavering slightly. “It’s so good to see you, my boy.” Spencer smiled, his eyes brightening at the sight of her. “Hey, Mom,” he said, his voice gentle. “I brought someone with me today. This is my girlfriend, [Your Name].” Diana’s gaze shifted to you, and you offered her a soft smile in return. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, searching your face. You could tell she was processing everything, trying to make sense of the new person standing in front of her.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said, stepping forward. Diana’s smile deepened. “I’m glad you’re here,” she replied, her voice soft but sincere. “Spencer doesn’t bring people around much, so this must be special.” Spencer chuckled lightly, though there was a hint of discomfort in his tone. “Yeah, well, I figured it was time.” Diana gestured for you both to come inside. “Please, come in. I’ve made tea. You’ll need it, with this weather.” As the three of you sat down at the kitchen table, you could sense the delicate dance taking place. Spencer and his mother—there was so much unspoken between them, so many years of history that only they truly understood. But as you watched them interact, you could see the love between them, even through the layers of complexity. Spencer was patient with his mother, always attentive, never rushing her. And Diana, in turn, looked at him with a quiet pride, her eyes softening whenever she spoke to him.

“Spencer tells me you’re very smart,” Diana said after a pause, her voice light and teasing. Spencer flushed slightly, but you could tell he was touched by his mother’s words. “Well, he’s a genius,” you said with a smile, nudging Spencer gently. Diana smiled, her expression softening even more. “I see,” she said. “You seem to make him happy.” Spencer’s gaze flickered to you, and for a moment, you saw the raw vulnerability in his eyes. His mother had always been his anchor, the one person who truly understood him. And now, you were here—his two worlds, the most important parts of his life, coming together.

“She does,” Spencer said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. Diana’s smile widened, and she reached out to gently squeeze his hand. “I’m glad,” she said simply. “I know how hard it is for you, Spence. You deserve someone who sees you. All of you.” You squeezed Spencer’s hand, offering him a silent show of support. The rest of the afternoon passed with small talk and shared laughter. You learned more about Spencer’s childhood, his mother’s struggles with her illness, and the depth of their bond. As you got up to leave, Diana hugged you warmly, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Take care of him,” she whispered. “He’s a good boy, but he needs someone who will help him believe that.” You smiled, a lump forming in your throat. “I will. I promise.”

On the drive back to your apartment, Spencer was quiet, but there was a peacefulness in the air. You could sense the shift in him, a weight lifted from his shoulders. “How are you feeling?” you asked, glancing at him. Spencer took a deep breath, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. “I’m… I’m okay,” he said softly. “It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.” You nodded, offering him a smile. “I’m proud of you, Spence.” He glanced over at you, his lips curving into a small smile. “Thanks. I think I’m finally ready for this… for us.” You reached over, taking his hand in yours. “Me too.”

The rest of the drive was spent in a comfortable silence, both of you reflecting on the significance of the day. When you arrived home, Spencer turned to you, his expression soft. “I’m glad we did this. I’m glad you’re here with me.” You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’m glad too. I’m excited for what’s to come, Spence. For all of it.” That night, as you both settled into bed, the weight of the world seemed lighter. Spencer’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt right. The future stretched out before you, full of possibilities, and as you drifted off to sleep, you knew one thing for certain: together, you could face anything. The adventures, the challenges, the quiet moments—they would all be yours to share. And no matter what came next, you would face it as a team.

[luxcuriousao3]

Did somebody say Ghoap angst?? No? Well here's some anyway. May or may not turn this into a longer fic, tell me your thoughts.

-

“What are we doing, Simon?”

Soap regrets the words the minute they’re out of his mouth, already guessing how Ghost will react—but he’s apparently not only a masochist in bed, so he doesn’t take them back. Ghost is quiet for a brief moment, shoulders tensing up as he stands with his back to Soap, clad in nothing but a pair of briefs, muscular form outlined by the light from his private toilet. Soap is still in Ghost’s bunk, naked as the day he was born, sweaty and covered in both his and his Lieutenant’s come. Ghost never cleans him up, just tosses him the towel after he’s done using it, before dismissing him from his room like they’d just had a briefing and not sex. Soap tries not to let that bother him. He really does. He fails, but at least he keeps it from showing. Usually.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Johnny.”

Ghost’s voice is flat when he speaks, but there’s a hint of a warning in it. He’s giving Soap a chance to walk back his words. He’s giving him an out.

Soap, as he so often does, barrels on ahead anyway.

“This. Us. What are we, to you?”

The words hang heavily in the air, and slowly, Ghost turns around to face him. His face, for once uncovered by his mask—a sight Soap only gets to see in these private moments between them, a sight he cherishes—is blank, eyes dark and cold like onyx.

“We are teammates,” Ghost replies, low and intense. “Colleagues that fuck each other to relieve stress, every once in awhile. Don’t make this into something that it’s not, MacTavish.”

Soap swallows, mouth dry, throat still sore from the beating Ghost’s cock had given it. Normally, Soap enjoys that, savoring the reminder of his time with the other man. Now, it just makes him feel hollow.

“Right then, Sir,” Soap says, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. He doesn’t bother to wait for Simon to throw him the towel clenched in his white-knuckled fist, wiping himself off on his Lieutenant’s sheets, suddenly desperate to leave. It’s petty, and the spark of irritation in Ghost’s stony eyes is satisfying. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You need it again, and this is done, Sergeant,” Ghost warns, grabbing Soap’s clothes and tossing them at him hard, in retaliation for the sheets and just as eager for Soap to get the fuck out of his room, probably. Or maybe he just can’t stand the thought of not throwing something at Soap after fucking him. Bastard. “Understood?”

“Copy,” Soap responds as he stands up, clipped. He pulls on his jeans and t-shirt in silence, Ghost’s glare feeling like a physical thing as it burns holes into the side of his head. Soap ignores it as best he can, but his cheeks are flush with humiliation and anger simmers just beneath his skin. He knows he shouldn’t have asked. He knew what Ghost would say when he did. But Soap is a bloody fool that’s gone and fallen for the most emotionally constipated fuck in the entire SAS, and he’s never been able to leave well enough alone.

The worst part is that as hurt as Soap feels right now, as pissed off as he is at Ghost—he knows he’ll go crawling back to him. He won’t put an end to this like he should, won’t protect his stupidly fragile heart. He couldn’t if he wanted to—it already belongs to Ghost. And Soap doesn’t think he can ever get it back.

So he’ll put up with the coldness and the callousness. He’ll put up with being held at arm's length, never being allowed inside Ghost’s walls even when he’s literally inside Soap. He’ll put up with the hollowness in his chest and the curl of shame in his belly when he’s kicked out of Ghost’s bed time and time again, never allowed so much as a five minute cuddle.

It’s fucking pathetic, but Soap’ll take whatever he can get.

He’s a big boy. He can handle some hurt feelings.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he leaves Ghost’s room, the door slamming shut behind him the second he crosses the threshold.

***

Things are tense for a few days between him and Johnny.

Ghost has his guard up, walls freshly reinforced. His Sergeant had thoroughly unsettled Ghost with his questions, and for days, his skin feels like it's crawling everytime the other man is near. Ghost doesn’t let people get close, and Johnny is no exception.

