#This can go in their categories... It is them! True true

[katerinaaqu]

What do you think of the idea that Achilles is actually not strong?

https://www.tumblr.com/galusandmalus/784623107459694592/my-achilles-art-or-something-who-cares-hes-not?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/galusandmalus/784169654141714432/ngl-perseus-vs-achilles-goes-like?source=share

Hmm...I think @galusandmalus simply doesn't think Achilles deserves the title "the Strongest of all Greeks" and seems to think that the Trojan War was just fine without him. Well given the general context of Achilles and his life, or his contribution in the Iliad I get it a bit or rather I see also where the joke comes from. Honestly like if they think that is up to them but I care to differ.

So since it is an analysis you go for (I assume you do hehehe) dear Anon I am happy to offer my own insight on it.

Let's start with the obvious one; Achilles is actually not named "the strongest" at all. In fact the title used is "Άριστος Αχαιών" (Aristos Achaeon) aka "The Best of all Greeks". The term άριστος is the ultimate form of the word that means "good" so his term was "the best of all Greeks". Achilles was supposed to be the best in a series of categories that were known they were skills required to a man; war skills, art skills, education, integrity, straightforward character etc. It was the fact that Achilles masters all the things "the Perfect Greek" was supposed to learn with natural talent AND hard work. That is the ultimate combination for any Greek. Plus one more thing known to be an ideal for ancient Greeks; natural beauty.

Achilles was never supposed to be the strongest because he can tear mountains with his hands or that he faces all monsters on earth or that he eats gods for breakfast. His lore was supposed to make him the best because he completes the ideal of "καλός καγαθός" aka "beautiful and righteous". Achilles was born and bread to combine everything "the ideal Greek" was supposed to be. He was trained by the best master of war, Chiron the centaur, he was trained with all the virtues of an ideal Greek man and then he was also taught to be as pure as possible. His natural beauty being a virtue on its own and Achilles also ironically has another ideal type of beauty despite the controversy of antiquity; his androgynous appearance; the completeness of such a beauty was the ideal and beauty on the outside was a godsent gift. Last but not least he was considered ideal because he was also of noble birth through and through. Blood nobility was important in ancient texts. Achilles is the son of a king connected to a large line of gods and goddesses that reaches all the way to Zeus with a goddess mother who also reaches deeply to the lines of gods. There is arguably not one drop of common blood in Achilles daresay hardly any mortal blood either. (his invulnerability to human weapons being an extra bonus to some sources to this whole mix)

To sum that first point up; Achilles is not considered the best because he was an excellent fighter or a good musician or strong in arms etc. He was considered the best because he had mastered everything of the above.

Now to another obvious point; that Trojan War could arguably never have needed him in the first place. That is something that is simply not lore-true because it was specified Troy would never fall without him Achilles was specified to it and honestly from the epic cycle we know that this is true. For starters Achilles took like 5 cities almost single-handedly and brought the war to a favorable point for the Greeks despite the fact that the Trojans had so many allies around and powerful fighters

Arguably Achilles defeated some of the main contributors of the war including but not limited to Memnon, a demi-god coming from the second-generation titans (gods) Eos, the demi-goddess warrior daughter of Ares Penthesilea as well as half the line of Priam. His contribution to the war overall is unquestionable. Not only because he faced some powerful opponents but also that the opponents he defeated were of valuable importance to the war (such as Penthesilea or Memnon) but also to the line of Troy such as the sons of Priam and two of them being of greatest importance such as Hector who had the same fame almost as Achilles himself and Troilus, a figure that was inseparably linked with the positive or negative outcome of the war. Achilles casually defeated formidable opponents daresay with little to no contribution of gods but of course he also had gods with him just like any other hero of mythology. Last but not least he also produced the heir that decidedly ended the war. The importance of legacy was also there and Achilles contrubuted to that (not to mention that his heir in his name created a huge empire and kingdom and met military success and spread his own offspring across the area)

Achilles's contribution to the war both directly and indirectly show how that prophecy mentioned that Troy would never fall without him. All it took was a raid by Achilles himself with or without armor and we have a huge wave of dead bodies behind him. Demigods he defeated on a casual basis across the battlefield and outside and demigods are not shown to be stronger depending on the status of their father. For example just because Sarpedon was son of Zeus that didn't necessarily make him stronger than Memnon who was son of Dawn. Arguably many of the opponents that Theseus casually defeated on his way to Athens were sons of Poseidon. The Cyclops was a son of Poseidon too as he was defeated by Odysseus. Either way the importance to his contribution is unquestionable to me

