#there is NO NEED to be contacting families!

[25centsoda]

I give myself about an hour, maybe two if I don't catch it in time, and then I go "Okay. This task is not working right now. Time to put it down and do something else." Other variations are "I don't have the brain for this task right now." (maybe it's a complex thing but I'm not doing complex thought at the moment), or "This task is not available to me right now." (video game-like thinking).

And then I have to go do something else. I know that I won't always "have the brain" for tasks every day, so whenever possible I schedule myself to have extra time to complete things to accommodate/compensate for this; thus, often I can safely set the task down until tomorrow, or overmorrow, at which point it will be easier. If I'm super busy that week or weekend and a task isn't working, I'll look ahead in the week to see if I can accomplish a future task and thus make time for this one.

Example: I've been sitting at my computer with a job application staring at me, scrolling tumblr or my phone for two hours. I look at the clock and realize how much time has passed - not enjoyable time, not productive time, just time. I go "Okay. This task is not working right now. Time to put it away and go do something else." I write out any thoughts I'd had for the cover letter, or tasks I need to accomplish next time I open up the gdoc (contact references, write cover letter, get somebody to proofread it, find contact info for last job, etc), then I close all the tabs. Maybe I'm really busy this weekend, and I had planned to get this job application done with the middle of my day Saturday so I can do dinner with family in the evening, and Sunday I'll clean my apartment, cook, and plan out my week. I really need to get this job application done by Monday, but I can't just add it to my tasks on Sunday. So since the job application "isn't working," instead I get out my cleaning supplies and a playlist and clean with my Saturday midday. This gets me unfrozen, gets me accomplishing something, and frees up time to do the task later. On Sunday I wake up with a much clearer head, some thoughts on what to write in my cover letter, and more energy to contact people.

Alternatively, if I can't get myself to do a different Task, I say "Okay. This isn't working either. Time for a break." A break could be a nap (or a lie-down; don't have to fall asleep to get restful benefits, just quiet time laying in the dark is helpful too), watching TV, engaging in a hobby like painting, etc. Then you can either go back to the original task or just give up on it for the day and do something else, whichever you have the capability for at the moment.

Important: Whatever you do, don't beat yourself up for it. Sometimes you get "stuck" or freeze, and sometimes you can get yourself out of that, and sometimes you can't. It's all okay. Tomorrow is another day. The next hour is another hour. There is always another chance. Step back, reset, and try again. You're doing amazing.

this randomly blew up on twitter so i figured i’d post it here bc lord knows everyone on this app is neurodivergent

[witherby]

DUDEEEEE, after reading your little Wayne (who is now a grown up) goes looking for a part time job and after quitting the last job I imagem them getting into a cafe job were both villain and heros goes and there's no fighting in there

Dude what's it like having such an amazing incredible spectacular brain

That's the coolest idea I've ever heard

The Littlest Wayne: Truce Juice

Nobody believes it at first, that your signage is genuine. They think it's a gimmick or a ploy to avoid your shop being targeted by villains if they decide to terrorize the city and start doing massive amounts of property damage again.

"Is it true?" Customers will ask, as they come by to get a smoothie or request a bagel. "You're willing to serve villains?"

And every single time, you smile, hand over their order, and say "yes!" Because you are.

Your family chooses to fight crime under the cover of darkness. They fix Gotham's problems by punching them and throwing them in Blackgate or Arkham. During the day, your father does his best to fund the places that need it the most — infrastructure, homeless shelters, food banks, education — but it's not enough.

You can help the normal citizens as much as you want, but they're still going to be terrorized by the villains that escape the prison and the asylum. They're still going to feel Othered from most of society, which is what drove them to villainy in the first place. Hurting them, pushing back at them, it fixes the short-term problems but never quite nips it in the bud.

Your hope is to treat the criminals like...well, like they're not criminals. Which is why you opened Truce Juice — a little drink cafe in the heart of the city that welcomes everybody, good, bad, and in-between. It's your good-faith experiment you had to beg your father not to intervene in, using either identity, for weeks before he finally agreed.

So, deed in hand, trained employees on staff, and insurance premiums through the fucking roof, you've got a business.

--

It takes a month of service and consistent advertising, but you finally start to see your experiment take shape. A gentleman wearing a half-black, half-white tuxedo walks into your cafe and approaches the counter with visible trepidation, hands stuffed in his pockets and sneering at everybody who makes eye contact with him.

Antiope, the girl currently working the register, clams up a bit, so you send her to the drink station instead and smile at Two-Face's henchman.

"Good morning," you greet him, "welcome to Truce Juice. How can I help you?"

The man looks at you like you've grown a second head. You smile back and gesture to the menu over your head.

"If you need a minute to look at the options, that's fine. I also have handheld menus for better visibility." You pick one up and offer it to him.

"You're actually fuckin' serious," he says, taking his hand out of his pocket. Customers loitering in the cafe flinch back as he does so, but you don't move. He takes the menu from you and glances over it. "...gimme a banana smoothie and a dozen plain bagels. Cream cheese and jelly on the side."

"Sure!" You punch his order into your screen and ring up the total. "Will that be cash or card?"

"What if I didn't wanna pay?" The man smirks. The hand still in his pocket makes a clicking sound. Several customers rush out. You don't move, but the shadow at your feet forms a disk shape and slips underneath the henchman, waiting to suck him into your pocket dimension if he starts getting belligerent.

"Then you don't get the smoothie and bagels," you reply calmly. "I'm running a business, sir. Goods and services are exchanged for money, here."

He clearly wasn't expecting you to say that. He stares at you. You stare back. He blinks incredulously. You blink expectantly back.

"So," you say again, "cash or card?"

"....cash," he mutters, digging into a separate pocket and pulling out his wallet. He hands over a fistful of bills. You ring him up and give him his change.

"Okay! Give us about five minutes. Did you want the bagels toasted?"

The henchman shakes his head. You smile and get to work, the dark disk melting back into your regular shadow. Soon, you're sliding the smoothie and box of bagels across the pick-up counter.

"Here you are. Have a good day!"

The man continues to stare at you like you're some freakish anomaly. You just give him a small nod, then turn to help the next customer brave enough to step inside with him here.

When you check the tip jar later, you see a fistful of hundreds crammed into it.

You feel your heart warm and know you're about to make huge waves in Gotham.

[lomlhwa]

no way out (p.sh)

pairing: hostage!reader x maifa boss!seonghwa

preview: seonghwa loves to collect pretty things. when he saw you, he knew he needed to add you to his collection.

tags/warnings: fem reader, (leather) gloved fingering, pussy slapping, begging, gun + knife play, edging, overstimulation, s&m, dacryphilia, degrading, praise, pet names (doll, princess, baby, angel), hair pulling, possessiveness, marking, choking, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie

trigger warnings: kidnapping, kinda noncon, beginning stages of stockholm syndrome, guns and knives ofc

wc: 2.7k

song recs for this fic: criminal by britney spears

a/n: please read the tags and triggers very carefully!!!

seonghwa sat comfortably in his black mercedes benz, watching the people around him. his dark tinted windows gave no one any awareness of his presence. many people gawked at his car, amazed to see something so expensive on this side of the city. “anything catching your eye, boss?” his driver asked, breaking the thick silence. seonghwa shakes his head, staring into the rearview mirror. “no, but we’ll give it another couple of minutes.” he returned his eyesight to scan the crowd.

the leather seats of his car were comfortable enough to give him the relaxation he needed while scoping out the crowds of people. spending so much time indoors had caused him to forget just how many people live in seoul. he leaned back against the headrest, wishing that endeavours like these didn’t take so long. he crosses his arms, his leather gloved hands resting on his biceps.

he spotted plenty of objectively attractive people, some he might’ve dared to test on any other occasion. but he knew what he wanted. finally, through the crowd, he spots you. you glow within the crowd like the sun in the sky. “there.” the man in the passenger seat is quick to jump out, standing in your way. you trip over yourself a bit, startled by the sudden presence in front of you. “sorry ma’am, do you have a minute?” he asks, your eyebrows furrowing. seonghwa climbs out of the car and appears behind his bodyguard. “no, i don’t,” you respond, quick to dodge both men, staring down at your phone. seonghwa watches you speed walk away, crossing his arms over his chest. your thoughtless resistance attracted a dark part of him. “that’s the one. follow her.” 

both men are quick to pile back into the expensive car and follow your direction. they trail behind you, watching you as you walk into your apartment building. they sit in the parking lot for longer than most people would consider appropriate. seonghwa checks his watch. he has a meeting soon, he cannot sit here for much longer. “contact hongjoong and have him send some men here to get her for me.” his order is stern and his driver nods. slowly, they pull away from the parking lot and drive back to the mansion where the mafia resides.

_______________________________________________

a few days later, seonghwa is greeted by a knock on his office door. the doors open to reveal two lower members of the family, wooyoung and san. “what can i do for you, gentlemen?” he asks, tapping on the papers on his desk to indicate that he’s busy. the two men stand in front of him timidly, keeping their heads lowered. “she’s here,” san says. seonghwa’s eyebrow raises, his tapping coming to an almost immediate halt. he rises from his chair, the two bodyguards in the room immediately tense up. “where is she?” wooyoung visibly gulps, adjusting on his feet. “the safe house, as you requested. she was very combative. yeosang is with the doctor right now, dealing with the scratches she gave him.” seonghwa chuckles, imagining the image of a girl your size doing damage to a man built like yeosang. 

seonghwa nods, waving the two men off. they’re quick to scurry away from the intimidating leader. he digs around in his drawer, pulling out his pistol. he’s quick to shove it into his gun holster before moving his coat back to cover it. he adjusts the holster on his other thigh, housing an intimidating looking knife. “let’s go.” seonghwa is quick to strut out of the room, heading directly for his car. he climbs into the backseat, his guards moving swiftly so as to not anger him. sitting in the backseat, he finds himself filled with an unusual sense of nervousness and excitement. 

the usual procedure for entering the safe house would require seonghwa to enter with the protection of his bodyguards. something was gnawing at him and telling him to go in alone. “stay in the car. if i don’t come back out in 10 minutes, you may leave.” with that, he climbs out of the car. he punches in the short number code, listening to it beep quietly to signal the locking mechanism letting him in. he pushes the door open and the air is thick with tension. he doesn’t know where they put you or if you’re even restrained. however, based on the damage to yeosang, he figures it’s probably a safe bet that you are restrained. 

the door clicks behind him and he decides to kick off his combat boots. it doesn’t take much effort to find you considering your constant, slightly muffled screams for someone to help you. seonghwa finds you restrained on a dining room chair, your hands tied behind you and your ankles tied to the legs of the chair. you flinch when he finally enters your line of sight. you’re gagged with what looks like a cloth or a bandana. your eyes widen with a look of familiarity. 

seonghwa leans against the wall, tilting his head to the side. “hi, angel. remember me?” you turn your head away, avoiding his domineering gaze. a rush of frustration fills his veins, running his tongue over his teeth. he walks into your line of sight again, this time he flashes his gun at you. “you wanna try that again? remember me?” your eyes widen and you nod vigorously. a smile spreads over his face as he re-conceals his weapon.  

“do you know why you’re here?” he asks, leaning against the wall as if he had all the time in the world. you shake your head, desperately trying not to drool around your makeshift gag. seonghwa clicks his tongue, as if he’s disappointed in your cluelessness. “you’re here because you disrespected me. bad girls don’t get to just walk away from people like me.” he stares at you through his eyebrows, his anger showing in his face. you can’t help the adrenaline rush you get that prompts you to start struggling against your restraints. 

seonghwa is quick to close the space between you, grabbing you by the chin and staring into your eyes. “stop fucking struggling.” your body freezes like a deer in headlights, all of your movements stopping just as soon as they started. “do you even know who i am?” the empty look in your eyes gives him the answer he needs. it shocks him a little. someone who doesn’t know the most infamous person in the entire country. “have you ever heard of park seonghwa?” a strange glint passes over your eyes before you nod. he smirks before gesturing to himself. “you’re looking at him.” he pauses. “ honestly, you should be flattered that you’re here. i don’t pick just anyone to test like this.” 

you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “mmf- test?” you do your best to speak around your mouth covering and seonghwa chuckles before re-composing himself. “well, i have to see if i can break you. did you really think a pretty girl like you was going to get abducted like this and not get fucked?” a new rush of horror overcomes you and it lights a sinister flame within seonghwa. he can tell how anxious you are based on how the rhythm of your breathing immediately changes. he likes the way you react to his words. “oh princess, you’re in for a real treat.” 

everything in you is telling you to beg for your life. scream, cry and hope a hardened criminal like him has at least a little bit of empathy left in him. you know these efforts are futile, however. seonghwa sheds his coat and places it on the table next to you. his slim figure in his attractive suit have you wanting to drool. you stop yourself when your eyes meet his pistol once again. you gulp, watching as he adjusts his gloves. “i think it’s best i start your test now.” before you can react, he’s untying your legs and arms, forcing you to stand. you whine, your legs feeling numb from sitting for so long. he shoves you onto the couch in the living room. he watches you scramble away, not even moving to stop you. he knows there’s no escape.