Except that’s not quite true, and that’s what scares him.

Somehow, Johnny has wormed his way into Ghost’s life with that obnoxiously charming grin and his stupid fucking mohawk. He’s gotten closer to Ghost than any other living person, and instead of pushing him away, Ghost pushed him into his bloody bed instead.

He thinks about ending it, in the days following their last conversation. Seeks out Johnny once at their smoke spot to do just that—but he can’t bring himself to do it. And he knows that’s a problem, that he’s in too deep, that he needs to make a tactical retreat and regroup.

Instead, he offers Johnny a cigarette, and ignores the way his heart squeezes in his chest as he’s graced with the first smile he’s gotten in days from the other man.

Ghost should end things, he knows that. But he doesn’t.

He’s always been a selfish bastard.

continuation

[eicsferrari]

annoyance - cs55 smau pt2

summary: you don't like carlos but now he's a williams driver and you have to see a lot more of him

a/n: in case you don't know the finalissima is a football match between the winners of the copa america and uefa european championship. the finalissima 2025 will be between argentina and spain. but now apparently it might be played in 2026 ?? which i didn't know when i started this so let's just pretend for the plot thank u

pt 1 / pt2 / pt3 (soon)

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

2025

Instagram

williamsracing & carlossainz55: 2025, the fight starts now👊🏼

view all comments

carlossainz55: Let's go team!! 💪🌶️

user5: vamos carlitosss

user3: ready to wear blue💙

user9: we will miss franco ♡liked by yourusername

user4: yn took the picture but didn't like the post we stan a petty queen🔥

✧

♡liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, alex_albon & others

williamsracing: 2025 team

📷: yourusername

view all comments

user1: user4 she liked this one

user4: only bc of alex

✧

♡liked by francocolapinto, landonorris, carlossainz55 & others

yourusername: new year, i have a good feeling about this one

view all comments

user7: she's my favorite non-wag🤍

yourfriend1: 3rd picture, is there wine on the bag?

yourusername: you know me too well🍷

landonorris: i'm still waiting for those photography tips you promised me🤨

yourusername: once the season starts and only if you buy me food

user2: are they flirting???

yourusername: i finally convince you guys i'm not dating franco and you are already trying to get me involved with someone else pls free me😭😭

user8: carlos in the likes👀👀

✧

williamsracing: help us decide

view all comments

alex_albon: carlex for the win

yourusername: i like bonsai

carlossainz55: i prefer carbon

yourusername: ok? make your own comment

yourusername: also why would you prefer carbon?

carlossainz55: idk i just do and we can call our fans carbonara

williamsracing: we agree carlossainz55 carbon it is💙

yourusername: williamsracing betrayal 💔

✧

✧

Text

y/n: in a scale from 1 to 10, how bad would it be if i quit??

y/n: i can live off franco

your friend: why would you quit don't be ridiculous

your friend: also franco might have less money than you do, it's not a great plan

y/n: i'm convinced carlos thinks i only got this job because of franco and not because of my talent

your friend: did he say that?

y/n: well no

your friend: then?

your friend: cause i honestly still don't understand why you dislike him so much

y/n: okay so when i was at franco's first race i got lost and asked him for directions

y/n: but when i said i was going to williams he asked if i was with franco

y/n: implying i was with franco you know, which already annoyed me

y/n: and then he walked me for a bit, asked me what i do and when i said photographer he said "that's great!"

y/n: but in a sarcastic way?? like it is just a dumb little hobby and he was mocking me

your friend: how do you know?

y/n: body language idkkkk

y/: and then someone called him and he just left me there !!! still lost might i add

your friend: so let me see if i understand correctly

your friend: you met this man at his work place. he helped you while he could, tried to make small talk, then got called for work and now you hate him bc of "body language idkkk"?

y/n: when you put it like that i sound insane

your friend: it is insane babe🤍

y/n: i can't explain it he just sounded condescending

your friend: were you maybe (and just maybe) projecting some of your own fears onto the conversation?

your friends: and all of the things you assume he thinks are the things you are afraid people might think or haters are saying online?

y/n: ...maybe

your friend: do you have any real reason to believe he thinks all those disgusting things??

y/n: ...

y/n: not really

your friend: and don't you think that maybe, since you are working together, the best thing might be to give him another chance? unless proven otherwise?

y/n: ugh i it when you get rational and make sense

your friend: someone has to‼️

✧

Text

lando: hi yn! just confirming our plans for tonight

lando: also carlos will join us, do u mind?

y/n: hi lando!! tonight it is

y/n: and no, i don't mind

lando: great cause i wasn't sure

lando: see you in a bit

✧

Instagram

landonorris posted a story

caption: i bought her food AND drinks

tagged: yourusername & carlossainz55

replies

↪ user5: omg carlos and yn, war is over????

↪user7: carlandooo

↪francocolapinto: she didn't murder him????

landonorris: worst, i'm almost sure i was third wheeling

francocolapinto: the plot thickens👀

✧

landonorris: photography lessons

view all comments

user3: photographer lando>>

user6: yn is so prettyyy ♡liked by carlossainz55

user8: carlos i see you 👀👀👀

user7: call me crazy but yn and carlos would make a great couple

user9: that's insane get help 🤍

yourusername: these look good, clearly you had the best teacher💪

landonorris: debatable

carlossainz55: ignoralo, sigue enojado que hablaramos español para que no nos entendiera [ignore him, he's still angry we talked in spanish so he wouldn't understand]

landonorris: jokes on you i can translate here👊🏼

✧

Text

franco: so, how did it go?

y/n: surprisingly really good

y/n: and it was fun to speak spanish in front of lando he was PISSED

franco: and with carlos? he's still alive which i'm surprised

y/n: i have to admit i might have been a little quick to judge him...

franco: i told you, he's a cool guy

y/n: yes i guess

franco: you guess?

franco: cause a little bird told me you two hit it off

y/n: forget carlos, i'm going to kill lando

✧

yourusername has started following carlossainz55

✧

♡liked by carlossainz55, francocolapinto, landonorris & others

yourusername: call me maybe

- yourfriend1

francocolapinto: para quién estás beboteando? [who are you trying to look good for?]

yourusername: you are too annoying for someone currently unemployed

francocolapinto: ouch😔

user3: franco what do you know??

landonorris: you look so pretty tonight yn

yourusername: flattery will get you nowhere mister

landonorris: please don't kill me i'm sorry😭

user4: what is going on let us innnnn

user5: she started following carlos and then posted this welcome back demi lovato following henry cavill

user7: she's crying for attention 🙄🙄 desperate behavior →carlossainz55 has blocked this user

user7: carlos blocked me????

user5: deserved

yourfriend1: i love you, you are so hot

yourusername: let's run away together

yourfriend1: deal 🤝🏼

✧

Text

carlos: hola, is this y/n?

carlos: i'm carlos

carlos: you gave me your number the other day

y/n: hola!

y/n: yes it's me

y/n: i'm glad you texted me

y/n: i didn't want to do this with lando there but i wanted to apologize for my behavior towards you

y/n: i might have misjudge some things on our first interaction

y/n: but still that doesn't justify my behavior so i'm sorry

carlos: i had a feeling you weren't a big fan of me but i wasn't sure what i had done lol

carlos: but don't worry about it, all is forgiven

carlos: i just wanted to say i had a great time hanging out

y/n: me too!!