Achilles's strength did not just lie to his battle skills though neither to what and how many kinds of opponents he faced; it was also connected to the fame a hero has in the battlefield. The emotions he causes so to speak

Achilles didn't even need to fight to be considered a threat like he should be; all it took was for him to shout in fury and a bunch of Trojans scattered or daresay died on spot. His form alone had even Hector run for his life for a little while. Just the mention of his name was enough to have armies back down. That kind of strength is also important for ancient Greek stories, not just the opponents themselves. His fame and unquestionable skill were enough to prevent opponents from even wish to engage with him. Hector even knew he would die when he saw Achilles coming. He tried to strike a bargain with him exactly because he knew he was making his last stand.

Fame and strength go side by side for the Greeks. The fact that Achilles achieves it is definitely something of ideal nature. Very few heroes did it as successfully Plus the connection to the gods as well as the fact that gods come to his assistance is also part of this symbolic fame and skill set

Now on the comparison between one's arsenal and the gorgoneion I mean I will not make that comparison because that belongs more to the sphere of Marvel and DC comics over Greek mythology. The arsenal do not make the hero. The hero makes the arsenal. Heracles did not turn people into stone but he had a lion's skin on him that was like an armor. He still could achieve great things without it. Achilles even ran almost naked out in the battlefield and his opponents immediately were overcome by fear. Like Perseus also had his own arsenal given to him or advised of him to have with him like the polished shield otherwise he too wouldn't stand a chance against Medusa. Bellerephontes slay the fire-breathing Chimera because of his courage AND his arsenal etc. Like...sure all Achilles would have to do would be to also use a shield or reflections or potentially close his eyes and the Gorgoneion would be useless. The way each hero fights makes him unique and strong.

A hero is not a hero because they have the best arsenal or because they cannot be defeated. Like Heracles, the greatest hero of all time that tears apart creatures with his hands found death because of his wife's jealousy and the way Nessus took advantage of that and tricked her into using his now venomous with hydra's venom blood. I have no doubt that Odysseus could defeat Heracles if he tricked him in a set up drinking match for instance in which of course Odysseus would have an ace in his sleeve. He would have no chance to defeat him in battle. However with a proper technique he would. Like if Achilles's invulnerability according to some sources is taken to account then sure he would close his eyes and then Perseus wouldn't even harm him to begin with not unless he had a godly sword or find his weakness. etc

Heroes are not marvel or dc comic characters that would or wouldn't defeat each other given their skills and their myths are different and serve different purpose. Achilles was trained warrior since infantry almost. His technique was unquestionable. Achilles himself was never defeated in battle but by a long-distance weapon guided by a god. I know his fighting skills are impeccable Perseus or Diomedes or any other hero have their own fighting methods, techniques and strengths. Like I am not sure if I can imagine who would lose against who in a death fight. Like would Achilles defeat Heracles? I can definitely imagine him dancing around him till he confuses or tires him and finds an opening to strike fast and retreat does it have possibilities to happen? No because we talk on different generations and we can only hypothesize

So I massively respect @galusandmalus but I disagree on that one. For starters we might all call Achilles "a twink" for the jokes of it but he is far from it. He is a trained warrior; earned the title of the best. A wonder-boy so to speak who was trained in many skills ever since he was young from the best teachers. He has impeccable battle technique, strength and speed. The fact that he is not shown in lores defeating monsters is not making him lose any of that for he is having as lore taking cities by himself almost and causing fear to entire armies. Creature-fighting and slaughter are not part of every lore. He combines many virtues that ancient Greeks required and he is also shown to have many other skills or at least practicing them even if they do not belong to his social status. So I disagree that literally anyone could have a bite of Achilles because simply no one ever did. Achilles was defeated while practically half-mad with sorrow plus the help of a god of the pantheon of Olympus plus a long-distance weapon. He was an undefeated in actual combat

Of course anyone has the right to have their opinion I just think this starts from the wrong foot to begin with.

[commanderwithakitten]

Rather stupid analogy, then, because you still have no point about us being unable to care for them. They are well-fed, well-maintained, and well-loved. I think Ethan has more well-checks than I do, and my spine is mangled. It isn't an exact one-to-one analagy, as we are all sapient, but much like when a human adopts a cat or snake, it is possible for a Cybertronian to care for a human.