“are you done?” he asks, his tone that of an exhausted father dealing with his bratty toddler. he crosses the room, throwing you over the armrest of the couch. he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear, pulling them both down with one quick tug. “god, you’re fucking dripping. what a whore. you like this, don’t you?” you shake your head, kicking your feet as if to try and keep him away. “get off m-me!.” your speech is muffled from the gag.  he shoves your legs apart and slots himself between them. seonghwa lands a harsh slap to your ass, causing you to yelp. “i said, are you fucking done?” you twist to look him in the face and scowl. you pull your gag off your face before speaking. “fuck you.” 

seonghwa leans over you and presses your face into the couch with one hand, while he uses the other to shove two gloved fingers into your cunt. you cry out, your sound muffled by the cushion “whores don’t speak like that to their owners, do they?” his fingers move quickly inside you, thrusting in and out. the leather rubbing against your walls adds to the already euphoric feeling. you grip the couch cushion so hard your knuckles turn white. seonghwa shoves another finger into you, curling them to find your g-spot. he leans over you further to whisper in your ear, his fingers still working an orgasm out of you. he pulls your head up by your hair to get better access to your ear. “if i didn’t know any better, i would say this is turning you on. i can just feel the way you’re clenching.” 

finally, you manage to kick him in the knee, sending him stumbling back. you gasp for air, your lungs desperate for oxygen. you don’t even have time to reap the benefits of getting him off you before he returns. this time, you feel something cold press against the skin of your ass. you hear the click of seonghwa cocking his gun. your whole body tenses, sucking in a sharp breath of air. “yeah, i bet now you wanna fucking behave.” he slides the barrel of the gun over your slit, collecting your slick. “p-please, don’t.” he sighs and shoves your face back down into the couch. “don’t speak unless spoken to.” he shoves the gun into your hole, the cold metal sending shivers down your spine. you know better than to fight back now.

he slides it in and out slowly, cherishing the way you suck it in with ease. the fear coursing through your veins heightens the pleasure. your whining and squealing at every drag inside you. seonghwa groans at the sight of you at his complete disposal, his gun inside you keeping you obedient. your legs begin to shake as you near your high, a feeling you regret. “ple-ah please,” you mumble into the couch.

“please what, baby?” you cry silently into the cushion, your shoulders shaking. your body reacts against your will, your orgasm barreling towards you. “c-cumming.” seonghwa says nothing as your orgasm crashes into you, your body trembling uncontrollably. as you finish, seonghwa shoves his gun into as far as it will go, making sure you can feel him brush his finger over the trigger. “this is the one time i’m gonna be nice to you. next time you cum without permission, i’m pulling the trigger.” he pulls his pistol all the way out of you, licking the remnants of your release off the gun.

he moves away from you slightly to pull his pants and boxers down mid-thigh. “stop it, p-please. i don’t want this.” seonghwa shakes his head before shrugging. “i don’t care what you want.” he keeps you bent over the couch, watching as your nerves continue to twinge. your cunt is red and swollen from use, yet still visibly slick. he drags his tip over your folds, gathering your wetness. you claw at the couch to try and crawl away, but he’s quick to pull you back. “don’t forget who has the gun, princess. one quick movement and you could be dead on this couch. do you want that?” you shake your head, fear making you shiver.

“didn’t think so.” with that, he shoves into you. his tip jabs at your cervix, the sudden stretch having you gasping for air. seonghwa’s jaw falls slack, watching the way his cock disappear into you. he fans his hands over your ass, grabbing and squishing your plush flesh. a hard slap rings through the room and you whimper, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. 

seonghwa’s hips begin moving. he’s nicer to you than he expected you to be. that doesn’t last, however. his thrusts pick up speed when you start wiggling under him, your own body betraying you in its desperation for pleasure. “silly girl, can’t even resist her captor's cock. just admit how much you like it, baby.” you shake your head, breathing so hard it’s making you dizzy. your brain is turning to mush and you’re losing your ability to fight back. not that you really want to anymore. he’s making you feel so good, why would you want to run?

seonghwa manhandles you, flipping you over and moving you so your ass is hanging off the couch cushions. he slots himself back between your legs in one quick motion. he shoves in to the hilt, snapping his hips against yours so hard you might bruise. he wraps his arms around your waist to snap into you harder and your eyes roll back. the room fills with noisy skin slapping sounds and the wet noises leaving your core. “fuck, you feel so good. you clench so pretty around my cock, baby.” 

he pulls his knife out of its holster, dragging it over your skin without pressing down. “i’m claiming you as mine. you will never know another man’s touch.” he adjusts his grip on the knife, guiding it down to your hip. seonghwa presses the blade into your skin, dragging it to carve an ‘s’ into your flesh. the stinging pain sends a new course of pleasure through you, your core sucking him in harder. “i knew you were dirty, but not this dirty. you like that, doll? you like when the man who kidnapped you carves his initials into your body?” you nod, your body twitching. 

seonghwa traces a few more lines into your skin with his knife before putting it down on the table behind him. he gathers your blood on his fingers and brings them to his mouth. “c-cumming,” you sputter. before you can say anything else, his gun is pressed to your temple. he shakes his head at you, clicking his tongue. his incessant thrusts into you are not helping you fight off your orgasm. “what did i say?” tears spill from your eyes, your eyeliner running down your face. you breathe so hard it hurts your chest. 

“please, please, need to cum. can i cum?” you plead. you hiccup, your bottom lip quivering. he pouts at you, pressing the gun against your head harder. his hips stutter and it becomes obvious that he’s been fighting his own orgasm. “cum for me, princess.” your eyes roll back and your back arches against him, his face pressing into your chest. you clench and unclench, hearing him let out a low moan. “that’s it, baby. milk my fucking cock. it’s all yours. yeah, it’s yours.” 

finally, your body relaxes. you had anticipated feeling a new rush of fear once the pleasure left you. but, you found yourself seeking his comfort. he holds you gently, discarding his weapons. “you passed the test, doll. i broke your brain and now you’re mine. i’ll keep you safe.” swiftly, he puts his clothes back on properly. he lifts you, carrying you out of the house despite your obvious lack of clothing. san and wooyoung stand outside the door patiently, waiting for instruction. “clean the house, make it spotless. also, i need one of you to grab my gun and my knife. i don’t wanna re-scare my baby right now.”

with that, you’re carried into the very car that had followed you just a few days ago. except this time, seonghwa got what he wanted. 

© lomlhwa 2025

[demonic0angel]

DC xDP

Via some form of magic, Danny gets split into six different emotions and can only communicate through some form of a vessel while visiting Gotham to check out the university. He unintentionally made a fae angry. Anxiety!Danny, who is pure white, finds a stuffed blue cat sitting on top of a pile of trash, it had a tear in it's chest, and phases into it and immediately approaches the nearest Bats for help tracking down the rest of his emotions that ran off after the spell hit Red Robin is wondering if he's hallucinating, and Robin is thinking this is some sort of trap, but he's also willing to help a person (read: Talking stuffed animal) in need. The remaining emotions and vessels are

Sadness- A purple dog plush

Pride- A golden lion plush

Love- A pink bunny plush with a red heart on it's stomach

Joy- An orange teddy bear

Anger- A green alligator plush

Nightwing almost shed a tear. "Do we have to try to find them so quickly? Look!" He whispered urgently as he gestured behind him.

Robin was sitting on the floor, talking to the plushy on the ground. The both of them were communicating in quiet tones, with Robin handing the plushy more crayons to write his thoughts with as the adorable cat stuffie struggled to hold its blue crayon.

Nightwing hurriedly took another picture and then looked at his other siblings and family with a desperate look in his eyes.

"It's so cute! Please, can you let me enjoy this some more??"

Red Robin and Red Hood shared a look. Clearly, their big brother was already going insane from cuteness induced fits.

"Hell no. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can sleep," Red Robin said, rubbing his temples. "I still can't tell if this is all a hallucination or not...."

Batman also took a picture with his phone, ignoring Red Robin and Red Hood's look of bewilderment and Nightwing's look of solidarity before he said, "For Danny's sake, I say that we should hurry. Who knows what will happen if he stays separated for too long?"

Nightwing sighed, drooping. "I guess you're right... but it's just so cute... Dami never gets to act like a kid..."

Red Robin sighed as well. "Fine! I'll take pictures for you, okay? And I'll make sure that Damian holds all of Danny's plushy selves so it'll be as cute as possible. So will you help us find all of him now?"

Nightwing beamed. "Deal! Where should we start? Danny told us that his sister was in town, so do you think we should contact this Jazz person first? Or— ooh! Do you think we can find Danny's joyful self first? I bet it'll be extra cute!"

Red Hood groaned, looking upwards at the ceiling for divine intervention, even though he was underground. "I should've just blocked B's phone number when he called me..."

[orions-aether]

"do you ever fear that the kindness shown to you by your friends is a reflection of their character? our family did not love us. and perhaps there is some trait of us that made that easy" um yes I do actually bleem shut the fuck up

[daddyissuesbecauseofhotch]

Daddy issues || #4

{masterlist}

You can’t help yourself, you simply have to see what Aaron’s like when he puts his son to bed. Does he read him a bedtime story? Do they talk about something? Does he kiss his forehead before tucking him in? The idea of him being the sweetest father, maybe as kind and caring as your own was, melts your heart. He’s already in the perfect category in your eyes, but if you’ll like what you see, you’ll have to create a brand new category just for him.

While you’ve never really thought about kids, being too busy attending parties almost every weekend, and sometimes during the weekdays if it was hard to decline an invitation, now you suddenly find yourself wondering what it would be like to take care of one. At this very moment, it’s not just any child in your mind. It’s Jack. He’s young, he could probably get used to the idea of having you around, and he seems to be a really good kid.

Letting out a dreamy sigh, you lean against the doorframe with your shoulder, your hands comfortably tucked into the pocket of the hoodie, and watch the bedtime ritual with curious eyes. Jack is aware of you being there, he keeps whispering something to his father while he’s glancing at you over and over again, and his father whispers back with a quiet chuckle. But then the boy yawns and falls back on his back, which prompts Aaron to pull the blanket up to his neck and lean down to kiss his forehead.

“Sleep tight, buddy,” he tells him softly before standing up to leave the room.

Without thinking, you take a few steps back so he can close the door, but when he stands toe to toe with you in the hallway, you lose contact with the filter between your brain and mouth. How could you think properly when he’s looking down at you with those brown eyes you want to drown in, watching you with that boyish smirk that makes your heart race?

So, you speak up and spit out something you should have kept to yourself. “How can something sweet like this be also hot as hell?” you ask him quietly, your breath hitching when he lets out a soft laugh. “That’s not funny.”

He shakes his head, the smile still present on his lips. “Actually, it is pretty funny. Come on, I have some really good wine waiting for us.”

Nodding, you follow him to the kitchen, but when you get there, he immediately cages you between himself and the counter. Your eyes are as big as saucers from the surprise, but you can only gulp since no words come to your mind. Deep down you know you should ask him what he’s doing, what the plan is, but you can’t get the words out. You’ve gone home with guys you barely knew before, one-night stands are nothing new to you sadly, but Aaron? You want to take it slow, you want to get to know him, but it’s clear he has a different idea.

Maybe for the first time in your life you want something real, a proper relationship that might be able to domesticate you, and you can feel that he’s the perfect candidate for that. Being with him would give you an instant family, though, you would find yourself in the role of a stepmom if things turned serious enough, and you’re terrified of that. What if Jack wouldn’t accept you? What if you fuck something up and end up hurting one of them?

“Hey,” he says quietly as he grabs your chin to make you look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Let’s see, you’re already daydreaming about a relationship that might never even happen. Yeah, right, he would escort you out of the apartment in a second. “Nothing, I’m just glad to see how happy your son is,” you reply, telling him a teeny tiny part of the truth.

A proud smile appears on his lips as he watches you, his gaze shifting down to your lips for a millisecond. Every fiber in your body is screaming at you to make the first move, to close the gap and kiss him, but your mind holds you back, telling you that it’s not the right time to be bold. Let him work for your attention, let him show you what exactly he wants. There’s no need to act like you do with guys your age.

Aaron leans close enough that you can feel his hot breath on your face when he exhales, but he doesn’t say anything, not even when he moves his hand from your chin to the side of your neck. How did he have the audacity to call you a tease when he’s doing things like that?

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he asks quietly, his thumb gently stroking your soft skin. When you give him a confused look, he shakes his head slightly. “The pull every time we’re close to each other. I can’t explain it, it’s just–”

“There,” you finish, finally understanding what he meant.

This pull, this attraction, this gravitational field is so strong that it’s impossible not to notice or choose to ignore it. Aaron knows that, you know that, and now maybe it’s time to explore what it means. He nods upon hearing the word you said out loud, but he remains silent, he just keeps watching you, analyzing you. During dinner, whenever Jack gave him a moment to talk, he told you about his job as a profiler, so now you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope.

Suddenly, he decides to knock you out of the depths of your thoughts by lifting you to the counter and placing a kiss on your nose. “Do you wanna find out what would happen if we got a little closer?” he asks, his hands moving to your knees, fingers spreading as he moves them up your thighs.

A jolt of electricity runs through you, and you can’t stop yourself, you cup his face and pull him into a kiss. He doesn’t hesitate to return it, quickly taking the lead as he kisses you hard and messy, way too eager to have you all to himself. All you want is spending the night in his bed, exploring every inch of his body and taking the time to learn more about him. He’s not that type, you know that, not someone who would sleep with a woman he barely knows, but God, you need him so bad.

The spell is broken when you hear some strange noises from Jack’s room, and his fatherly instincts kick in right away, making him rush to his son’s room. You don’t miss the sound of crying, the heartbreaking sobs of the child you grew to like so much in the past few hours. Your curiosity is strong, telling you to go and see what’s happening, but you also know it’s not something you should observe.