carlos: now i'm curious, what annoyed you that day?

y/n: it's going to sound dumb...

y/n: but when you asked me about franco and me i thought you were undermining my job

carlos: i would never

carlos: i think you are incredibly talented and hard working, you earned this place

carlos: and since we are confessing things

carlos: i was asking about you and franco with the intention of finding out if you were single

y/n: oh

carlos: so, are you watching la finalissima tonight?

y/n: yess franco is coming over to watch it together, you?

carlos: i'm going to watch it with some friends

carlos: i have an idea, wanna make a bet?

y/n: mmm it depends

carlos: if spain wins you have to go on a date with me

y/n: you sound really confident

y/n: and if argentina wins?

carlos: i have to dress like a chili?

y/n: oh you are on

✧

yourusername: listos para lo que venga🇦🇷🤍 [ready for whatever happens]

view all comments

user10: confíen, tengo a los jugadores españoles en el freezer🕯️🕯️

user5: will this break my yn x carlos family?

francocolapinto: don't tell me, we finally got them to be civil😭

anyataylorjoy: vamos argentina🇦🇷🇦🇷 ♡liked by author

✧

carlossainz55 posted a new story

caption: i really need spain to win😉

replies

↪yourusername: mm i wonder why

carlossainz55: 🙈🙈

✧

Text

y/n: hey

carlos: hey everything alright? game is still in halftime

y/n: i know

y/n: but about that date

y/n: tomorrow?

carlos: si❤️

carlos: no puedo esperar [i can't wait]

[topazy]

Teen spirit

Pairing: Carl Grimes × reader

Warnings: Swearing, minor violence

Chapter: 7.02

“Do you need any help?”

“No,” your voice cracks. “I’m fine... but thank you.”

Michonne clears her throat. “Rosita is just down the hall if you need anything. I’m going to go get some clean bandages.”

You nod.

Michonne stares at you for a moment, a sympathetic look on her face, before hesitantly closing the bathroom door. Unlike the house you lived in that only had showers, this one has a bathtub with a shower head attached to the wall. You turn the tap, switching it on; you step back, giving the water a chance to heat up.

You catch your reflection in the mirror; the sight of tangled strands of hair stuck together with blood causes you to almost throw up.

Feeling completely defeated, you step into the bath, wincing because of the pulling sensation on your stitches, then slowly sit down in the tub. Your clothes stick to your body as the warm water sprays over you, and you watch in silence as the foul-colored water, which is darkened by blood and dirt, starts to disappear down the drain.

You're unsure how much time has passed when the door opens. There’s a brief pause before then you hear Carl’s trembling voice, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

He places folded-up towels on the closed toilet lid and sits on the floor beside the tub. You feel Carl grab your hand, and immediately you feel tears well up in your eyes as you think about what Negan tried to do to him, what he tried to make Rick do to his son.

“I should have gone with Maggie,” you eventually say. “I should have stayed with my sister.”

“Selfishly, I’m glad you didn’t; I don’t want to feel alone.”

—

You watch from Carl’s bedroom as the saviors carry chairs, mattresses, food, and weapons to their vans. What the hell did they need all that stuff for? To refurbish their den. You shake your head in disgust watching as Father Gabriel approaches Negan.

“That asshole said we had a week.”

Carl gently pulls you away from the window so you are out of sight. Only a few days have passed since Glenn and Abraham were killed, their blood no doubt still a stain where they died, and Negan was already at the gates of your home looking for half of—well, everything.

“I know you’re beyond pissed, but someone needs to stay with Judith. She’s starting to fuss, and he doesn’t know about her yet. He can’t know.”

You swallow down all the curse words that come to mind. The saviors were getting more rowdy as they stole more belongings and scared more people. “Okay, uh, I’ll take Judith into the attic, and if they ask about the baby stuff, just say we collected it for Maggie.”

“That’s a good idea… I’m sure Maggie and the baby are okay.”

You had gone to great lengths to avoid speaking about your sister at all costs because every time you spoke about her, you broke down in tears. You were desperate to see her, but you completely understood why, at the time, Michonne thought it was best for you to return to Alexandria with them instead. Maggie needed to focus on herself without worrying about you.

“That’s a good idea; I’ll go get her.”

Carl goes to leave, but you catch his hand and lean forward; your lips meet in a kiss. “I’ll stay hidden until you come and find me.”

—

Once the saviors start to drive away, Carl lets you know the coast is clear, and you finally join the rest of your community outside. You weren’t sure of everything that had happened, but Carl told you his dad had to rummage through Spencer’s home to find the guns he was hiding.

While he continues to talk, all you can think about is the anger pulsing through your body. Did Spencer not understand how dangerous these people are? It was surprising Negan didn’t kill anyone else.

Rick notices you holding Judith and waves you over; his daughter was really becoming the light to everyone’s darkness. With so much death, it was easy to want to give up, but her cute little face was a constant reminder to keep going, that there were things worth fighting for.

Noticing Spencer lingering behind him, you narrow your eyes. You don’t hear the full conversation, just the end of it, when you hand Judith over to her father.

“You got lucky with the wall; you got lucky with us.” Rick holds his daughter with one arm and slings the other over your shoulder while walking slowly in the opposite direction. “How are you holding up? Carl told me about your plan. I’m thankful, but you're supposed to be taking it easy—”

“We should have made a deal with them when we could’ve.” Not getting a reaction, Spencer waits until Rick’s further away and shouts, “Oh yeah, we got so lucky. You’ve led us all to the promised land! Isn’t that right, Rick? Here we are! I guess Glenn and Abraham were lucky, too?”

Oh hell no.

You spin fast on your heels and storm towards him. “What was that?”

If it weren’t for Rick, you doubted most of you would still be alive. And for Spencer to bring Glenn and Abraham into his petty argument was bullshit.

Spencer rolls his eyes. “Come on—”

In that moment you want him to feel the same type of hurt everyone else was, but you doubt he is capable of it and jab Spencer on the nose before he can finish his sentence. Rosita jumps out of the car and steps between the two of you. “Y/N, go back inside now. Inside, go.”

—

“You have a good right hook on you.”

“I’m not apologizing. Spencer was being an asshole.”

Carl holds his hands up defensively before coming to join you on the floor. The saviors had taken all the mattresses from his house, so you’d be sleeping on the remaining blankets and pillows, which couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time. Your actions earlier had come back and bitten you in the ass, and your side was now in agonizing pain again.

You hold eye contact while searching Carl’s face for any sign of what he’s feeling. “What’s going on?”

He chews on his bottom lip for a few moments before answering. “I overheard my dad and Michonne talking. Judith is Shane’s.”

Not knowing what to say, you rest your head on his shoulder. Everything was a mess. You had heard whispers while living on the farm and at the prison, but once Lori died, they stopped. “He loves her as much as he loves you.”

“My dad was shot in the line of duty, then a few days later the outbreak happened. I was devastated; I thought I’d lost my dad and my mom… my mom. Shane was his best friend.”