Biting as a form of violence is a more effective and embarrassing one for the person who has been bitten. Imagine having to go to the ER because some rando bit you. Everyone's been punched, but bitten? Besides, you would not survive a punch from the sparklings we have. Trust in that.

You didn't. But we have no way of knowing if you'll continue to more gullible siblings after finishing with Ethan- and thus, we react before it can happen. And you were not 'offering a solution for money.' That requires being honest about the money. Also, you don't get to blame my parents for my siblings' poor behavior when you yourself are encouraging it so that you can make money off it. You'd get along well with Swindle.

It's true. We only met Alice a few months ago. We only met Ethan a couple years ago. Ethan can and will talk about his time under an abusive foster-figure, often. We took him in and helped him with his problems. Just because he's not where you want him to be doesn't mean he's where he was before.

Gangrene is an infection that forms on untreated wounds and results from a high-sugar, low-nutrient diet alongside a sedentary lifestyle with poor hygiene. Infection is a broader category of disease to which gangrene belongs, and though it has fewer conditions that need to be met, infection still requires a wound to be unwashed and untreated. Hepatitis C and HIV both have vaccinations, are spread through fluid contact- we rarely bite hard enough to draw blood, so washing off would be enough even if we DID have it- Cybertronians can't get them because we are a separate species, and we can only transmit them if we've bitten someone to the point of blood who has them and haven't brushed our dentae. We have to brush our dentae twice a day if we don't bite anyone, plus more if we do bite anyone.

You don't just BRING IT INTO THE FRAGGING PARTY. Humans use that to kill people. Bots use that to kill people. You whipped it out without asking and then "oh hey now I can cover my ass"'d the question! You should have asked BEFORE you brought it! Therefore, why the frag would you bring it, to a child's birthday party, WITHOUT ASKING?

BIRTHDAY

YAY

[sskk-manifesto]

Atsushi's back in the game!!! ۶( ˆ o ˆ )

[hyperlexichypatia]

I've seen basically two response arguments to Kennedy's slurs about autistic people being unable to pay taxes, have a job, play baseball, go on a date, write a poem, or use the toilet.

Both the responses are good and necessary, but I think they're incomplete. The two response arguments are essentially: 1. "That's not true, there are plenty of autistic people who have jobs and go on dates and play baseball," and 2. (largely in response to 1.) "Autistic people deserve acceptance and dignity even if they can't pay taxes or write poetry or use the toilet; people's value isn't determined by their abilities or productivity."

And, again, both of these responses are true and good and necessary. But what I'm not seeing people talk about enough is why Kennedy listed those specific skills, and what he's trying to imply with them. Because, see, when people are reduced to a dehumanized stereotype, "Not everyone is like that dehumanized stereotype" isn't sufficient, and neither is "Even people who are like that dehumanized stereotype deserve respect." The problem is the dehumanization. So let's look at the list of things we supposedly can't do, which Kennedy is using to conjure an image of "Inhuman Unthinking Blob."

Having a job. This is the big one. In American culture, your value, your personhood, is solely dependent on Your Job. Are you a valuable cog in the capitalist machine, or are you a cheap cog in the capitalist machine, or are you so worthless you're not even in the capitalist machine, and therefore have no reason to be alive? So it's good and necessary and important to spell out "A person doesn't have to have a job to be a person with dignity and rights." But there's a larger question out there, which is: What, exactly, constitutes "a job"? Yes, absolutely, everyone should have dignity and rights (and material needs like guaranteed housing, food, and consensual healthcare). But also, most disabled people, including ""severely"" disabled people, can and do perform productive labor benefiting their communities. It's just often labor that capitalist society doesn't classify as "a job," like caregiving, studying, or making art. It's important to say that people shouldn't need "a job" in order to deserve rights or resources. It's also important to point out that disabled people have been doing labor this whole time, just without the dignity, rights, or pay associated with "a job." In a socialist utopia where everyone had their material needs guaranteed, labor would still be done, and a lot of it would still be done by disabled people. That's important. Disabled people's contributions to society matter. And erasing that is something ableists do on purpose -- excluding the labor done by disabled people from the category of "job" is integral to excluding disabled people from the category of "productive" and thus the category "worthy of life."