Some time later you’re sitting on the couch, mindlessly checking your notifications to see if there’s anything interesting, but your mind keeps returning to the kiss, that goddamn kiss you won’t be able to forget anytime soon. Finally, you hear the sound of footsteps from the bedrooms, and Aaron eventually sits next to you with a troubled look on his face.

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask hesitantly.

He shakes his head with a sigh. “Not now.”

You nod as you lock your phone and turn to him. “I didn’t want to sneak out without a word. Thank you for the dinner and everything, but I should probably go now.” Before he could speak, you stand up and slip the phone into the pocket of the hoodie. The hoodie that still smells like him.

It hurts. It really does. You can see the sadness in his eyes, but he doesn’t want to talk about it, and you don’t want to force him to tell you what’s wrong. Maybe he needs some time alone now to think about whatever happened in his son’s bedroom.

You’re not good at this; the emotional conversations are the bane of your existence. You work, you go to parties, but most of your relationships are extremely shallow. You have absolutely no experience in emotionally supporting someone in need of it, and you sure as hell won’t practice on the man you like so much.

When you grab the doorknob, though, you suddenly see him put his hand on the door next to your head to keep it closed. You turn to him with a confused look on your face. He lets out a humorless laugh as he watches you.

“It’s not an easy topic, okay? I’ll tell you, I promise, just… not yet. I wanted you to know this,” he adds, then leans in to give you a soft kiss. You return it, but it feels different now, so you put a hand on his chest to gently push him away. Now it’s his turn to look confused. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he sounds unsure of himself.

“No, it’s just getting late. Good night, Aaron.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but then he sees the determination in your eyes and gives up the fight before he could even begin. “Sure. Good night.”

[wooataes]

Real Eyes, Fake Lies (Part 11)

Pairing: soulmate!Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Hanahaki!AU, angst, all hurt no comfort, swearing, tears, the usual 🙂‍↕️

Summary: What do you do when you find out the one person that was created by the universe to be yours doesn’t want you back?

A/N: It has been WAY too long since I've updated this story and I apologise for that 🙂‍↕️ I finally feel like I've gotten my life back on track to finally be able to post a long awaited update!! Thank you to everyone who still reads and enjoys my fics, it means a lot ! 🥹 - Tae 💜🌸✨

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“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“His girlfriend left him, genius. What do you think is wrong with him?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. His housemates have as much subtlety as an earthquake. Their naturally loud voices seep through the closed door of his bedroom as he stares at his ceiling, a sigh leaving his lungs in the darkness as the outside voices drone on.

“Hyung,” Mingyu sighs. “It’s been over a week now… Should we call someone?”

“Who would we call?” Junhui retorts. “His soulmate? Because up until last week, I thought his soulmate was Ji-ah.”

The mention of her name creates another pit in Jihoon’s stomach. He hates it. He wishes he could just get over the stupid emotions that run through his veins at the mere thought of his not-soulmate, now also not-girlfriend.

“His parents are hours away and he has no siblings that we can contact.” Junhui continues, frustration laced in his voice. “I don’t know who we could call.”

“Doesn’t hyung have a cousin who-”

“I can hear everything you guys are saying. You know that, right?” 

Jihoon’s hard voice carries through the door, his housemates falling silent on the other end.

“Jihoon-ah.” A deep voice mutters, causing him to tense up. He knows that Wonwoo knows how to get through to him. “Can we talk?”

After a long pause, Jihoon’s bedroom door slightly creaks open. “Wonwoo, I told you yesterday,” he stares at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with the older man. “I am fine-”

“You are not, Jihoon-ah. And we both know it.” 

“How do you know?” He snips.

“You haven’t left your bedroom since Ji-ah left you last week.” Jihoon sucks his teeth at her name.

“I never left my bedroom before she left me.” He hisses back.

“Yes, you did.” Wonwoo retorts back. 

“When? To go on dates with her?” he barks. “To take her out? To go visit her family? Well, guess what? She is gone, Wonwoo, so I have a whole lot more free time and I choose to spend that time at home.” his voice cracks slightly, bottom lip shaking as he moves to close the door once more, his frown deepening as Mingyu grabs a hold of the door before it closes.

“Hyung, we’re sorry.” Mingyu’s voice is softer now as he looks at him with sad eyes. “We’re so fucking sorry that you’re going through this but we are here for you and want to be there for you.”

“I don’t need-”

“Please don’t push us away.” Wonwoo frowns, his hand resting over Jihoons. “Jihoon-ah…”

Jihoon shakes his head quietly, a small hiccup leaving his lips. “Wonwoo, I promise, I’m fine.” He gently lets his hand fall from Wonwoo’s as he moves to shut the door to his bedroom once more, wiping the stray tears that threaten to spill from his eyes.

“I truly don’t know what to do, guys.” Jihoon winces at the defeated tone of his older housemate’s voice as he climbs back into the comfort of his bed once more, hoping to forget about the world around him for a little bit longer.

Jihoon heaves a loud sigh as he steps into his first Film Studies class in nearly two weeks, slumping down in his chair, rubbing at his temples slightly as Professor Park begins his usual droning on. He really should be listening to the lecture at hand, but he can’t bring himself to. Not when he can feel the eyes of multiple people in the class lingering on him. He’s sure that word has gotten around now about his very public dumping and the fact that Ji-ah was obviously never his soulmate. He hates that he can feel the sympathy radiating off of his peers, and even off of you, his real soulmate, sitting directly beside him with your stupid perfect hair and stupidly neat notes that you wordlessly offered him to help catch him up on the classes he missed. He accepts them graciously, spending most of the lesson copying your notes into his notebook.

“Professor,” a deep voice from the back of the room calls out near the end of the lesson, drawing Jihoon from his thoughts. 

“Yes, Jaebeom?” 

Your soulmate glances at you at the sight of your body tensing up at the mention of the newcomer’s name. He tilts his head slightly as he feels nerves begin to bubble in the pit of his stomach from you, causing him to raise a brow. You take a slow breath before scribbling idly on your page again, indifference on your face, but Jihoon knows it’s a front. 

Why are you so tense?

“About the extension on our group project?” Jaebeom’s voice lulls out in a drawl, a clear cockiness hidden in his tone. 

“Ah yes,” Professor Park hums, nodding his head. “I know some of you have gone ahead and already submitted your essays and presentations to me, and I’m thankful for you guys for getting these to me on time and even earlier. For the remainder of you all who have yet to submit your projects, I’ve extended the deadline by two weeks, due to an unavoidable event I must attend.”

Jihoon hears his classmate’s sighs of relief, and in turn, he breathes out as well. He knew he had neglected his end of his project with you for the last week, and he feels grateful that he can make up for it.

“I do hope the rest of you,” Professor Park sends a look to the back of the room, “get this done in due time. Class dismissed.”

Jihoon wordlessly offers your notebook back to you, a frown forming on his face when he sees you duck your head, letting your hair fall over your face. He glances to see a taller man wearing low jeans and a beat up baseball cap on his head march- no, strut down the stairs to reach the door, sauntering out with what Jihoon can only describe as a sleazy grin on his face. Once he steps out of the room, you immediately collect your things, bow your head to Jihoon with a little smile, and jump up to leave the classroom.

“Professor,” your soulmate approaches the teacher. “I appreciate you extending the deadline-”

“Oh, Jihoon-ssi!” Professor Park smiled. “Are you feeling better? Miss Choi told me that you were unwell when she submitted your project to me last week.”

“Oh.. Yeah, I’m feeling alri- Wait. Submitted?” Jihoon blinked.

“Yes,” he smiled. “Both of your arguments had wonderful points to pit against each other. Well done! I will be posting your grades in a few weeks!”

You finished off the project for him? Why are you so… nice?

“Uh… Thank you, Professor.” Jihoon bows his head in thanks before slowly stepping out of the classroom, starting to walk in the direction of home, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance.

Jihoon takes a deep sigh as he finds himself sitting down at the park bench that is so familiar to him now, letting the raindrops land on his clothes and face as he tilts his head back.

“Jihoon-ssi?” your voice is quiet over the sound of the loud rain, but Jihoon could hear you. He always does. He blinks as he feels the heavy raindrops that land on his hoodie abruptly stop, looking up to see a pastel umbrella being held over his now drenched body. “What are you doing out here?”

Jihoon shrugs quietly for a moment. “I… don’t know.” He glances down at the wet sleeves of his hoodie. “Just.. Thinking.”

“Well, I think you should think away from a torrential downpour next time,” you quip with a little smile, hoping the joke makes him crack a smile.

“Nah,” he hums. “It’s comforting, the rain..” 

“Comforting?” You echo, tilting your head innocently as he hums a confirmation.

“Mm. Rain doesn’t have colour.” He glances at you for a moment, slightly amused by the cluelessness on your face as you just blink at him. “Ah, it’s silly, really,” he continues. “The sky doesn’t have colour when it rains, it reminds me of what the world looked like before everything changed. Everything is so different now.”

“You’re right.” You agree quietly. “Everything is different.”

“Thank you,” Jihoon mumbles after a brief silence. “For helping finish off the project while I was… y’know.”

“Oh, that?” You shrug. “That was nothing. You had all the arguments, I just articulated them for you. Figured that you already had enough on your plate so I thought you wouldn’t mind if I submitted a little early to get it out of the way for the both of us.”

“How do you do it?”

“Huh? Do what?”

“... Live.” Jihoon’s voice is barely above a whisper as you settle down on the park bench beside Jihoon, still holding the umbrella over his head. “How do you just live life so damn happily while you feel like absolute shit all the time? And don’t deny that you don’t, I have felt every single emotion you have felt for weeks now.”

You pause for a moment, looking up at the sky before humming. “I suppose I just got used to it.” You shrug. “It kind of just became like a background noise for me. It’s just always there.” 

“Even when the pain is doubled now? Because of me?”

You shrug once more. “It’s not something I haven’t dealt with before. I can feel the pain for both of us, Jihoon-ssi. It’s okay.” You give him a little smile. “I have had a lot more practice at loss than you have.”

Jihoon feels the irritation bubbling up inside him slowly.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You blink in confusion as you glance at him. “Huh?”

“I have experienced loss too, you know.”

“I know that, I just-”

“I am more than capable of feeling these emotions too.” He frowns.

“I know,” you emphasize, “I just wanted you to know you don’t have to face them on your own.”

Jihoon scoffs quietly. Who does she think she is, giving him advice on how to deal with his emotions? “I know that too. You don’t need to point out the obvious, Choi.”

“Do you know that?” You retort, raising an eyebrow. “Because from what Mingyu told me, you’ve barely left your room until this week.”

“Ugh,” Jihoon groans, leaning his head back. “Am I not allowed to have time to myself?”

“Of course you are,” you sigh. “But you’re also-”

“You know, you should think about facing your emotions on your own instead of relying on everyone else around you.” Jihoon hisses at you with a glare as you freeze with wide eyes. 

“H-huh?” He can feel your doubt seeping into his veins.

“Your brother, his soulmate, Soonyoung, Seokmin,” he rambles. “They’re always at your beck and call when they could be living their own lives with each other and not have to worry about you every five fucking minutes like you’re their child.”

“I…” You balk, Jihoon wincing at the feeling of your stomach twisting inside him. But he doesn't care, he wants you to hurt as much as he does. It’s your fault he doesn’t have Ji-ah anymore, afterall.

“Just go away!” He barks. “When will you realize that your help isn’t needed?! You’re not needed! I lost the one girl I truly fucking loved because of YOU! Why would I want you around?! Leave me alone already!”

After a long silence, Jihoon finally turns his head to look at you, staring at him for what seems like hours with the same look that you had on the day you brushed hands for the first time. That isn’t what frightens your soulmate, though. What frightens him is the fact that he can’t feel anything inside him anymore, besides his own pain.

“... sorry, I’ll leave you alone.” You mumble robotically, delicately placing the umbrella beside him before rising and walking through the heavy rain in the direction of your house, letting the rain run down your clothes.

“Fuck.” Jihoon sighs heavily and buries his face into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as he hears your footsteps move further and further away.

He needs to apologize. He knows he does. He knows he said those words out of anger and hurt, and he knows you definitely didn’t deserve it. 

But why can’t he find it in himself to go to you and do it? You’re literally two tables away from him right now.

Jihoon, he scolds himself, it’s been days. You need to man up and tell her you’re sorry. 

Could he be worrying a little now because since he confronted you, he has felt no emotions whatsoever from you? Has he finally lost the tether from you?

“Hello you!!” A loud, cheery voice snaps him into reality. He blinks as he stares at his cup of ramen in his hand, fidgeting on the hard steel of the cafeteria chair underneath him, trying to figure out where the loud voice had come from.

Seungkwan makes his way over to where you’re sitting, draping himself over your back. Before he can ask how you are, you jolt up quickly, scooting away from him like you’ve been burned.

“Hey.” You give him a little smile, pressing yourself up against the wall. “Where’s Hansol? You should be with Hansol.”

Seungkwan’s face contorts slightly as he sticks his lips out in almost a pout. “He had to run to make his next class… Bug, what’s wrong-”

“I actually have to run too, Kwan.” You stammer out quickly, grabbing your backpack and stepping out from behind the table. “Talk later?”

“But, you haven’t even touched your lunch…” his voice fades out as he watches you rush quickly out of the cafeteria, surprise etched on his face.

Jihoon watches on, just as surprised as Seungkwan as he reaches the table with him, Soonyoung and Seokmin.