You sit in silence for some time while Carl processes this new information; his hands are trembling. Your eyes are closed until you feel soft lips pressing against the crown of your head. “I thought it was pretty badass when you punched Spencer.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure anyone else thought that.” You look up at all the small holes in the door where Carl has been throwing darts; since his vision was compromised, he was missing the board and hitting the door. You link your fingers with his, “I want to see Maggie. I need to know how she is, how the baby is.”

Carl looks deep in thought; eventually, he scoffs. “If it wasn’t for Negan, you could be with her… I know how to put things right.”

[genderqueerdykes]

this is prob silly but i appreciate you being so candid about not interacting with much media (like film/tv/pop culture stuff). it's kind of hard to be on tumblr or really even exist if you're not able to interact with media but it's a big trigger for me so i just... can't. like, i've never had anyone understand that it's not a choice i'm making to be special/different/lazy i just have extreme and unhealthly reactions to most media, except some books and comics. which idk if that's how it is for you (its not my business or anything) but i've never felt seen/represented about it before so im thankful, yk?

i appreciate you for sending this! i don't find it silly at all

i think it's very good for you to acknowledge that you have an unhealthy relationship with most forms of media. i'm sorry that you're going through this, but consuming media is not a requirement nor is it something that you genuinely need for your mental health, so it's okay that that's how you feel. i appreciate this because it gives me a chance to talk about something that is important to me, but people struggle to understand why that is

my parents used to make fun of whatever i was watching or playing as a kid over my shoulder. i used to get relentlessly mocked every time i put on a show i liked or played a game in front of either of them. it caused me to have severe trauma for years where i couldn't watch or play anything around other people at all. i still don't like when people ask me to put on things that i do like for a big group. the stress i feel when other people don't enjoy it is not worth it. i'm still very uncomfortable doing this to this day

i've felt pretty alienated all my life due to this. it seems like now more than ever, media, especially fictional media, is so important to general modern culture that it creates a barrier between people who do and don't engage. and it's not like it's a passive thing, i have people get offended at me when i say i haven't seen a movie or TV show. not talking about anyone on here, or any anons i've answered about media! people have been kind and respectful here. but in my real life and in conversations with other people, i have genuinely been mocked or insulted because i don't engage with most television, movies, books and comics.

i've had people question my autism over this. when i've told people in the past that i do not engage with pop culture, fictional media and so on, i've had people actually say "but i thought you were autistic????" like it's genuinely frustrating that it seems like people have shifted to thinking that autistic people's special interests are always cartoons, games and TV shows. it worries me because at times it feels like people are turning the common definition of autism into Media Consumption Disorder. my special interests are queer history & culture, animals & nature, and medicine & psychology. i genuinely enjoy research, it's something i happily do for hours because it stimulates my brain and motivates me. it excites me just as much as i think fiction excites people who can enjoy it. it's more than okay for autistic people to have a piece of media as their special interest, i'm not saying that its not! but it frightens me that people seem to conflate "autistic" with "loves fictional media".

due to my DID, i can't remember plots. like at all. plots confuse the ever loving hell out of me because i can't keep track of what's going on. real life doesn't have a plot. science doesn't have a plot. i don't know if fully understand the point of a plot, honestly. expecting people to be able to remember such an absurd amount of information in order to figure out something that happens down the road or at the very end feels like a herculean task to me. i can't remember what happened to me 10 minutes ago, there's no way i'm remembering a tiny event that happened hours and hours and hours ago. scripted interactions feel so stiff and unnatural to me

people tell me i'm saying i don't know what they're talking about to "be an asshole". i used to have a best friend who got really into dungeons&dragons and it traumatized me for years because i got into at first, then quickly lost interest once i realized how boring actually playing the game is for me. my friend did NOT take it well. he continued to force me to play. if i would ask him to please change the conversation topic he would start insulting and berating me and telling me that i was pretending to not be interested anymore to be mean to him. he couldn't understand that i grew out of it. he never got any better with this, as he was obsessed with marvel films and would get super pissed off if i told him i had no interest or didn't know what to say to him. it was frustrating because i didn't have a choice whether or not i could like something. it was "if you don't like this, you're an asshole."

and it's not just him that's treated me that way. it's been most of my friends. for whatever reason, when you tell the average person that you haven't seen, or god forbid don't like a piece of media, they take it personally for... some reason. as if i said "no i don't watch that because that's bad" as opposed to what i actually say is "i don't know what that is" or "i haven't seen that". you would not believe how insecure people get when you tell them you don't like a piece of media they like. i'm not sure why people feel like their favorite media is an extension of themselves, but it's an unhealthy relationship. it's not healthy to get offended if your friend tells you they haven't seen a piece of media that you have.

i have aphantasia, which is the inability to picture things in my head. i don't get "sucked into" media like people with clearer mind's eyes do. i don't picture anything cool or epic or fun happening in my head because i can't. as a result, i don't get pulled into shows, i don't get invested in tabletop games, i don't really get that affected by the media that i watch because i am painfully aware that i'm staring at a pre-recorded and scripted show the entire time. i'm painfully aware that i'm staring at an actor in a costume i just cannot get immersed in most forms of media save for very rare video games but even then, i immediately stop thinking about it the second i'm done interacting with it

i just don't listen to music and that one baffles people as i'm punk. most music is just straight up overstimulating to me due to my autism. i'm not saying that music is bad, it just overstimulates the everloving hell out of me. most of the time it just hurts my ears or gives me a headache or triggers my misophonia, which results in me getting irrationally pissed off. it's not something i can control. i prefer to listen to nature sounds, very simple meditation music that is a few simple tones, or nothing at all. i actually enjoy silence. i enjoy not overloading my ears. i enjoy being alone with my own thoughts. i can't think when there's too much noise happening

video games are more enjoyable than anything else due to the interactive element, but that does not mean i am paying attention to the characters or the story. it's very rare that a game can actually make me get interested in the characters themselves. i'm just there for the gameplay. generally i prefer games like rollercoaster tycoon, tower unite and other games that don't have a plot at all and are strictly focused on gameplay. i have no idea how people memorize all the different characters and interactions and story beats in games that have an overarching plot.

it's a personal choice. you're allowed to choose what your hobbies and interests are. if pop culture stresses you out, you do not have to engage. i just straight up do not get pop culture references at all and i've had people laugh at me for it but i just really don't care, it's not what i'm interested in as a person. i feel like a lot of people aren't quite realizing that most popular media is made for profit, not to be something genuinely well written or entertaining. i'm not saying those things are bad but what i am saying is that it's a product meant to be consumed in order for you to help a generally huge company profit. there's very little soul and whimsy when it comes to most AAA games and big box office films. the artistic integrity is severely lacking

anyway, thank you for giving me a chance to talk about this more at length! it's why i'm just very honest about it because i'm not going to force myself to change my interests because some people find how i approach life strange, or take it personally. you're allowed to choose what you interact with and don't. you're allowed to define your own interests and hobbies. and i think you're doing a great thing by acknowledging that you have an unhealthy relationship with pop culture. a LOT of people do right now. it's manufactured to be addicting on purpose. binge watching things is encouraged and is becoming seen as a new norm. i don't think people like you or i deserve to be mocked for approaching life in ways that make sense to us. take care of yourself, i appreciate you!