Paying taxes. This is the most transparently ridiculous one, because absolutely everybody in the U.S. pays taxes. Poor people pay taxes (too much). Rich people pay taxes (nowhere near enough). Undocumented immigrants pay taxes. You buy a Snickers? It's priced $1.79 but you pay $1.92. That's a tax. You live somewhere? You're paying property taxes. You rent your home? How do you think your landlord pays their property taxes? From your rent. You're paying property taxes. You have a crappy underpaid minimum wage job? You're paying FICA. Everybody pays taxes. What Kennedy probably means to imply is "They're too poor to owe federal income taxes." Politicians love pretending that "taxes" means "federal income taxes" so they can claim to "lower taxes" while shifting the tax burden somewhere else (cf. Trump's attempt to claim that tariffs aren't taxes). And. And also. There's another subtle implication in there, that I see a lot from parents and ableists. Because of the deep intersection of ableism and classism, Kennedy is implying "They're too poor to owe federal income taxes" (therefore they're inferior) but also "They're not smart enough to do something complicated like file a tax return." When ableists talk about disabled people who "can't take care of themselves" or specifically "can't pay their bills" or "can't pay taxes," they're intentionally trying to conflate an economic state (having enough money to pay bills/taxes) with a cognitive ability (having the skills/executive function to manage money, budget, pay bills on time, or file a tax return). Kennedy probably doesn't file his own tax return either. I'm sure he has an accountant for that. Presumed-neurotypical people are allowed to do that. The world is full of rich people who lack executive function or money-management skills, whose wealth insulates them from the consequences of that, because they can either afford to just lose money, or they can afford to hire someone to handle it for them. The world is also full of poor people for whom one missed payment has ruined them. The world is also full of disabled people for whom one missed payment has gotten them declared mentally incompetent, institutionalized, or placed under guardianship -- by abled family members who probably hire an accountant to manage their own money. Again, all this is deliberate. Kennedy and other ableists/classists/eugenicsts are intentionally trying to conflate "lacks money," "lacks money management abilities/skills," and "lacks General Intelligence" as one more-or-less interchangeable phenomenon (Note: If you've read this far and haven't figured out my angle yet: There is no such thing as "General Intelligence" and the very concept is harmful).

Write a poem. Again, this is deliberately ambiguous wording -- pretty much anyone can write a poem, including people who can't write or speak. Have you ever expressed an idea in which the words you used had an additional meaning on top of their literal meaning? Boom, you can write a poem. Maybe not a good one. But Kennedy didn't say that autistic people's poetry is bad -- plenty of neurotypical people's poetry is bad too, after all. There is a somewhat positive stereotype floating around that neurodivergent people are creative. We may be tragic, burdens on society, our parents' heartbreak, worthless, stupid, subhuman, but at least we're creative. Probably due to being more animal-like, "closer to nature." And neurobigots like Kennedy absolutely hate this stereotype. No matter how much dehumanization the "positive" stereotype is rooted in, we cannot have any positive attributes at all. They must never let us forget that we have no redeeming value whatsoever. We must be rendered as completely lacking in thought, feelings, expression, and creation. I'm seeing some echos of 18th century racism, too -- a common belief among 18th century white Europeans was that even if non-Europeans were superficially clever, they could produce no "higher culture," no great art or poetry or literature, because they were intrinsically a lower tier of human. This seems to be the root of Kennedy's implication -- not that autistic people "can't" write poetry (anyone can), or that autistic people are bad at writing poetry (most beginners are), but that an autistic person's creative output cannot constitute true poetry, true "high culture," because it comes from an inferior mind.