“Okay, what the hell was that? What happened to Bug?” Seungkwan immediately questions Soonyoung, who upon further inspection, looks just as out of it as you are.

“We don’t know,” Seokmin speaks for his soulmate. “Every time she’s at home, she stays locked up in her room and only leaves to cook dinner for us and clean up. She didn’t even come down for movie night the other night.”

Your soulmate’s eyes widened slightly as Soonyoung took a deep breath. “Something has happened and she won’t tell us what. She doesn’t even speak when she’s at home anymore.”

“We’ve tried to talk to her, get her to come out of her room, do anything, but she doesn’t budge. I’m getting worried.” Seokmin bites his lip.

“I don’t know what the hell has happened to our Bug. She is literally just doing fucking chores and whenver one of us tries to hang out..” your best friend rubs at his temples. “She keeps insisting we hang out with our soulmates. With each other. I don’t know why the fuck that doesn’t mean she can’t hang out with us too.”

Jihoon feels sick as your housemate’s words sink in to him.

When will you realize your help isn’t needed? You’re not needed!

Fuck.

“Jesus Christ, Jihoon-ah.” Wonwoo breathes out when Jihoon finally steps through the door. “You were supposed to be back four hours ago. What the hell were you- Jihoon-ah?” 

His eyes widened at the sight of his housemate stepping under the lights of the hallway, lip trembling and hair sticking in six different directions. Jihoon truly didn’t mean to take so long making it home. He supposes he lost track of time wandering campus with his racing mind.

He knew his words had gotten to you. At the moment it felt good, for you to feel the pain he did. But now? Seeing his friends, your family agonizing over how detached you are? 

What has he done?

“Jihoon…” Junhui looks on worriedly, reaching forward to slip the backpack off his housemate’s shoulders.

“I… I knew what I was getting into when I chose to date her, Wonwoo.” His voice quivers as he stares at the ground. “I knew that she already had a soulmate, but… I-I didn’t think…” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Wonwoo agrees.

“She told me that he had moved countries years ago… There was no chance he’d come back…” a small tear slides down his cheek as his housemate hums in acknowledgement. “And when I… when I found my soulmate and I-” Jihoon chokes back a sob. “And I rejected them to keep a hold of Ji-ah…” His soft cries echo into the quiet hallway. “I… I felt their heart break inside of me, I’ve felt their pain for weeks a-and now I feel their pain on top of my own and… fuck, I broke her, man.”

“Oh, Jihoon…” Junhui sighs sympathetically as Wonwoo pulls Jihoon towards him, bringing his head into his shoulder as his arms wrap around his back in a warm embrace. 

Jihoon pauses for a moment. He blinks once, twice, and a third time before he lets out a soft sob, his hands gripping onto Wonwoo’s shoulders desperately as he buries his face into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Hyung,” he chokes out. “I r-really fucked up.”

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[dellamortethelesser]

please talk about illario some more and the way he charms his marks in ways lucanis never could

i am only the peoples' servant...

one thing i find interesting in the wigmaker job (TWJ) is how... subconsciously appreciative Lucanis is of his cousin's talents? while his perception of Illario is certainly fond and familial, there is this consistent undertone of fondness that's always being levied toward him by Lucanis. I won't get too much into it because I am finally working on those essays and may post them up later, but Lucanis is very clearly calling the shots in TWJ and keeping Illario out of the loop in a way that is fit to breed resentment, but it's never about Illario's talents. He acknowledges consistently that Illario is good at what he does, that it works, "amazed at what one man's smile could accomplish".

and that's just it! Illario is innately better at reading people, matching their energy, meeting them where they are. he knows what could get a knight-commander to fluster enough that he sneaks her keys right off her person--and he's never met the woman before. he's good at improvisation, when he's told that there will be need to improvise (much of TWJ is Lucanis putting Illario on the back foot, but he keeps rolling with it and pulling it off even if he's frustrated). Lucanis is just not able to do that--at least, not in a way that's disingenuous.

I don't want to make this about Lucanis but it's hard to not discuss them both; Lucanis is very good at getting to the heart of people; we're shown that consistently in TWJ when he interacts with his contacts and the slaves that they respond to him because of the respect that he grants them as individuals--which isn't a bad thing! it's just... well, they're not revolutionaries, as Illario puts it. Lucanis makes a bad assassin because of that bleeding heart.

Illario doesn't have that; there's walls up, facades, and that's what makes it so easy for him to put on whatever face he needs to charm, seduce, romance, and distract whomever he faces to get what he wants. It's an impressive and valuable skill to be able to do that; Illario understands people in a way Lucanis can't, and vice versa. Illario is also more aware of politics and shifting sociopolitical dynamics in a way that endangers himself and Lucanis that Lucanis... blatantly ignores.

lol i know this was an ask about Illario's seduction skills--he has them, definitely. Lucanis could never dream to match them. Illario throws lines that most people would consider trite but does it so earnestly and skillfully that you can't help but believe him. He tips drinks and offers a new one, brushes a lock of hair back and compliments on the color of their eyes or their taste in jewelry. but I would be remiss to not point out the inherent... dishonesty in his actions compared to Lucanis. Just to give everyone something to think about.

[steddieas-shegoes]

i love him on purpose

for @steddielovemonth using red, white, and royal blue for inspiration

rated t | 1385 words | cw: forced coming out | tags: established relationship, secret relationship, royal steve harrington, wayne munson is the president (god i wish)

🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵

The news broke in the middle of the night, long after Eddie had fallen asleep, and just before Steve’s alarm woke him up.

PRINCE STEVEN CAUGHT HOOKING UP WITH FIRST SON EDDIE, ROYAL FAMILY INSISTS ON SECRECY

Every headline is some variation of Steve and Eddie being caught, but there’s no photos. Most articles point to the royal family not wanting to allow it, but they didn’t even know about it.

Steve’s been so careful, much more careful than Eddie. Eddie’s told his best friends and Wayne, who deserves to know when his nephew turned son is getting into things. Especially when the thing he’s getting into is the Prince of England.

Steve doesn’t really have many friends. He has Robin, who is more like a sister to him, and an entire advisory team, publicists, security…

He won’t answer his phone, which means all of those people have probably informed him he is to have no contact with the outside world until they figure out what to do. Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

They talked about hypotheticals, as any young adults in the public eye are wont to do. How they’d handle the press when they come out. How they would handle Steve’s family when they come out.

All under the assumption that they would have control over their coming out.

How naive.

“Ed. I have to give some kind of message here,” Wayne says softly, gently like he knows that Eddie is gonna beg him not to say anything until he hears from Steve. “Silence ain’t gonna win us any favors.”

“I promised he wouldn’t have to do this alone,” Eddie says. “If we make a statement now, I’m just throwing him to the wolves.”

“Not necessarily. Plenty of options with what to say. As long as we acknowledge we’ve seen it, they don’t have to have any other information,” Wayne says. “I’ll follow your lead, kid.”

“I don’t know what the right thing is.”

Wayne pulls him into a hug. This isn’t the first time they’ve had a PR nightmare on their hands, and probably won’t be the last. Wayne’s always been good at handling things just fine.

But this is something Eddie needs to handle. He accepts the comforting hug, then he decides to be brave.

****

“Forcing anyone to come out is disgusting, and the media has done it time and time again. In this case, they took something that should have been up to me, and up to Prince Steve, and made it world news based on a false report of someone seeing us together at an event. Whether we are together romantically or not isn’t up for speculation. We are what we are. We choose how to define that to ourselves, to our loved ones, and maybe someday, to everyone.” Eddie takes a deep breath and looks into the many cameras facing him, trying his best to ignore the reporters anxiously waiting to be able to ask questions. He’s not letting them, but they don’t know that yet. “Respect goes both ways. Pops has always taught me that respect is earned, not freely given. No one in this press room has earned my respect. Until you do, the only news story you can break about me is that I’m disappointed in the way the media has handled this news story. Thanks for your time.”

Eddie leaves the room.

Wayne is waiting for him in his office.

“Proud of ya, son.”

“Thanks.”

“Your boy will be here in four hours.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. “He called?”

“He did more than call. He caused a scene with every secretary in the building. He insisted he needed to speak to me.”

“He could’ve called me,” Eddie is pacing.

“You left your phone in here earlier, remember? He was desperate.”

“Is he okay? Have they made a statement yet?”

“They haven’t. They wanted to see what we’d do first.” Wayne holds Eddie’s phone out to him. “But I think he could stand to hear from ya.”

Eddie steps in to take the phone from him, but Wayne clasps his hand between his, holding tight.

“I can’t protect you from the media forever, but I’ll always stick up for you and your happiness. You know that?”

“Of course I do,” Eddie answers.

“That goes for your Prince, too,” Wayne smirks. “His family’s on thin ice, though.”

****

Eddie talks to Steve on the phone for a few minutes, but Steve’s not alone, and Eddie’s trying not to hide away entirely from everyone who cares about him. It’s a short conversation, but it’s enough to get them through until Steve arrives.

He sounds like he’s being stoic.

Eddie knows he’s struggling.

It takes nearly two hours of security for Steve to actually get to Eddie’s suite.

“Baby,” Eddie says as he pulls Steve into his chest, feeling whole for the first time since he woke up. “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”

“They’re making a statement any minute now,” Steve says miserably.

“I’m guessing it’s not what you wanted.” Steve shakes his head in response. “That’s okay. We can work with whatever we need to.”

“They wouldn’t let me do it,” Steve explains. “I wanted to do something like what you did. They said I was too emotional.”

“I think you’re just emotional enough. God forbid you show signs of being a human.”

Steve laughs. Eddie smiles.

“Have you eaten? Do you wanna get cleaned up? I know you hate how airplanes make you feel,” Eddie offers.

Steve tightens his grip around Eddie. That’s answer enough.

****

“We sincerely hope the media will understand that making accusations of this nature about a member of the royal family will not go unpunished. Whether it is true or not, we will be handling this discussion internally. We have contacted the President’s office to have a discussion with their team. Eddie’s statement today was not discussed with us beforehand, nor did it go through any of our approval, and should not be seen as our official statement.”

“Does your grandfather always look like someone pissed directly in his eye?” Eddie asks Steve as they watch the official statement from his room.

“It depends on which of us has displeased him,” Steve laughs. “If it’s my mother, his lip curls up over his teeth.”

Eddie pulls Steve into his side on the couch, turning off the television so they can have some peace. They sit in the silence for a couple of minutes, something neither of them get to do very often.

“Wayne offered us the house in Indiana for a bit. Said it might be nice for us to just be away from the chaos,” Eddie runs his fingers up and down Steve’s arm, smiling to himself when Steve shivers against him. “At least for a few days. Let the media move on and give time for your family to get the sticks surgically removed from their asses.”

“That sounds nice,” Steve agrees, leaning his head back to kiss Eddie’s lips. “I wanna do something first, though.”

Steve pulls away so he can get his phone from the coffee table. It’s been on silent and face down since he arrived. He types for a minute, and Eddie waits.

Steve sets his phone down and turns back to Eddie with a grin.

“Okay, ready to go.”

Eddie’s phone goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks down at where he’s been tagged on Instagram in Steve’s post.

It’s a picture from the trip they took with Wayne to Indiana last month, the two of them by a fire with melted marshmallow all over their lips. They’re both happy.

The caption makes tears pool in Eddie’s eyes and a semi-hysterical laugh burst from his throat.

Doesn’t matter who pissed in his eye, as long as I’ve got you. Let’s go off the grid, baby

“You’re gonna be in so much fuckin’ trouble, baby,” Eddie laughs with disbelief.

“I don’t care. They know better than to cause a bigger scene.” Steve kisses the corner of his mouth. “Can we go to that diner when we get there? The one with the burger that have cheese inside the meat?”

“How American of you,” Eddie teases. “I’ll make sure Wayne calls Benny ahead of time so he knows we’re on our way.”

[petermorwood]

I'm surprised to see a How-To like this dated to the 1950s, when I'd have thought rotary dials weren't exactly new tech, but @dduane suggested It might have been because small US communities still relied on party lines and switchboards, where a number, PEnnsylvania 6-5000 for instance...

...was asked for rather than dialled personally, and actually using a dial phone might be an unfamiliar experience.

Oddly enough, this How-To doesn't actually explain how to USE the dial (on another page, probably) so here's how.

UK dial left, US dial right, operating principal the same.

Lift the earpiece or handset, put a fingertip into the appropriate numbered hole on the dial, drag it around to the finger-stop, remove the finger and let the dial rotate back to start position.

(Don't force it, auto-rotation is what sends the number as a series of electrical pulses so forcing it confuses things. Voice of long-ago experience.)

Repeat for the remaining numbers, then speak when the call is answered. End the call by putting the earpiece / handset back in place.

*****

Aspects of outdated but still-in-memory social history fascinate me, partly because they were part of my life though now they seem to be museum exhibits, and also because various details are useful bits of info for fictional world-building.

For instance, in a small town or village it was common knowledge that the switchboard operator - not a government tapper, just a person you or your family might meet every day - could be listening to any phonecall, so sensitive subjects were avoided or worded with care.

Read on.

*****

I grew up with rotaries and the first I ever used - standing tiptoes on a chair - was one just like this wall-mounted contraption, which had been in my Grandad's grocery shop since about 1930, when his phone line was first connected.

Grandad was an earlier adopter. I've got a shop receipt stamp showing the phone number back then, which had only three digits. Numbers in the same town are now eight digits...

The "candlestick" phone (far more common in historical movies and TV dramas) had most of the same working telephone parts, but needed a table or desk to rest on and its connection box with bells mounted on a wall, whereas the wall-mount has this box built-in behind the dial and mouthpiece.