[cgsf]

Fics based on a theme:

Stiles in a Contractual Relationship

••••••

—Derek/Stiles—

"Tax Evasion" (E) by standinginanicedress | 139,924 | “Here’s what I want,” Stiles starts, and Scott is already nodding along. “…I want a dude who’s going to take me out on dates. I like dinner and ice cream and all that. And I want him to meet my dad in, like, a sweater vest and khakis and shake his hand and talk about sports with the guy. And I want him to have a car and an apartment – not like, nice ones? But ones, you know? He’s got a dog, too. He drives me around and buys me stuff and is nice to my dad and my friends but then, like,” he squeezes the basketball extra hard and is sure he feels some air being let out of it, “…he ties me up sometimes, too. Is that too much to ask for? Am I reaching for the stars?”

"Don’t Take the Money" (E) by standinginanicedress | 53,469 | “Just so long as I don’t go falling in love with you, you don’t give a shit,” Derek clarifies. “Yeah. Pretty much.” “What if you go and fall in love with me?” “Ha ha,” Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t do shit like that. Alphas are disposable and they’re all just alike, when you strip them down to their parts.”

"For Your Eyes Only" (E) by standinginanicedress | 113,297 | “Are you a fucking psycho? Be honest. Are you sick in the fucking head?” Stiles asks. “No,” Derek says. “I’m a rich guy who likes twinks.” “Uh huh,” he doesn’t sound convinced. “You have twenty thousand dollars just lying around waiting to be spent on having cam sex with me?” “I do,” he shrugs. “And then some.” Silence. “You’re rich?” “Yes. I have money. I have an important job. That’s not what we’re talking about. Are you in or out?”

"One life stand" (E) by Vendelin | 84,278 | Stiles is used to selling himself to make ends meet. But it's getting harder to keep those ends meeting, and there's only so much of Stiles to go around. Until a too-fancy car shows up in his neighborhood, and he meets Derek Hale.

"Werewolf-Friendly" 🔒 (E) by badwolfbadwolf | 27,228 | Derek is a junior in college, never could get the hang of social interaction, and is, you know, a werewolf. A werewolf and a virgin. And it isn’t like anyone is banging down his door to hop on his werewolf dick, save for the few pervs who acted like he was some kind of exotic toy to be played with and experienced. So, when he sees Stiles' ad on Hot Men 4 Rent, Derek is... interested.

"Not What I Ordered" 🔒 (E) by eeyore9990 | 2,921 | Derek orders himself a bottom from a high-class escort service. What he gets is…Stiles.

"Unwind" 🔒 (E) by coffeeinallcaps | 15,047 | 'Hope you enjoy your present,' the text from Erica says. 'Payment’s taken care of. You can thank me tomorrow.'

"Disposition" (E) by Tulikettu | 56,104 | Stiles has an itch. A kinky, kinda dirty itch he needs to scratch. So why not go on the Internet and look for a complete stranger to scratch it? Derek needs a partner for his rut. What a coincidence.

"Oblivion for Two" (E) by publicdecency | 210,279 | “I’ll pay you to stop going around with other werewolves.” Stiles pushes Derek’s hand off of him, and Derek lets him. Stiles sits up. Derek sits up. They stare at one another. Stiles tries to laser through right to his dumb idiot fucking brain. “What did you just say?”

"A Mating Moon" (E) by unpossible | 37,353 | “Hey, Scott, so, I uh, there’s this amazingly hot guy and I’m uh, gonna spend the weekend with him but, you know, just to be careful, I’m sending you his picture, so if by some terrible chance my bloated corpse shows up sometime Monday, just, y’know pass this along to the authorities.” He pauses. “Uh. Kidding?” and then hangs up with a rush of air. “That is the worst voicemail in the history of voicemails,” Derek says.

"Millstone" (E) by eleanor_lavish | 31,368 | Derek waits until the door is shut behind him before he turns around. He holds out his hand, plants his ‘if you’re not weird about it, I won’t be’ smile on his face and says, “Nice to meet you, Stiles. I’m Michael. What kind of a good time are you looking for tonight?”

"Don't Worry Baby" (E) by kalpurna | 20,276 | "You know you're allowed to ask for vanilla sex, right?" he says, afterwards. "We can do whatever you want. That's kind of the point." Derek doesn't respond.

"but monsters are always hungry, darling" (E) by Rena | 7,071 | "I just...I just want someone to fuck me,” he blurts out, flailing his hands around. “I mean, like, really fuck me. Not any of this wishy-washy stuff, but someone with strength and stamina who’ll actually, honestly, fuck me, hold me down and fuck me so hard I can still feel it the next day.” “So, essentially, you want a werewolf,” Lydia deduces.

"Three Phone Calls" 🔒 (M) by pandabomb | 15,676 | Scott and Stiles live in a shitty apartment in NYC, Lydia is still queenly, and Derek is a clueless rich guy who mistakes Stiles for a hooker.

"Sell Your Body to the Night" (E) by Dira Sudis | 121,553 | "No," Derek repeated impatiently. "I'm not a cop. I'm someone who wants to exchange my money for your sexual services. I was told you were in that line of work." "I, uh, yeah, sorry," Stiles said. He glanced around again and then up--the full moon was almost directly overhead. Just one of those nights, maybe. "Yeah, I am. I do that."

"The Civilian" 🔒 (E) by bloodwrites | 15,279 | Stiles started hustling by accident. He likes the way it makes him feel too much to stop. Even the risk involved with selling himself in dark, dirty alleys doesn't stop him from doing it again and again. Not every night, sometimes not even every week, but he always goes back, looking for more of what he needs.

"A Whole Strip of Condoms" 🔒 (E) by eeyore9990 | 20,227 | Stiles feels the crushing weight of his family's debt; Derek has piles of money. Derek needs to get laid; Stiles is a willing and eager virgin. It's a match made in... well. Beacon Hills. Eesh.

—Stiles/Peter—

"gave your smile to me" (T) by Sarageek16 | 4,784 | In which Stiles is a hooker (but not really), Derek wants to feed his skinny little body, and there is soup. Not necessarily in that order.

"Men of Taste" (E) by dizzzylu | 3,737 | It starts with a leather portfolio; a gift from Peter the day Derek is promoted to junior partner. He flips through the last few pages of cards, taking his time. Among them are several swanky nightclubs, a discreet gentlemen's club, a selection of the city's more opulent fetish clubs, as well as New York's most elite, and secretive, escort agency.

"Gravity's Got Nothing on You" (E) by zosofi | 83,979 | “Three weeks,” Derek says. “Still don’t want to,” Stiles says. “I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. “How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.” “My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.”

"one kiss (you burn)" (E) by anonymous | 1,953 | Stiles just wants to pop his cherry.

"Red Wall" (E) by veterization | 37,627 | Peter finds Stiles selling himself on the streets years after leaving Beacon Hills. He takes him in.

"A Delicate Beast" (E) by anonymous | 7,536 | Stiles flicks his eyes to Peter and has to almost instantly drag them away again in fear. This man wants to assault me.