Also, since typical style of use involved two hands...

...if only to brace it on the table (they were top-heavy and could overbalance)...

...it was a lot less convenient for making notes or taking down orders.

NB an interesting little detail in that first photo - a sandglass egg-timer attached to the phone for timing calls.

*****

Writer Side-Note 1: the hooks for the earpiece have a spring. Take the earpiece off and it snaps up to make the connection, put the earpiece back and it drops down under the weight, breaking the connection.

I sometimes wonder (and should probably find out) if early phonership being higher in the US than across the Pond influenced why US light switches work the same way as the phone hook, up for on, down for off. UK / Irish ones are the opposite.

Certainly those hooks are why "pick up" means answering a call and "hang up" means ending it, even if nowadays both are done by tapping an on-screen icon.

Indeed, we still "dial" a number even though actual dials are long gone - unless they've been put back as an app, see below... :->

"Ringing off the hook" suggests a phone so busy that bits of it are jumping off - but also, that it's so busy it won't shut up even when disconnected.

In fact it would shut up if that happened, and gave rise to another phrase which nowadays has a slightly different origin and meaning.

Lifting the earpiece off its hook and putting it to one side without making a call meant anyone phoning the number would get a busy signal. Thus "off the hook" meant "can't be contacted", often with an implication of "doesn't want to be contacted."

Nowadays the phrase owes more to fishing than phones, so "off the hook" means "avoided a threat / got away" - though perhaps there's still a telephonic echo in "isn't caught". YMMV.

*****

Writer Side-Note 2: older phones didn't have a dial. Instead, lifting the earpiece made a connection (indicated AFAIK by a light) at the local "switchboard exchange", indicating that someone wanted to make a call.

The "telephonist" (usual term for working with an office network) or "operator" (usual term for working with a public network) would reply, find out which person (office) or number (public) the caller wanted to reach, and make the connection by hand.

The usual conversation went something like this:

"Hello, caller, which number do you require?"

"Mr Brandybuck's office, please," or "HOBbiton 3-5-7-9, please," or "Bywater police station, quickly!"

"Thank you, caller. One moment, please. Connecting you now... You're through."

The operator could also listen in to any conversation and, at small local exchanges where they weren't too busy and knew one or maybe both callers, they often did.

In fact and fiction this habit made them a useful source of gossip, information and evidence, and callers' awareness of it also meant that any "interesting" phonecall would be framed in guarded or oblique language which might sound a lot more suspicious than it really was.

*****

Whenever a caller in "Downton Abbey", "Peaky Blinders" or whatever rattles the hook of a phone up and down, it's because they're trying to get the operator's attention that bit faster by making the switchboard signal light blink.

Anyone who's pressed the call button on a lift several times to make it hurry up, even when that button's lit to show it's on the way, will know exactly what I mean. However, an old-style phone linked to an old-style switchboard might actually have had an effect. With lifts, not so much.

*****

Rotary phones got a lot sleeker as time went by...

...though they still had spring-loaded switches - those two little black nubbins - to open and close a connection. These too could be jiggled to "speed things up", though by this stage the exchange was usually automated so it was no more effective than prodding lift buttons.

Despite that, "picking up" and "hanging up" remained a fairly accurate description, especially with wall-mounted phones.

This style of phone, or at least their hand-set design, still provides the basis for phone icons in many / most smartphones.

*****

Rotary phones went out of style in favour of push-button designs, including cordless ones...

This carried over to mobile phones, first big...

...then not so big...

...then small, then smart and getting big again...

Smartphones also started with push-buttons before going over to touch-screens, and now what goes around comes around, with apps for those touchscreens to simulate both push-button and rotary phones.

To complete the retro experience there are (or were, anyway) vintage-phone charging docks with working handsets.

Install a rotary-dialler app in this, and it's back to the future.

Especially if there are cradle switches to jiggle so the cell connects faster...

:->

“How to Use a Dial Telephone” 1951.

[dadsbongos]

dirty 30... or 40.

1.9 k words / warnings - (first time) anal, age gap/age diff kink, jimmy's your asshole ex, kinda rushed but like stfu

summary - it's curly's birthday! and a surprise guest (jimmy's pretty ex) gives him a surprise present!

“My dad died at forty, man,” the redhead in front of him mumbles. Plump lips stained red with wine and hair mussed in all the places she’s been wringing her fingers through it. Her eyes are a little drifty, empty behind the color and caked mascara, “But you’re in way better shape. So, you’re fine… I think. You don’t have cancer, right?”

Curly clears his throat, shakes his head to both refuse the accusation and try spotting any of his actual friends, “I don’t think I do.”

Jimmy is across the room, standing in the open patio door with his back to the room. An unlit cigarette bit between his molars and a black lighter in the hand he’s using to point out the glass frame. His cheeks are red, surely not from the single beer he’s had, and his face is pinched toward a scowl. He’s getting in a fight.

Perfect.

“Ah,” Curly beams down at the woman, a friend’s friend’s sister he thinks. Fresh out of a divorce. Pretty. One year older than him. Lovely, drunk, off putting, “My friend needs me. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Usually the last two are more his type, but tonight just isn’t his.

She nods and waves him off with the sweetest little, “happy birthday!” he’s heard all night.

Easily cutting across his tiled kitchen through the spread of his friends and family, Curly flocks where everyone else is already staring: troublemaker Jimmy raising his voice at an unseen woman in the backyard. Music filters in through the open doorway, not nearly loud enough to cover the murmuring of people wondering why the man was even invited. Which Curly supposes is fair -he tends to avoid bringing Jimmy to his formal birthday gatherings because everyone showing up is either from work or related to him.

But for some reason, the morning after Curly’s real birthday party with his friends Jimmy insisted upon making an appearance. Said he’d smoke the whole way through, but he’d stick it out.

Right as he’s brushing back stressed blonde waves and gearing up to drone out the classic hey what’s going on? he sees exactly what’s going on. From over Jimmy’s shoulder, he gets a view of the entire grassy block making up his backyard. Cousins and their older kids clog towards the pool, a few aunts lingering by his orange trees, but all the way to the right is his target. All the way to the right, at the very side of his house is a cracking wood gate door hung on rusty, squeaky hinges.

A hand is on that door, it trails around the edge and around to slide its metal bar lock into place before joining the other hand in cradling a yellow polka dot box. A purple glitter ribbon crinkles into the bust of your shirt, shiny flecks decorating your cleavage.

Once his eyes tread up your neck, he spots the beaten pout slithered over your face. Gaze honed on Jimmy -- which redirects his own attention toward Jimmy, the entire reason he’d toddled over this way.

“Get your hooker ass the fuck outta here!” Jimmy doesn’t give you the benefit of anyone’s doubt, either, he fishes you directly out of the crowd with the tip of his lighter. Silver glinting beneath the warm sun, “Bitch, if you- !”

“Don’t pretend we were strangers,” Curly steps past Jimmy, slightly jostling the man with his broader shoulders. Thick stature leaking out at his friend’s side and pouring onto the cement, he waves you over, “It’s been awhile! Glad you could find the place alright.”

Then Jimmy stabs an elbow into Curly’s side, hissing, “You fuckin’ invite this cunt?”

“No,” dismissively, Curly shrugs while watching you slink over. Heels stapling lime green astroturf into the ground as you do, “But what’s the hurt?”

“Bitch,” Jimmy scoffs, reaching behind the both of them to slam the glass door shut. Staunchly avoiding eye contact with you by craning his neck downward, cigarette drooping between his front teeth while he fiddles to light it.

“Good to see you again, Curly,” you all but purr, pushing the box in hand beneath your chest to give him a biiiig birthday hug, “I’m glad Jimmy hasn’t killed you yet.”

“Shoulda fried your ass,” is all the man says.

Curly laughs when he really shouldn’t and ticks his head towards the door, “Want to come inside?”

“How nice,” it’s clear you’re saying that loud enough for Jimmy to hear, “Of course, I do.”

To ease his friend even a little, Curly lingers at the glass door and quietly offers, “Jim’ wanna come inside?”

Jimmy shakes his head stiffly, sucking almost half the life from his cigarette in one breath.

“It’s been awhile, how’ve you been?” he guides you into the kitchen and pops the fridge. Snaking a hand deep into the back for one of those fruity seltzers he knows you drink (Jimmy hates them all and made you chug his entire beer in apology for buying them one night, Curly thinks that’s why he remembers this about you).

Your face, still round with unlived life and sweetness, brightens seeing the crisp white can in Curly’s hand, exchanging gift for gift as you answer, “Pretty good… Nothing crazy. How about you? What’s old age feel like?”

“Old age,” Curly rolls his eyes, twiddling the showy bow you tied, “Jimmy’s older than me, you know?”

“What do you think I called him?”

“‘Babe.’” jimmy hates pet names unless he’s the one giving them.

“You’re so cute,” you slide into his side, expertly dragging one tassel of ribbon to undo the knot. Skin flush against his, your warmth mingling until he can’t surely state where personal space ends and begins, “I meant that. Differently.”

Once the bow is done away, you lift the top of the box to expose a single piece of paper scrawled over with a pink glitter pen and heart stickers.

“I thought it’d be funnier this way, but uhh, happy birthday!” you have to double check Jimmy’s still outside before kissing Curly’s stubbled cheek. A dewy stain left behind, smelling of pure sugar, “You said you liked your ladies direct, right?”

‘ONE FREE COUPON FOR: BIRTHDAY SEX!’

Curly feels winded. Grasp on the box tightening. He blinks down at the scraplet before locking onto you.

Soft and sweet, despite it all. A reprieve from his own bullshit as much as an untouchable boundary. Maybe even more forbidden, actually.

Con: Jimmy had to buy your drinks for you when you two first got together, and that was only a couple years ago.

Con: You’re strangers outside of Jimmy.

Con: You’re Jimmy’s fucking ex.

Con: You’re almost half his age.

Con: You’re Jimmy’s ex.

Con: half his age

Con: jim’s ex

Con: age

Con: ex

pro: you’re absolutely throwing yourself at him.

“You think that’s a good idea?” Curly can’t really look you in the eye so he focuses on the patch of skin between your brow bones. Weirdly, that too is pretty to him.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” you shrug, so disconcerted with taboos and trivialities just like his cousins’ kids, “We’re both single, right? Not like anybody’s getting their feelings hurt.”

“Jim’ would- !”

“Jim’ would kill me if I toasted you,” you’re not sure why they’re friends but you don’t have the energy to ask, especially if it means it’s about to lead you to the holy grail of men, “Forget about him for a second, it’s your birthday.”

Sexual liberty, anti-puritanism, pleasure principle and all that bullshit -- kids these days are all hopped on hormones and fight those causes daily just for the right to fuck as they please (jesus he should stop saying ‘kid’). Sometimes social impurities are set in place for a reason.

But this is your choice, isn’t it?

Besides, you dated Jimmy. How much worse could Curly be for you?

“Break up was pretty ugly,” Curly hisses like this hurts him, and for all you know it probably does. His knuckles are whitening as he holds the (practically empty) box, “He wouldn’t even tell me about it.”

“Do you actually give a shit? Or do you just want me to go home?” you take the box away and make to turn out the door.

Not even a second passes before Curly scrambles after you, after the box. One hand on the corner and one hand on your shoulder as he blushes and pants, “Well- I- well- you know?”

“No clue, Grant.”

You beam up at him, all teeth glowing beneath rosy lips.

“You’re terrible,” Curly steers you towards the stairs, shaking his head the entire time, “You’ll get me killed.”

“Relax, it’s your birthday -you can do whatever you want!”

Like having sex right upstairs from the party composed of all your family and work friends.

“How’re you doing…? Hah -shit- can I move?”

“Uhhh… go slow, please?” you bat lashes up at him, one cheek smushed against the pillow and voice so high and pathetic and pleading.

Curly nods, a loose coil of flaxen hair bouncing in front of his forehead, “Yeah, yeah, of course- of course,” he’s mumbling to himself, mostly, every working braincell dizzying out at the tightness of your ass around him. He slides out one squelching, lubed centimeter before sliding back in, “Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”

You squeal between pinched teeth, brows knitting up at Curly, “Careful!”

Sighing through his nose, Curly has to swallow down that entitled little ‘it’s my fucking birthday’ he wants to spit on your flaming cheek. Instead he just forces a ditzy, gold-hearted chuckle, “I didn’t believe you at first… about not letting Jimmy fuck you in the ass.”

Pouting, you reach up and claw the back of his neck to yank Curly’s lips against yours, “Don’t bring him up now!”

“But you really are tight,” he grunts, bruising your thigh in his hand -- taking out the urge to restlessly hump your ass in that vicious grip. The other hand slides between your molten thighs until he can swirl leisurely circles into your swollen clit.

A ragged mewl slithers through your throat right into Curly’s mouth as he repeats the tedious little pushes and pulls before he can glide smoothly into your ass. Pitchy whines wheeze after, hardly muffled by the man’s rosy lips. Shiny with mingling spit and swears. When his cock can finally urge past that cinching ring of muscle and you gasp, Curly can only quietly chuckle and nose at your cheek,

“What’s that, baby? What’re you whimpering ‘bout, huh?”

Letting your head hang back, nearly thunking against his darkwood headboard, you shudder and blubber out between ‘ah, huh, mm, uh’s, “So- full- Grant… so fuckin’ big…”

Some sick urge crawls over him before he can choke it down, "Bigger than him?"

You squeal, "Fuck, yes!"

Surging forward, Curly digs pearly canines into your exposed throat -- unsuccessfully attempting to mute his own moans into your skin. Only retreating far back enough to whisper into your hot ear, “Yeah? You like it?” your fucked out needy nod isn’t enough, he needs: “Say it, baby, tell me how much you love me in your ass.”

Fuck the party downstairs, if the music isn't loud enough they can just leave. And Jimmy could croak for throwing away a diamond slut like you.

“I love it!” you warble, breathe sharp, “So good, Grant- thank you!”

“‘Thank you,’” he laughs, sucking each bite in your neck until he’s sure it’ll be stained there tomorrow morning. Fingers dipping into your cunt as syrupy slick gushes out, middle and ring finger crooking toward the pouch of your stomach while his thumb continues to ply your bundle of nerves, “Cum for me, honey, c’mon, it’s my birthday.”

If he wasn’t digging you out with his cock then maybe you’d be able to cackle at how pathetically he whines.

And the best present of all is Jimmy’s controversially young ex letting him fuck her pretty little ass.

[spencewalterreid]

If "I Love You" Was A Promise

Summary: Your mind has been unkind to you as of late, and Spencer picks up on it. He comes over to try to get you to open up.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN reader

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: very self-deprecating, physical abuse if you squint (reader shoves Spencer), mean!reader but they don't mean it, mental breakdown (like... total meltdown), yelling, no use of y/n, Spencer being a sweetie, I think that's it.

Word count: 3k

Author's Note: I truly do love me some angsty angst. I've been going through a gloomy patch recently and wanted to just write a super self-indulgent comfort fic. enjoy enjoy enjoy

You met Spencer a few months ago at a bookstore and you were quick friends. He’s brilliant, great to talk with, and you like a lot of the same media. However, he also happens to be an FBI profiler, which means he thinks he knows everything about everyone all of the time. You’re getting pretty fucking sick of it. He noticed oh-so-astutely that you were going through some shit, and asked under the cover of a movie night to accompany you to your house. Blindingly naive, you agreed. That’s how you ended up in front of him in a heated argument about your current state of mind.

"I don't know what you want from me, Reid! This isn't any of your goddamn business. Just because I've been distracted doesn't mean you need to give me a fucking house call!" you shout, your hands pulling at your hair to ground yourself. "This has nothing to do with you."

Spencer held up his hands in a placating gesture, his voice calm and measured as he responded. "Okay, let's take a deep breath. I'm not trying to overstep any boundaries here."

He studied your body language intently - the way your hands gripped your hair, the tension in your shoulders. The distraction, the frustration, it was all rooted in something deeper, something that had nothing to do with their current argument.

"Tell me this," Spencer said, his tone gentle yet firm, "is there a pattern to these distractions? Have they been getting worse over time?" He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked onto yours. "Sometimes, it helps to talk things out with someone else. And right now, I'm here to listen."

Spencer was acutely aware of the small, cluttered apartment around him – the scattered books and papers on the coffee table, the faint smell of coffee that lingered in the air. He used the familiarity of the space to center himself, to keep his focus on understanding the root of your distress.

"I'm not here to judge or criticize," he assured you, his voice low and soothing. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

In that moment, Spencer's mind raced with possibilities, trying to piece together what the hell your problem was. Was this distraction tied to a past trauma, a family issue, or something else entirely? As an FBI profiler, he knew that the key to understanding a person's behavior lay in their history, their experiences, their upbringing.

"Talk to me," Spencer encouraged gently, his tone warm yet authoritative. "I'm here to listen. Please?" He held out his hand, a silent offer, and waited for you to open up to him. Yeah, right.

"God, stop being so fucking you for a minute!" you stomp up to him, about 2 feet away, and shove at his chest. "Act like a goddamn human, for once in your life! Would it kill you? Huh?"

Spencer stumbled back from the sudden shove, caught off guard by the contact. His heart raced as he felt the warmth of your hands against his chest, the bloom of dull pain. He was shocked. No one had ever laid hands on him like that before, no one he cared about at least, and especially not you.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to process the surge of emotions that flooded through him. If the breath was meant to keep tears at bay too, then maybe you didn’t need to know that.

"I... I know I'm not always easy to understand," Spencer said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know your mind works differently than most people's. But I'm trying... I'm trying to be here for you, in whatever way I can."

"Stop it!" you shout. "Stop trying to be unaffected. Stop trying to act like my fucking therapist, because you aren't! You... Don't... Know.. Me." you pause between each word, your finger in his face. "Stop trying to fucking profile me. Act like you have any sort of goddamn emotion, for once in your life!"

Spencer flinched as if struck, your finger hovering inches from his face. The harsh words hung heavy in the air between you, a bitter sting he couldn't shrug off like he might an insult from a suspect.

For just a moment, he faltered. He knows he's insecure, it's one of his biggest flaws, but he thinks maybe right now he should be. Maybe he's stepped too far. Maybe this isn't his place.

He shrugs that off just as soon as it comes. This is more important than being polite.

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your frustration, your anger, your desperation. It was raw, visceral, a maelstrom of emotion he struggled to comprehend. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and wrapped his hand around your wrist, gently lowering your finger from his face.

"You're right," he said, his voice low. "I'm not your therapist. I'm not perfect.”

He paused, words careful with his gaze locked onto yours. "But know this... I care about you. More than I can express. And I'm trying.”

Spencer's other hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over the heated skin. "I may not always show it in ways you expect... but I do have feelings. This isn’t fair, you have to know that.” His eyes brim with unshed tears, as if pleading with you to apologize. He sincerely doubted he'd get that, at least right now.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Tell me what you need. Tell me how to do this, because I’m at a loss.”

"Stop it! Stop, stop, stop!" you scream, pounding at his chest once more before turning to dig your fingernails into your scalp. "God, you're such a fucking asshole! You don't have a goddamn clue what you're talking about. You've only known me for a couple of months! You couldn't possibly-" your voice catches in your throat, but you choke down a sob. You couldn't possibly love me. You firmly remind yourself he did not say that. Why would he?

Spencer stumbled back, his stomach and a twist and head spinning as he absorbed the brutal impact of your fists against his chest. He tries to keep in mind that you aren’t trying to hurt him, you’re just overwhelmed. He’s having a hard time believing it.

He reached out, trying to grab your wrists to still your frantic movements. But you wrenched away, pacing the small room like a caged animal. Spencer stood frozen, watching the scene in front of him, cinematic in its drama.

"Just because I haven't known you long doesn't mean I don't care about you," he interjects, voice tensely controlled. "You don't get to tell me what I feel or don't feel."

He took a step closer, then another, until he stood behind you. Gently, carefully, he placed his hands on your shoulders, warmth seeping into your tight muscles.

"I can't pretend to know everything you've been through. I can't claim to understand what you're going through, especially 'cuz you won't tell me anything," he sighs. "But I see you, or I'm at least trying to. I see the strength in you, the resilience, the courage.” His fingers tighten minimally in support, pausing a moment. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be damned if I let you face this alone."

That did it.

One sentence, and the dam is breaking. Months of grief, loneliness, and a lifetime of being a last priority come crashing into you all at once. Your knees buckle at the weight of it as sobs wrench your body. "Get out," you demand, but your hands wrap firmly around his arms. "Get out. Please." You shake your head. "Please, Spencer, go home." You press back into him, curling into his warmth. "You're such a fucking dick."

Spencer held on tighter, holding you up with a grip around your waist.

"Okay," he murmured. "Okay, I'll go. If that's what you need."

But he didn't let go. He couldn't. Not yet. Not until he knew you were steady. Not until he knew, without a doubt, that you meant it.

"Tell me this first," he pleaded softly, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. "Tell me you know you're not alone. That you have someone in your corner, no matter what."

His arms tightened, a silent vow. "I know we're not close, I know I'm not always the easiest person to deal with. But I'm trying. I'm trying to be what you need me to be."

He stood there, holding you through your sobs. It impressed you, the resolve of him. It impressed you that he didn’t get pissed, as much as you wanted him to. You aren’t used to gentleness. You’d rather fight than stand in front of someone who’ll just let you cry.

The wails leaving your throat embarrass the living shit out of you, and you know tomorrow you'll hate yourself for it, but right now you’re grateful. "I'm sorry," you cry. "I'm so sorry. So sorry, Spencer." You empty your lungs completely with your sobs, then refill them just to empty them again. "I hate you. I hate you," you repeat, holding his arms with a bruising grip as he gently lowers you onto the floor despite his unrelenting germaphobia. He winces. "I hate you."

The mindfulness applied was the kind he usually reserved for crime scenes. He sat behind you, cradling your trembling body against his chest, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back as the other held your hand.

"Shh, it's okay," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "You don't need to apologize. You don't need to hate anything right now except maybe the hand dealt to you."

He rocked you gently, matching the rhythm of your ragged breaths. "I know you're hurting. I know it’s confusing. But please, don't hate yourself for feeling. Don't hate yourself for needing someone to be here for you."

Spencer's hand slid up to cup your cheek, tilting your face towards his. He thumbed away the tears that fell in steady streams, his own eyes a pool of their own. "Hate me if you need to. I can take it. I can take anything, as long as you're not hating yourself. None of this is your fault."

He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. "You're allowed to feel. You're allowed to break. You're allowed to scream and cry and rage until you have nothing left. And I'll be right here, picking up the pieces, gluing you back together.” He pulled back just enough to watch you for a moment, your cheeks burning ever hotter. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

Your breath catches on a hiccup. "Don't say that," you beg. "Please," you sob. "Don't you say that to me. You don't know me, Reid." your voice is totally wrecked, you sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "You don't know what you're saying, you-" your breath catches, then another, then another, and then before you know it you’re hyperventilating.

What you didn’t say was, when you say it out loud, it becomes a promise. What you didn’t say was, I trust you. To say that is to make a promise you will not keep. To say that is to promise to break my trust. What you didn’t say was, To say that is to lie.

Spencer felt a surge of panic as your breathing grew rapid and shallow, your body shaking violently in his arms. He tightened his grip, a fierce, protective hold, as if he could physically keep you anchored. A folly effort, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

"Hey, hey, slow down," he urged, his voice calm and steady despite the fear gripping his heart. "You're okay, you're safe. I've got you."

He slid his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck, tilting your head down towards your knees. "That's it, just like that. Breathe with me. In and out. Slow and steady."

"Don't- don't- don't- d-" You tremble like a fucking leaf. Pathetic. You try to calm down enough to say this because you know it needs to be said: "Don't make- make- don't make pr- promi- promises you ca- can't- can't keep."

Spencer’s heart drops. What did he do wrong?

He didn’t quite know what to say, but he made an effort anyway. "You need to breathe, sweetheart. You need to breathe through this, one breath at a time.”

You lean down to softly press your lips against his hand, still shivering. Shaking. "I'm so sorry," you whisper. "I'm sorry. This is so pathetic."

"Hey, hey, none of that," Spencer soothed, turning your face towards his. He brushed away a lingering tear with his thumb, his gaze locked onto your red-rimmed eyes. "Being human isn't pathetic. Feeling, caring, needing... that's what makes you beautifully, perfectly human."

The smile on his face is sad, but genuine. He lays his hand on the side of your head, dragging a thumb across your temple. “I'm here because I want to be. Because I choose to be. Your strength and your vulnerability, they're a part of what draws me to you. Never apologize for being who you are."

"Can you stay?" you whisper feebly. "I mean, you don't-" you hiccup. "Don't feel pressured, of course. You know what?" You force a smile, which appears hopelessly pathetic considering the salt stains marring your cheeks. "I'm actually okay. I'm so okay. You can go home, Spencer. Go get some rest. Sorry." You move to get up, but his hold tightens. He mets your gaze, his voice low and firm. "No. I'm not going anywhere. I told you... I'm staying right here, with you."

He adjusted your position, lying down and gathering you fully into his arms, holding you close against his chest. "Rest now," he murmured, stroking your hair. "I'll be here when you wake up." Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

You chuckle without any meaning. "Spencer, no. Not on the hardwood floor," you say apologetically, sitting up. "You can take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch. C'mon, get up."

Spencer reinforced his embrace, not letting you pull away as he sat up slowly. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the last of their tears. "I'm not leaving you alone. End of discussion."

He stood, pulling you up with him, then guided you down the hallway, to your bedroom, then to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. Spencer's arm remained wrapped around your shoulders, a constant, comforting presence.

"I'll sleep here, with you. I won't leave your side." His voice softened, a gentle caress. "Please don't ask me to go, not now. I need to be here for you.”

"Spence-"

"No," he interjects. "No. Lay down. I'm gonna get you some water, I'll be right back."

He pats the bed behind you. Sluggish, you settle back into the plush mattress, encircling yourself in the comforter, dragging it right up to the bottom of your chin. You huff.

Spencer returned a moment later, a glass of water in hand. He set it on the bedside table and looked down at you, sympathy written all over him as he observed your closed eyes and the way you had curled in on yourself, still sniffling in the aftershocks.

Gently, he sat on the edge of the bed, his weight causing it to dip slightly. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingertips grazing your cheek. You felt warm, almost feverish.

"Hey, sweetheart..." Spencer's voice was soft, almost a whisper. He leaned in closer, his breath ruffling the hair he had just smoothed. "I know you're not asleep."

His hand slid down to your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. "Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?" Spencer's words were gentle, a nudging request. Not a demand. Never a demand. He wanted to know you were okay, but he wouldn't force it out of you. If you were going somewhere dark, he wanted to follow you with a flashlight in hand, but only if you'd let him.