"Loan Wolves" (E) by veterization | 117,313 | At seventeen, Stiles' mother dies, and suddenly, with bills piling up, Stiles and his father are in financial straits. Enter Peter Hale, the loan shark.

"Conduit" 🔒 (E) by DarkIsRising | 52,428 | A cool 10k to spend a weekend with some rich guy getting plowed in his familial estate during some hoity-toity engagement party for Rich Guy’s niece, with an extra 2k on offer if he can make his ex-husband visibly seethe with jealousy.

"A Spoonful of Sugar" (E) by Twisted_Mind | 31,133 | He blames Lydia. He would never have even considered this if she hadn't mentioned it like it was legit. But short of falling down the rabbit hole of student debt, he doesn't have a whole lot of options. So, whatever, he can try the sugar baby thing. No one has to know.

••••••

[susiekern]

16. the one with the boys

a/n: after two important chapters, I present to you: this fucking thing

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.096

masterlist

previous | next

“Are they mad about it?”

“Nah, Toge almost cried about me getting a girl faster than him, but Yuta and Cho are actually pretty chill about it. They know it’s serious and all.”

“Shit, it’s so weird when you say it’s serious.”

Megumi’s eyes move towards you, giving you the meanest side eye in history. You’re on your way to one of the bars, so you can meet the rest of the Fallen, or more like just Megumi’s friends. It’s been a few days since you officially started dating, the right way this time, and it was his idea, believe it or not. The three of them are the closest people in his life, besides you and Yuji, and he wanted you all to meet and get along. You know Yuta, obviously, but you’ve only heard stories about Toge and Choso.

“I’m kind of nervous. What if they don’t like me?” Saying that, you furrow your brows. Megumi sighs and squeezes your hand tighter in his own.

“I couldn’t care less. Besides, Yuta already likes you, Choso is as chill as it gets, and Toge’s been following you on Twitch for the past few months. But don’t tell him you know that; he wanted to act all cool around you or something.” He says with a smirk. “And I’m not with you to show you off, they could hate you, and I wouldn’t give a fuck.”

Your smile is back on as you get on your toes to peck his lips. Before you pull back, one of his hands is on your neck, keeping you close and deepening the kiss.

“We’ll be late, Megs.” You laugh quietly, but that doesn’t keep the black-haired man away from you.

“They’re constantly late for rehearsals, I don’t care.” He murmurs, relishing your taste for a few more seconds. When he finally lets you go, your cheeks are blushed, and you have that glint in your eyes he loves so much. “If you hate them, you can just talk to Yuji or tell me, we’ll go home and watch that weird show of yours.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He opens the door for you, following close by as you enter the bar. It’s the middle of the week, so it’s relatively empty, which makes it much easier to find a booth occupied by the boys. The sight of Yuji’s pink strands soothes your nerves a little. He’s talking with Yuta and a black-haired man with a dark streak running through his nose bridge who must be Choso. There’s also Toge, you assumed, his white hair making him stand out from the group. He’s also the only one who’s not dressed in dark colors, with the pink t-shirt (that’s weirdly almost the same color as Yuji’s hair) and light jeans on. His focus is on his phone, tapping fast on it, until he notices you two coming their way.

“Gumi! Finally, I can’t deal with another minute of their boring shit.” Toge puts his phone down on the table and gets up to greet Megumi with a typical manly handshake and back pats. His brown eyes then land on you, and he smiles. “And you must be y/n?”

“Be nice, Toge. She doesn’t know how weird you are yet.” A much taller figure appears behind him, the man you recognized as Choso, based on Megumi’s stories.

“You don’t need to spoil it for her then, gosh. Give a man a chance.” Toge sighs and moves a little, so Megumi and Choso can greet each other. “The tall emo is Choso, I’m Toge, as you probably know already.”

“Nice to meet you both. Y/n y/l.” You offer them a smile and a polite head nod. Before you can say another word, there are warm arms wrapping around you, as Yuji almost jumps your way.

“Finally, a crossover episode.” He grins, squeezing your body and pulling you to the leather couch, where you quickly greet Yuta. Thankfully, without any awkwardness. You haven’t seen each other since your little date, only exchanged polite texts where you thanked him for the evening, not expecting that the next time you’ll meet will be like that. With you, meeting your boyfriend’s friends. The universe has a weird sense of humor, you have to admit.

“I’ll do that, and you all will see. It’s a new way.” The evening is going great; it turns out they’re all as welcoming as you could ever ask for, and it’s not long before the conversations are flowing naturally.

They share a few funny stories about Megumi, asking you how you’ve met Yuji in exchange; Toge admitted to following you, to which Choso reminded him about the time he called you a “twitch baddie” in their group chat. You’re really enjoying this. Megumi is by your side all the time, keeping a hand on your thigh or at the small of your back, smiling almost constantly. It eased his mind to see you getting along with his friends, something he was anxious about, even if he’d never admit it. He doesn’t keep a lot of people close to himself, so the sight of you joking around with his support group warms his heart in a way.

“Toge, I guarantee saying random food items won’t make you popular among the girls.” Yuji is shaking his head, barely keeping the laugh in. For the past few minutes, Toge explained his brilliant plan to the whole group, and you weren’t sure if you should laugh or cry.

“It works for him!” The white-haired man says offended, brows furrowed as he looks around, looking for any support but meeting none.

“It’s a guy from an anime. He has a magic tongue, and you think it’s about saying salmon all the time?” Megumi lifts one brow before taking a sip of his drink.

“First of all, he’s a cursed speech user, he doesn’t have a magic tongue. And second, I even look like him!”

“When was the last time you looked in the mirror?” It was Choso’s time to stick a pin in. “If you look like him, then I look like the blood guy you talked about yesterday.”

“Yeah, I’m with Cho on this one, you don’t look nearly similar.” Yuji nods, eyeing his friend up and down.

“Just admit you all hate me.”

“Easy. But when did we start playing truth or dare?” You almost choke hearing Megumi’s words.

“Shit, and you say Nobara’s rude.” He rolls his eyes as you murmur, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“She is. You just don’t notice it anymore.”

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115 @good-mourning0 @pearlydays @irwinchester @pxppetmxster @ivydoesit23 @zayuriluvs @applepi25 @s777athv @estella-novella @wgafa @pookalicious-hq @lovely-maryj @briezy04764

[elvissdollete]

Dear Elvis,

Happy Heavenly Birthday. I don’t even know where to start because there’s so much I want to say. My heart feels so full when I think of you, but it also aches because you’re not here. I love you, Elvis. I love you more than words could ever hold, more than the sky holds stars, more than anything I’ve ever felt before.

You don’t know me, and we’ll never meet, but somehow, you’ve become such a huge part of my life. You’ve given me hope on days when I had none, strength when I felt like I couldn’t go on. Even when I feel lost, you’re like this quiet light guiding me through. You make me want to be better, to fight harder, to believe in myself when it feels impossible.

Sometimes I laugh at the thought of it. Maybe it’s the 74 years between us. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been gone longer than I’ve been alive. But here I am, completely and utterly in love with you. It’s crazy, isn’t it? To love someone I’ve never met, someone who lived in a world so far from mine. And yet, here I am, writing to you like you’re right here, like you can somehow hear me.