"Go to bed, Spencer."

Spencer's brow furrowed, stubbornness hard-set on his face. He didn't move from his perch on the edge of the bed, his hand still resting firmly on your shoulder.

"No. You can’t go to bed feeling like this. It could cause nightmares, increased cortisol levels, and I know you’ll have a headache in the morning if you don’t drink water." He took a deep breath, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your shoulder. "Please, talk to me. Let me help carry this burden with you. I'm stronger than I look, I promise."

You smile, your eyes still closed. "You look plenty strong," you reply. "Please, go to sleep. I'm tired."

Spencer's eyes narrowed, not convinced. “Look at me. Please." When you didn't immediately comply, he gently squeezed your shoulder. “I know you're hurting, and I know you’re tired, but you can’t end the night like this.”

He paused, his posture wilting in his frustration.

You open your eyes and roll onto your back. "Drop it, Reid. It's late, I just cried my fucking eyes out, I want to go to bed. Now, either lay your pretty ass down, or go sleep on the couch."

Spencer studied your face, trying to settle the odds with himself. Accepting defeat, he finally relented with a soft sigh. "Fine.”

He slipped off his shoes and climbed into bed beside you, being mindful not to jostle you. Settling onto his back, he turned to face you, a gentle hand coming to rest on your waist. "Goodnight," he murmured, eyes already heavy with fatigue. "Sleep well."

"Can I-" You turn toward him, but shut your mouth before you ask. "Nevermind. Goodnight."

Spencer felt you shift, turning to face him. “No, what were you going to say?”

You hum, trying to decide how to phrase it. “It was nothing.”

“Here,” he offers, lifting the arm nearest you, inviting you to curl into him. He’s always so observant. Despite your thus-short friendship, he knew exactly what you wanted. You complied.

"Sleep well, sweetheart," he repeated, his hand on your waist giving a gentle, comforting squeeze. "I'll be right here when you wake."

[beloveds-embrace]

This was a concept I thought of for the angsty Dukedom 141, no König, when the maid was rude and went too far. This time instead of the duchess reader getting upset, crying and leaving, she looks at the rude maid thoughtfully and laughs slightly, shaking her head then just leaves the room, completely unbothered.

This leaves 141 team SHAKEN UP because they know the maid went too far and they feel so guilty, but the duchess had such a strange reaction and that scares the 141. They decipline the maid possibly still fire her and then after a while John maybe guilty approaches the duchess's room door but he receives no answer so he leaves, planning to try to talk to her the following morning only to find her room empty with no sign of the duchess.

Panic being the most imidiate reaction, John gets everyone to search the estate for her but she's gone. Upon further inspection Johnny and Kyle find some clothes and some food missing.

Meanwhile, duchess has already made plans to leave the estate, turns out she kept in touch with an old friend and a new business venture opened up and the duchess was very business savy (she hid this from John and her parents because her parents especially would not have approved). This new business was something she had set up with a handful of trustworthy friends who were her found family and accepted and loved her for who she is. They were keeping in touch with her via letters - they were sneaky about it making sure the letters had a recognised hallmark of the duchess's family emblem on it - John did not know or pay attention to the fact that the duchess dislikes her parents.

Due to this the close friends of the duchess knew about her feeling neglected and unhappy in her marriage so they made plans to collect her and it just so happened to work out that it was the afternoon of the new maid crossing the line with her. Their plan was to bring the duchess back to their shared place of business because they were all very successful.

The duchess was forced to marry John by her parents but she always planned to help her friends with this business. If her husband was kind and supportive she would be happy to open up about her business savy side and would stay married but if she ended up in an unhappy marriage (as she was in currently), she always planned to move into the accommodation near their business once they started earning good money on what they were selling. When she made enough money to ensure her survival as an independent business woman she would file for a divorce.

Background to the business itself is that her male friends are the face of the business but the duchess and a few others are the brains behind it. She knows what sells and because of her good business and marketing instincts it takes only a few months after her unfortunate marriage to John for her to get enough earnings to be able to leave.

Following the duchess leaving the guys all search for her but find nothing because the duchess burnt all of the letters sent by her friends as soon as she read them and no one paid any real attention to her when she was around they just assumed her family would know where she was and when even her family didn't know the men all REALLY panic.

A few months down the line divorce papers are mailed to John, the duchess has signed her part, he just needs to sign his and post it to the address specified.

John and Simon both investigate the address specified and they meet one of the duchess's friends who is not so impressed with them desperately trying to meet with the duchess after making her miserable. He says he will only get in touch with the duchess and ask her to contact them if John meets her halfway and signs and hands over the divorce papers.

John is red with anger and anguish and Simon is tense, with fury in his eyes, but the male friend of the duchess is very big, strong and equally angry and overprotective of the Duchess. He is not letting these pathetic men get near her unless they do something that will put her happiness before their need to manipulate her into speaking with them out of some misguided sense of guilt.

John says he will think about it and will come back once he has made a decision. With all of 141 seeing that they are limited in what they can do unless they meet her halfway John returns with Kyle this time with the papers signed. Johnny and Simon are investigating readers friend trying to find dirt on him but he is too clean and they are frustrated because they can not risk stirring up trouble with him without severe backlash because the items being sold by this man are resources used by John and Simon and they would be at a severe disadvantage if they were not able to buy things off him anymore.

Reader is just living her best life and focusing on herself and doing what she loves. She is a girl boss who is too independent, intelligent and resourceful to be held down by the people in her life who were trying to hold her back (her parents and the 141). She receives the divorce papers and thinks it's probably the best thing John could have done for her and files them intending to fully move on with her life until her friend explains that John signed the papers because he wanted to meet her halfway but he really wanted to talk to her in person about how they treated her in order to apologise. All of the 141 do as well as the servants at that estate that neglected her too. Her friend acknowledges that it's up to her on what she wanted to do and that he will always support her either way.

I've kind of left it on a cliffhanger but I thought it would be best to leave it open ended and sorry about the long ask I just love the angsty Dukedom so much but I also love it when the neglected main character is so incredible and resourceful in spite of her challenges that she is able to leave behind the people who have neglected her for healthier relationships where she can grow as a person and it is only as she leaves that those who neglected her realised that they messed up so bad.

Love your writing so much and thank you for your creative brain the stuff you write is incredible.

[longwayaround]

He tightened his grip on her a little when he noticed her hold onto him, figuring that she might need it — need the contact, the security that he hoped still came with it. It'd been such a long time, especially for her, especially for a human, but... she had still sought him out. She'd still asked for the hug. Maybe it still counted for something.

"It'll be alright," he promised. Oh, he couldn't change what had happened, he couldn't bring her family back, make everything right again, but he was sure she'd come through this, somehow. She'd made it there, she'd made it into this universe, she'd found him... She'd be alright. And he'd do whatever he could to help.

Rose didn't even think about what The Doctor would think she was going to ask. Of course it would have been anything. But the one thing she really did want right now was a hug.

She noticed the look of surprise on his face in that moment before she watched the smile appear on his face. "Thank you." Rose said and put her arms around him when he pulled her into a hug. It had been so long since she had a hug like this. As she did this, she couldn't help but hold on to him. "This was something I really needed."

[ukrfeminism]

Women in prison are resorting to self-harm because of “astonishing gaps” in basic services including strict time limits when contacting their children and bans from using washing machines for dirty underwear, according to a watchdog’s report.

A survey of women in prisons in England found that “the frustrations of day-to-day life” and a “lack of basic care” were driving many to hurt themselves.

Women offenders were struggling to keep in touch with loved ones with a third receiving no face to face visits at all, a report released by HM Inspector of Prisons said.

A “basic lack of decency” compounded these challenges, inspectors found. Women were given ill-fitting prison-issue men’s clothes, while “a bizarre rule” prevented them from laundering underwear in a washing machine.

Charlie Taylor, the chief inspector, said: “Disappointingly, this report highlights a lack of basic care to help women cope day by day which, for some, is then a cause of self-harm.”

There are more than 3,600 female prisoners in England, held in 12 prisons. More than half have children under the age of 18.

In three of the four prisons surveyed, about a third of the women were more than 50 miles from home and at one of the sites it was over half of women.

None of the prisons provided transport to and from nearby train or bus stations. Inspectors said that the prisoners’ families were often unable to afford expensive taxi fares to get to the prisons and often attended “short, inflexible” visit sessions.

Secure video calls were available at all four sites, but the women were often frustrated by a limit of one call a month.

“The calls were not being used creatively to support women, for example in enabling them to read a bedtime story to their child, or to facilitate attendance at parents’ evenings,” the report said.

It found 84% of women felt unable to cope at some point in prison, and that the needs of women in prison exceeded the capabilities of prison staff and their environment.

None of the prisons allowed women to wash their underwear in a washing machine and instead they had to wash it by hand in a small bowl in their cell, a policy not found in men’s prisons.

One offender told the inspectors: “I wash all my socks and underwear in the same bowl, but you only get one bowl and on a weekend, you get your razor. So, you got to do everything [referring to shaving, washing up and cleaning underwear] in that same bowl … its unhygienic.”

Another woman described arriving with only one pair of knickers. She was forced to hand wash them every night for months as no spare pairs were available, the report said.

Women, in particular those remanded into custody, often arrived with few belongings and relied on what the prison could provide.

In one prison there was no footwear available in sizes four to six, the most common sizes for women, the report continued.

“It was astonishing to find that most sites were not issuing prison clothing designed for women,” inspectors said.

Across women’s prisons, the self-harm rate is 5,785 incidents per 1,000 prisoners, which was more than eight times higher than in men’s prisons – 664 incidents per 1,000 prisoners.

In an interview with the Guardian last month, the prisons minister, Lord Timpson, said the government planned to reverse the increase in the number of women being sent to jail. Instead, hundreds of female offenders could be tagged and sent to addiction and rehabilitation centres, he said.

Shabana Mahmood, the justice secretary, said the report was “shocking” and “a wake-up call” for her department.

“We must do things differently which is why – as part of our Plan for Change to make our streets safer – we have launched a new women’s justice board to reduce the number of women in prison, and better support those who must still be imprisoned.”

[nameless-jamie]

✨💖 The vibes of your writing are immaculate. And I love your series and the new chapters. Would you ever write about an anxious/ shy reader?

Blush

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! shy receptionist reader

TW: cursing, kissing

A/N: Are you ready for a looooong one? Thank you for the request! I had a whole field-day writing this because I myself am pretty shy in real life. That's why it is veeery long. I actually also had another few paragraphs of the morning after their date, but I edited it out because I guess it would've been too long.

The AFC Richmond front desk was Y/N’s safe space. She had a whole routine. Come in early, set up at the front desk, answer calls, and avoid unnecessary conversations. She liked her job as a receptionist—AFC Richmond had always felt like a family, even if she sometimes felt like the quiet cousin at the reunion. She had her friends, though: Will, the ever-cheerful kit man, Roy Kent, who, for some reason, had taken a liking to her despite his usual grumpy demeanor and of course Keeley!

Most people in the club were kind enough to respect that she wasn’t the most talkative person, even though it is literally her job to greet people.

Jamie Tartt was not most people.

Jamie was… different. Not in the way Roy was—gruff but secretly soft. Not in the way Ted Lasso was—easygoing and goofy. Jamie was loud, confident, and impossible to ignore. And worst of all, he had somehow decided she was his new favorite person to talk to.

“Alright, love?”

She didn’t have to look up to know who it was. That familiar, cocky voice sent a nervous jolt straight through her. Slowly, she lifted her head, only to find Jamie leaning against her desk, arms crossed, signature smirk in place. It was too early in the morning for that level of handsomeness. Yup, Y/N had a crush on Jamie since she started working here. But, oh no, she would never make a move or even show it.

He grinned. “Hi, Jamie,” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “C’mon, you gotta give me more than that. Thought we were mates by now.”

Mates. Right. Because that was a normal way to describe their dynamic—Jamie showing up at her desk every day, teasing her until she was a flustered mess, then walking away like it was just another training session.

Y/N cleared her throat, fingers tightening on her pen. “Do you… need something?”

Jamie tilted his head. “Nah. Just here to check in on my favorite receptionist.”

She bit her lip. “I’m the only receptionist.”

“That’s what makes it so easy.” He winked. “Just wanted to see you.”

God, he was relentless. And it wasn’t just the flirting—it was how easy he made it look, how effortlessly charming he was. Her face went hot instantly, and she ducked her head, pretending to be very interested in the email she had already finished.

Every time he saw her, he had some new way to fluster her, whether it was winking at her from across the hallway, complimenting her dress, or just plain staring at her until she got nervous.

It wasn’t fair. He was a world-class footballer, and she was… well, the receptionist.

Before she could figure out how to respond, Will the kitman appeared, grinning. “Oh, is this the daily ‘Jamie makes Y/N blush’ session? Should I be taking bets?”

“Shut up, Will,” she mumbled, burying her face in her hands.

Jamie, completely unfazed, smirked. “You should. I’d win every time.”

Roy walked by just then, glancing at the scene before stopping. He squinted at Jamie, then looked at Y/N, who was still avoiding eye contact.

“What the fuck is goin’ on here? Is the prick bothering you?”

“Actually...Jamie’s bullying me,” Y/N blurted out and pointed at the latter, because she found it funny how Jamie shrunk in Roy's presence. She can be a tease if she wants to.

Jamie clutched his chest like he's been shot. “Bullying? Me? Love, I’m flirting. If I was bullying ya, you’d be crying.”