I’ve seen how people talked about you. How they judged you when you gained weight, like your worth could ever be measured by something so shallow. They didn’t see the real you, Elvis. The man with the golden heart, the one who gave so much of himself to everyone else. To me, you were always perfect. Not because of how you looked, but because of who you were. You could have weighed a thousand pounds, and I’d still love you just as much. You’ll always be Elvis Aaron Presley to me—the man who makes my heart feel things I didn’t know it could feel.

I heard once that you were afraid people would forget you, that you thought you’d just fade away when you were gone. But Elvis, you couldn’t have been more wrong. No one has forgotten you, and no one ever will. You’re everywhere. In the music, in the stories, in the hearts of so many people, including mine. People don’t just remember you—they love you. You’re more than a legend; you’re a part of us.

And me? I miss you, Elvis. I miss you like I’ve known you my whole life. It’s this ache that doesn’t go away, this emptiness I can’t fill. I think about what it would’ve been like to see you, to hear your laugh, to feel the warmth of your presence. I wonder if you would’ve noticed me, if you would’ve smiled at me just once. I know it’s a silly thought, but it stays with me anyway hehe.

You’ll always be my everything, Elvis. My heart, my inspiration, my love. Even though you’re not here, you’ve left a mark on me that nothing could ever erase. Thank you for being you, for giving so much of yourself to this world.

And, oh God. Dear Jesse, happy birthday to you too ❤️ I don’t know much about you, and I never will. You were here for such a brief moment, and then you were gone, like a whisper in the wind. But even though you never had the chance to live a full life, your presence shaped the one who did.

You were Elvis’s first connection, his other half, and I believe a part of you always stayed with him. Maybe you were his quiet strength, the part of him that kept going when life got too hard.

Even though we don’t know you, Jesse, you’re not forgotten. You were loved from the moment you existed, and you’ll always be remembered as a part of him. Rest peacefully.

And again, Happy 90th birthday to both of you. I love you, Elvis. I always will.

Forever yours,

Shai ❤️

[impudentmedico]

Alex was at the point in his life where he just let things go. Izzie ruined a lot for him in terms of just wanting someone and trusting someone. She had ruined a lot of things and that is when Alex took his job more seriously and that is when he started to not catch feelings and just sleep with anyone who would give him a chance. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do because then it led to him having a reputation and that is something Jo really thought who he was. But it wasn't. He just was masking up a lot of pain and hurt by someone who claimed to love him. But things changed and they developed a friendship first, because come to found out, Jo and him had a lot in common. Something he didn't think anyone else would understand.

But they have formed a good bond. Love held them together, even when the world was meant to tear them apart. But he panicked and left. Alex knew what Jo would think once this happened. He knew that he messed up all those years of them fighting people to let them know they were there for the long haul. Maybe he did things wrong, and maybe leaving her the way he did was wrong, but he regrets it all, because he had it good with her. This life he has now, it wasn't anything he wanted and it wasn't anything he thought he could keep up. Yes, he has kids. Kids he never knew about until he got the letter and they are already big enough to tell him yes or no. And hearing from Jo, well that did it too. He missed her and he knew all of this was on him and he that is something he has to deal with.

But this unexpected text and Jo and him have talked. He knew she was trying to hide the fact she wanted to cry and there was a tone of unsaid words between them when text were sent and received. That is how well he knows her. That is all it was and that is something he had learned to read. But Alex was determined not to be his father. The one who abandons his kid and not make it known he is trying. This was him trying but he wanted Jo apart of the picture and not just him with Izzie. That is not what he wanted. But he had to quickly reply, because he needed to tell her everything because he knows she won't trust him.

[Text: Jo]

"It is not like it was an easy decision Jo. I panicked. I didn't want to be considered like my dad. Because you know how much I hate that man. I didn't want to abandon my kids, even after I knew about them. I do love you. I have been sitting here thinking about you, and you were the first one i wrote a letter to, then Mer. So it was just something I have been trying to come to terms with because she hid this for so long. I am not with her though. We are just co-parents and I sleep in another room, so please just let me be there, send me the address and I will be on the next flight out. Just, please, let me be there. I can not deal with the fact you didn't want to hid this from me and then not want me there. So, if Arizona is mad at me, I will find a place close and meet you at the hospital. Just give me the name of the hospital as well. I am looking at flights as we speak."

He could tell Jo was mad from hers and he kept his cool as he hit send and opened up his laptop and looked at the flights from Kansas to New York to see Jo and hopefully they can work this out because they are having a kid and he rather be with her and his twins come and visit then not with her and being stuck in a place he is not happy in. He just needed to let her get over being mad at him. Seeing the address he jotted it down in his notes on his phone and texted Jo again.

[Text: Jo]

"Thank you for the address, I will see you tomorrow. Get some sleep please. You need to rest. I am sure Arizona will insist on doing everything for you. it is just who Robbins is. Let her."

Starting Again

@ImpudentMedico 

Complicated was the word when it came to Alex and herself. From barely speaking; from the rage of hate she felt for him. To the common goal; which was to raise a healthy child. To push aside our distaste for each other; well more so on my part. Jo knew she could’ve had it easy by not engaging by avoiding Alex especially when they first messaged after a month of him being gone. She could’ve gotten through the pregnancy on her own. She was built for it; to be alone. But one confession; one text changed the relationship she had with him. 

He was the dad; and as angry as she was with him; She didn’t want to be like Izzie; she didn’t want to keep a child from him. She still loved him; she wanted him to be apart of their child’s life even if it made her sick to see the pair had ended up. All that to say it wasn’t smooth sailing; but Jo had promised to keep him updated. To let him be there for her and their child. 

A promise she intended to keep. And that’s why Jo found herself digging into her purse when she stepped foot into the New York airport.  Stepping to the side as she listened to people chat, she found her phone letting fingers dance along the keys. 

[ Text} Alex. 

“ I debated telling you, but a promise is a promise. I’m in New York. I’ll be staying with Callie and Arizona so you know I’ll be safe.”  Not wanting to keep talking; Jo came to the city to move on from the last chapter not be dragged back into the old. But Jo also knew they had to figure out the next steps together. One text at a time. Because let’s be honest he left once; why wouldn’t Alex do it again? It was a fear; the reason why Jo was keeping him at arms length. Protecting herself. 

Slipping her phone into her coat pocket she slung her carry on over her shoulder and began to walk to the baggage claim; the signs directing her. A new Chapter; exhaling deeply Jo assured herself this was the right move for her.