“I don't like any of you, but you,” Roy jabbed a finger at Jamie. “Quit makin’ her uncomfortable, Tartt.”

Jamie held up his hands in mock surrender. “She’s not uncomfortable. Are ya, love?”

Y/N hated that the question made her heart race. He was looking at her like she was the only person in the room, like her answer actually mattered.

“No! I mean—well—I—I mean, it’s fine,” she mumbled.

Jamie grinned like she had just told him she loved him. “See? She likes me.” Roy groaned.

Roy let out a long-suffering sigh. “You’re both fuckin’ idiots.” Then he jabbed a finger at Jamie. “Quit pissin’ her off.”

“Never,” Jamie shot back cheerfully.

Roy muttered something under his breath and stomped off.

Will snickered. “Roy’s gonna end up chaperoning your first date at this rate.”

Y/N let out a strangled noise. “There is no first date!”

Jamie, though, just smirked. “Not yet.” Then he winked and strolled off, leaving her an absolute, blushing mess at the front desk.

The next few days were worse.

Ever since Jamie’s little not yet comment, Y/N had been on high alert. She tried to convince herself that he was just joking, just messing with her like he always did. But then he started upping his game.

It wasn’t enough that he stopped by her desk every morning—no, now he had to wink at her across the hallway, greet her with a Good mornin’, love like he was starring in some kind of rom-com, and worst of all, he started waiting for her after work.

The first time it happened, she thought it was a coincidence.

“Oi, you’re taking really long,” Jamie said, leaning against the front doors of the clubhouse, arms crossed as she finally stepped outside.

She blinked. “What… are you doing here?”

“Waitin’ for ya, obviously,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “S’not safe for a pretty little thing like you to walk alone.”

Y/N nearly tripped over her own feet. “I—I always walk alone.”

Jamie frowned like this was a deeply troubling fact. “Well, that’s fuckin’ tragic, innit?”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Colin and Isaac, who where the last to leave besides the locker room, grinned. “Ooooh, bodyguard Jamie.”

Jamie smirked. “Damn right.”

“You’re not my bodyguard. He's really not.” Y/N muttered in her soft voice, slinging her bag around her shoulder.

Jamie only grinned wider. “Nah, but I could be.”

Colin gave her a pointed look. “You should just let him walk you home. You know he’s not gonna give up.”

Y/N sighed. They were both right—Jamie Tartt was nothing if not persistent.

So, against her better judgment, she let Jamie walk her home.

And then he did it again. And again.

And again.

By the end of the week, it was just a part of her routine, like he had wormed his way in without her even realizing. He’d meet her at the doors, hands in his pockets, waiting for her like he had all the time in the world. They’d talk, mostly about silly things—Jamie complaining about Roy, Y/N teasing him about his shoe obsession, Jamie trying to make her laugh.

And she did laugh. More than she had in a long time.

Which was exactly why it was terrifying.

Because Jamie Tartt was flirty, and charming, and kind, and so out of her league that it was almost funny.

And yet…

She caught him looking at her sometimes. Not in the way most guys did, not like she was just another girl to conquer. It was softer, something she couldn’t quite place. Like he actually liked being around her.

Which was ridiculous. Right?

She was still trying to make sense of it all when, one afternoon, the teasing from the team finally reached its peak.

She was organizing paperwork at her desk when Dani Rojas, Sam Obisanya, and Colin strolled past.

“Sooo, Jamie and the receptionist,” Dani said in a sing-song voice.

Y/N froze. Oh no.

Colin grinned. “Yup, they’d be cute together.”

“I think they are already together,” Sam added thoughtfully.

Y/N choked on absolutely nothing. “Uhm- No actually we are not together.”

Dani gasped. “But he walks you home every night!”

“That doesn’t mean anything!”

Sam and Colin exchanged a knowing look.

“But you like him,” Colin said, pointing at her.

“No, I don’t.”

“You do,” Sam said. “And he definitely likes you.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but then—

“I definitely like who?”

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

The universe hated her. That was the only explanation for why Jamie Tartt had appeared at the exact worst moment, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Dani beamed. “We were just talking about how you and Y/N like each other.”

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

Jamie, to his credit, didn’t even blink. He just turned to her, a slow, smug grin spreading across his face.

“I mean, I do.” he said, then turned to her. “That true, love, you like me?”

Y/N clenched her jaw, face burning. “I don't like any of you.” She mumbled.

Colin grinned. “That’s not a no.”

Jamie chuckled, eyes locked on her. “Don’t worry, love. You’ll admit it eventually.”

And then, just like always, he winked and walked off, leaving her to suffer.

Dani patted her shoulder sympathetically and ran out the door. “You should just date him.”

“I should just quit,” she muttered to herself.

But we all know she wouldn’t.

And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t really want to.

Y/N had two choices this next week:

Continue pretending that Jamie Tartt wasn’t blatantly flirting with her every single day.

Accept that she was completely, undeniably screwed.

She tried to go with Option 1. She really did. But then Jamie started making it impossible.

It wasn’t just the daily morning greetings anymore. Now, he even brought her coffee.

“Dunno what ya drink, so I got three different kinds”

He sat across from her at lunch even when she definitely did not invite him, and—worst of all—kept finding excuses to touch her.

A light hand on her shoulder when he walked past. A nudge of his knee against hers when they sat near each other. Once, when she had been carrying a heavy box of paperwork, he had taken it right out of her hands, smirking at her grumbled protests.

It was driving her insane.

She was still overthinking all of it when she got to work one morning and found Jamie already there, leaning against her desk like he had nothing better to do.

She frowned. “Why are you here before me?”

Jamie grinned. “Missed ya, didn’t I?”

Her brain short-circuited. “You—what?”

Jamie just shrugged like he hadn’t just sent her into cardiac arrest.

“I have missed you, did I not." he repeated himself doing his best to talk accent-free, as if she didn't understand him the first time.

"Also, I might’ve left my headphones in the gym. But mostly the first thing.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “You… are insufferable.”

“Yeah, but I assume you love it.”

She did not. Except—okay, maybe she didn’t hate it. And maybe, just maybe, she had started to enjoy their little routine. Fuck, she loved it.

Which was exactly why it was so unfair that Roy Kent had to go and ruin everything.

Because of course, right as Jamie was giving her one of those stupid flirty smirks, Roy appeared out of nowhere like a grumpy, swearing bat signal.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Y/N groaned. “Roy, Hi! Jamie was just—”

“No,” Roy cut her off, pointing aggressively between her and Jamie. “I cannot watch this anymore.”

Jamie blinked. “Watch what?”

Roy let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “This. The fuckin’ pining. The flirting. The lookin’ at each other like a couple of lovesick puppies.”

Y/N’s soul left her body. “We do not do that.”

“You absolutely do,” Roy grumbled pointing at Y/N. “ You're doin' it right fucking now! It’s disgustin’.”

Jamie, to his credit, didn’t even pretend to be offended. He just raised an eyebrow at Y/N. “So, you have been lookin’ at me?”

“I—no!”

Roy groaned. “Oh my fucking God.”

“Alright, alright,” Jamie said, laughing as he held up his hands. “I get it. You think we should just shag and get it over with.”

Y/N choked. “Jamie!”

Roy looked physically ill. “That is not what I’m sayin’.”

Jamie smirked. “So, you want me to take her on a proper date, then.”

Roy stared at him like he was debating whether or not to commit actual murder.

“I hate you,” Roy muttered. “But yeah, you’re both bein’ fuckin’ stupid, so someone’s gotta do somethin’ about it.”

Jamie turned back to Y/N, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You hear that, love? Roy Kent’s givin’ us his blessing.”

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

Roy let out another long-suffering sigh and turned to leave. “Just sort it out before I retire, yeah?”

Once he was gone, Y/N peeked up at Jamie, who was still smirking at her like she was the most amusing thing he’d ever seen.

“You do like me,” Jamie said smugly.

She groaned. “I am going to throw myself into the Thames.”

Jamie just grinned. “Nah, you won’t.”

Y/N didn’t know how it happened. It was the day after the incident.

One second, Jamie was teasing her at the front desk like usual, and the next—

“So, what time should I pick you up tomorrow?”

She blinked. “What?”

Jamie smirked. “Our date, love. Thought we should make it official, yeah?”

Official. As if this wasn’t already the most humiliatingly obvious crush in all of AFC Richmond. As if half the team hadn’t already been placing bets on when Jamie would finally get his act together and ask her out.

She swallowed hard. “You’re… serious?”

Jamie gave her a look. “Obviously. Been serious since the day I met ya.”

Her brain short-circuited.

“Um,” she said intelligently.

Jamie’s smirk softened into something… gentler. “Look, if you don’t wanna, that’s alright. I can handle rejection. Probably. I actually never been rejected,” He grinned. “But I reckon we’d have a good time.”

She was so screwed.

“…Seven?” she squeaked out.

Jamie beamed. “Seven’s perfect.”

And that was how Y/N found herself sitting across from Jamie Tartt at a very nice restaurant, wondering how she ended up here.

Jamie, to his credit, was being ridiculously sweet. No teasing, no cocky comments—just full-blown, charmingly attentive Jamie.

He pulled out her chair for her. He asked her about her day (and actually listened). He even gave her his jacket when she shivered, despite insisting she was fine.

But now, as she stared at the menu, her anxiety was creeping in.

The restaurant was a bit fancier than she was used to. And while she technically knew how to read a menu, the pressure of making a decision in front of Jamie was immense.

She didn’t want to pick something stupid. Didn’t want to mispronounce anything. Didn’t want to hold up the waiter.

So, when the server came over, she panicked and just pointed at something random.

The problem? It was not what she wanted.

She realized it too late, eyes widening as the waiter scribbled down the order and walked off.

Jamie noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated. “I… I meant to order something else.”

Jamie tilted his head. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

She swallowed. “I—I didn’t want to be a bother.”

Jamie’s face softened.

“Babe,” he said, voice low and warm, “you’re never a bother.”

Before she could even process that, Jamie waved the waiter back over without hesitation.

“Hey, mate,” Jamie said easily. “Think we got the wrong order—she actually wanted the pasta.”

The waiter nodded, jotted it down, and walked away without a fuss.

Y/N, meanwhile, wanted to melt into the floor. “I could’ve just eaten the other thing…”

Jamie shook his head. “Nah. If you want pasta, you get pasta.”

She bit her lip. “I just—I don’t like making a fuss.”

Jamie leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied her.

“I get it,” he said. “But you don’t gotta be scared with me, yeah? I like lookin’ out for ya.”

Her heart did something stupid.

“…Okay,” she whispered.

Jamie grinned. “Good.”

And the thing was—he meant it.

All night, he made sure she was comfortable. He didn’t rush her when she had her shy moments, didn’t tease when she took a little longer to answer. Instead, he just smiled at her, soft and patient, like this—like her—was exactly where he wanted to be.

By the time the check came, Y/N had stopped second-guessing everything.

Because Jamie liked her, exactly as she was.

And maybe—just maybe—she was finally starting to believe it.

Jamie insisted on walking her home after the date.

“You know I always do that, love,” he had said when she tried to protest. “Can’t have ya gettin’ kidnapped, can I?”

She had rolled her eyes, but she didn’t fight him on it.

So now, they were strolling through the quiet streets, their hands occasionally brushing as they walked. Every time it happened, Y/N felt like she was about to combust, but Jamie acted like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence, “best date you’ve ever been on, yeah?”

Y/N smiled to herself. “You sound confident.”

Jamie smirked. “Well, obviously. I planned the whole thing, didn’t I?”

She laughed softly. “Alright, I’ll admit it—it was the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Jamie grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Yeah? Who knew I was a proper romantic?”

“You are,” she murmured, half to herself.

Jamie glanced at her, his smirk faltering into something softer. His voice dropped. “Careful, love. Keep talkin’ like that, and I might have to kiss ya.”

Her breath caught.

Jamie must’ve noticed, because his smirk came back—smaller now, more teasing than cocky. He nudged her shoulder with his. “Relax, I'm just joking, yeah? Not gonna do anything you’re not ready for.”

That was the thing about Jamie—he flirted, teased, pushed just enough to make her heart race, but never too far. He knew her limits, never made her feel like she had to do anything just because it was expected.

She liked that about him. Really liked that about him.

Maybe that’s why, as they reached her front door, she hesitated.

Jamie stood with his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Guess this is goodnight, then.”

She nodded, suddenly nervous.

Jamie chuckled. “You’re lookin’ at me like you wanna say somethin’.”

She swallowed hard, gathering every ounce of courage she had. “I just… wanted to thank you. For tonight.”

Jamie tilted his head. “Was my pleasure, love.”

She took a shaky breath. “It really was the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Jamie’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

She nodded.

And then, before she could overthink it—before she could let the nerves ruin it—she leaned up on her toes and kissed him.

It was quick, just a press of her lips against his, but Jamie froze like she had just short-circuited his entire brain.

By the time she pulled back, her face was burning. “Um. Goodnight.”

She turned, reaching for her keys, but before she could even get the door open, Jamie’s voice stopped her.

“Oi.”

She turned hesitantly.

Jamie was grinning. Beaming.

“That was—” he said, voice warm and full of love, “you are full of surprises.”

And with that, he gave her one last lingering look before stepping back, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked away.

Y/N stood there for a moment, heart racing, before slipping inside and leaning against the door.

She had kissed Jamie Tartt.

And by the look on his face—he was definitely going to kiss her again.