[erstwhilesparrow]

A few years ago, I tried getting into friends at the Table, but got very confused and never finished. However, I noticed you have a tag for it, so i am assuming you listen, and i was wondering,,,,, while I don't have the spoons for another ttrpg podcast atm, I would *love* to hear your thoughts on it/what it's actually about in general, and so I figured I'd ask :3

you have no idea how excited this ask made me; i have indeed listened to friends at the table!! i like it so much!!

okay before i do my spiel, you have to listen to this. I Am Forcing You To. this is not really going to clarify what friends at the table is about, but it will give you a sense of how much Like That they are.

all right, everything else under the cut.

the flippant and easy answer is that fatt is about "critical worldbuilding, smart characterization, and fun interactions between good friends"! that's their tagline, and it's true, but it's also the answer anyone will give you if you ask about the podcast. the other answer is that, across (approximately) seven seasons of varying tones and genres, fatt has with surprising consistency managed to be about love stories without resolutions, communities coming together in apocalyptic times, and Extremely Cool Anime Bullshit.

i absolutely understand trying to get into it and getting lost -- it definitely took me multiple tries for it to click, and none of the helpful guides people offered actually worked for me? (a joke that was going around on tumblr a little bit ago: fatt fans will give suggestions on where to start listening the way new yorkers give directions.) the hosts of the podcast are A Pretty Specific Kind Of People! they are not trying to be marketable here! so it's. hard to sell and hard to explain. i don't know how to say, in an advertise-y way, "i had to trick myself into listening to more than two episodes by putting the podcast on in the background as white noise while i was playing minecraft." and also, "i got through like five multi-hour episodes before i started realizing that not only was i beginning to be able to differentiate voices, but that i might be invested in these characters." and also, "no actual-play in existence is doing it like friends at the table is. you will experience the sickest storytelling and worldbuilding of your life listening to this podcast. but you will first have to get used to every five minute fight or interaction taking twenty minutes because these people are long-winded and very thorough." i'm bad at elevator pitches!

but. but. i started with their fourth season, Twilight Mirage, and to this day i still call it the bearer of my heart. when i say i think it changed my life, i mean i really genuinely think the person i would have been not having listened to it would have been worse off, at least for that stretch of months where i was listening to it. the hosts are so careful and so thoughtful about their worldbuilding, and so interesting about it that after a certain point, i started going, "oh fuck, we're spending hours doing exclusively worldbuilding to set up for the upcoming story? hell yeah!" something that still pierces me to this day when i think about it gets mentioned almost off-handedly: the people from this sci-fi futuristic version of earth are named with possessives -- real canon examples include Morning's Observation, Declan's Corrective, Mother's Story -- because (in the hosts' words) it matters to them that they belong to something. what the FUCK! and it's like this all the time?? they just do this shit?? for free?? THERE'S A CHARACTER NAMED FOURTEEN FIFTEEN. there's not a lot of quotes i can give you out of context that convey what it's like to experience the whole thing, because they throw all these pieces onto the board and go through all of them and it's this huge chaotic jumble and then suddenly one thing connects to another to another to another and it resolves into the most gorgeous mosaic you've ever seen.

twilight mirage is their biggest and messiest season, they try to do a lot of different things with it, but i think the thing that most Got To Me is that it's a story about a utopia in decline? and it really is a utopia. the hosts are explicit about that, that they thought about what a utopia could actually look like, about what infrastructure it would need to work, about how there's no secret caveat or buried rot. this is something i said to a friend of mine shortly after listening: "they said, hey, what does a queer sci-fi utopia look like for us? and answered the question completely seriously. it takes a kind of thoughtfulness and fortitude that i think few possess to answer a question like that without flinching." it's like it flipped enough switches in me to make me go, "wait, you can DO that?" like. this was... the winter joining 2021 and 2022? i was having a bad time with [trying to imagine a future for myself that didn't make me miserable], and twilight mirage didn't, yknow, fix that, but it did suggest visions of the future that i could actually see myself in, and tell stories about things and in ways it had never even occurred to me you could do!

and they. keep doing that. every season. they've been doing that since 2012. there are space fish. there are ships shaped like bouquets of flowers. there is (and i quote) "a big-titty catgirl shrine maiden."

i know i've talked pretty abstractly here about the things i felt listening to this, and i haven't even brought up other seasons i've listened to, but i'm telling you. there's So Much. there is no way for me to meaningfully condense it for a question this general. friends at the table is so expansive and thoughtful and so so fucking good, and i will never have enough words to describe it to my own satisfaction.

(as a treat for after reading all that: another fun answer to "what's fatt's deal?" here.)

[foggyfanfic]

K, but like I said I love Adelaide. Do you have any headcanons (is it a headcanon if it's your OC?) of Adelaide's physical appearance?

Yeah! No idea if it is a headcanon if it’s my OC , but I do know what references I would use to draw her. The most important thing is her skin is dark enough and has the right tone to hide a blush, so even though teenage Adelaide is constantly drowning in awkwardness and embarrassment, on the outside she looks completely unbothered. Other than that, I saw a random lady on the subway that I thought was just the absolute prettiest girl I’d ever seen, and the world must agree with me because I found a model that looks a lot like her! Adelaide looks like that random subway lady, or like Adut Akech (but very short because she’s Colombian and Cuban). She wears her hair in shoulder length passion twists, since I did a little research and they’re a relatively low maintenance protective style and that seems reasonable for somebody living in an isolated village. Plus I met a customer who had her hair in twists and I loved the way they moved.

[munkustance]

hi hello!! What’s ur favorite musical moment within the show? For example, I really like Jemima’s moments of happiness solo, or the part where the orchestra gets to build during old Deuteronomy :)

Hello!!!

First of, super agree on the two moments you brought up! Jemima's solo is so beautiful and then the music just brings it all together! And in my opinion the whole Old Deut music motif is so extremely wonderful and just feels like a warm, fuzzy hug.

So big surprise, my favourite musical moment is alssooo during the moments of happiness!

Right when the music swells until Jellylorum begins singing Gus's song. It just feels so powerful, majestic and most importantly magical. You hear exactly what compels them to stand up, Rumpleteazer's face a second earlier describes the feeling best to me.

Like her expression is exactly what I feel when the build up for the moment comes up.

[full-frontal-lotus]

Would you be willing to share more about OmoiLee?? It's a new ship for me and I'd love to learn more about them

I am always willing and bless you for giving me a chance to talk about it.

While I love their dynamic in general, my favorite way to think about them is in a semi-canon “adults navigating genuine feelings and their lives” kind of way. It’s after the War, they’re both living their lives and putting it all back together again in a world that is rapidly changing around them.

Lee has always worn his heart on his sleeve and has loved before, but it lead him nowhere. He’s moved on from his past crushes, but they still stay with him. He is working as a bodyguard to the Konoha representative of the Shinobi Union, and is just trying to find his place as a shinobi in a world that increasingly has no use for him.

Omoi, meanwhile, has never really been in love in a way he hasn’t talked himself out of, and is not handling his new life as a representative well at all. The War very much lives with him every minute of his life and combined with the stress of holding the Shinobi Union together in its infancy, it’s driving him to madness.

The two run into each other (almost literally — Lee was out for a morning run and Omoi was lost in his own head) and sort of hit it off. The two have mutual friends and end up in each others’ company more and more often. Lee invites Omoi out to do his favorite activities (exercising and eating well) more and more often, and encourages Omoi to persevere even in the face of things that overwhelm him. Meanwhile, Omoi presents Lee with fanatic possibilities and Lee finds himself pondering the politics going on around him, and gives more thought to what use he could have in the world.

Eventually, the two decide to date and that comes with its own set of challenges when Omoi is promoted to Darui’s aide and is taken off his duties as Shinobi Union representative. The two have to navigate being from different villages and having responsibilities while also trying to make it work, because they’ve realized they have something special and it was worth going the extra mile for.

And then magically Metal comes along and they lived happily ever after, the end.