Play baseball. This is an especially slippery one, because like writing poetry, it's a learned skill with gradations of skill level, not an intrinsic ability that someone does or doesn't have. Most autistic people aren't pro-level baseball players, but neither are most allistic people. And again, Kennedy didn't say "Autistic people are bad at baseball." He said that we would never play baseball. "Has ever played or will ever play baseball" is such a ridiculously low bar that even I can meet it. Technically speaking, I can play baseball. I have played baseball, in school gym class. I know how! You sit there minding your business until it's your turn to stand up, and then someone hands you a bat, and then someone throws a ball, and you're supposed to try to hit the ball with the bat, and in theory, after you fail three times, you're supposed to be allowed to sit back down again and go back to imagining wild self-insert fanfic, but the coach gives you "extra tries" out of pity, so you have to humiliate yourself with five or six attempts instead of three. Yeah. I can play baseball. So what's Kennedy going for with this one? Baseball in the U.S. is associated with two things: American identity, and idyllic midcentury childhood. If autistic people can't participate in America's Pastime, can we really even be Americans? Do we really count as citizens? I don't think Kennedy is personally, ideologically all that committed to xenophobia himself; he's just hitched his wagon to a deeply xenophobic administration because they indulge his medical conspiracy theories. But he knows how to align his goals to the administration's. He knows that his boss is deeply committed to narrowing and restricting who counts as "an American," who's not really part of "our culture," who's not really a part of baseball and hot dogs and the Fourth of July, if you know what I mean. Okay, okay. Maybe I'm reaching with this one. But I'm definitely not reaching with the other association he's going for: Idyllic Midcentury Childhood. All kids play baseball. By which I mean, all boys play baseball. I'm not sure Kennedy knows that girls can play it too, or that he cares. The point is, baseball is part of childhood, and autistic people are never children. We don't play, we don't learn, we don't go through developmental stages, we're just forever Mindless Blobs. That's why things that would be considered cruelty if done to neurotypical children aren't cruelty when they're done to us. We're not really children. We never become adults, either -- how can we, if we don't go through childhood first? You can tell we're subhuman because we don't go through the universal experiences of Real People Life.

Go on a date. Okay. This one. This is the one where I get actively angry at the well-meaning, "inclusive" responses. "Just because an autistic person has high support needs and can't do XYZ doesn't mean --" no. Stop right there. There is no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date. There is no impairment or disability that prevents someone from dating. There are people -- autistic and otherwise, disabled and otherwise -- who for whatever reason, choose not to pursue dating. Maybe they're aromantic, maybe they're loners, maybe they have religious objections, maybe dating just isn't something they're interested in. Fine. That's their choice. But there is no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date. There is no such thing as a disability that renders people incapable of romantic relationships. There is no such fucking thing as being "too disabled" or "too severe" or "too profound" or "too high support needs" to have a romantic relationship if two or more people want one. That is not a thing that exists. That is a thing ableists made up. There is no such thing as an autistic person who "can't" go on a date. There are autistic people who aren't allowed to go on dates, because their family or caregivers control them, infantilize them, restrict their freedoms, or treat them as mindless blobs. But all disabled people (yes, all) can pursue romantic relationships. All disabled people (yes, all) deserve the human right to pursue romantic relationships if they choose to. With other disabled people. With abled people. With whomever. And yeah, dating doesn't necessarily have to be romantic or sexual, but let me be perfectly clear -- disabled people, autistic people, "high support needs" autistic people have a right to have sex, too. A multiply disabled autistic person who needs 24/7 assistance deserves the absolute, unreserved right to have wild, kinky, balls-to-the-wall, whole-chicken sex with the entire starting lineup of the Detroit Lions, if xe so chooses to, and if said Lions are on board. We should not accept the premise that there is any such thing as a disabled person who "can't" go on a date.

Use a toilet without assistance. This is the Kennedy playbook trump card, but unlike some of the other claims, this one is actually true. There's no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date, but yes, there are in fact plenty of disabled people, including autistic people, who need help with using the toilet. So what's Kennedy going for here? He's trying to evoke two things: Disgust and infantilization. We have a visceral disgust around excretory functions. Needing to eliminate waste reminds us that we're animals made of meat, not the higher intellectual beings we pretend to be. Everyone poops. So we do it in private, we describe it with euphemisms, and if someone needs help with it, well, they're not keeping up their end of the social compact to collectively pretend we're not animals with animal bodily functions. So people who need assistance with the waste process are disgusting, subhuman, a violation of imagined purity. And of course, they're babies. Babies wear diapers. Babies need help using the toilet. So an older child or adult who needs diapers or toileting help is basically a big baby. We have entire election cycles centered on "Which candidate has incontinence issues?" as a proxy for "Which candidate is a big baby unfit to lead?" as though someone's bladder leakage has any bearing on their wisdom or policy positions. And of course, since people who need help with toileting Are Babies, we're meant to assume that they can't do any of those other things, either. They can't even use the toilet, let alone write poetry or go on a date. In reality, plenty of people who need toileting help are writing poetry and going on dates. One of the biggest misconceptions that holds disabled people back from education or, in some cases, from basic communication, is this myth of linear "developmental stages" -- that if someone isn't "smart enough" to master an "easier/earlier" skill, then they can't possibly be "smart enough" to master a completely unrelated skill that some abled person thinks of as "more advanced." This is literally the primary barrier to communication access for speech-disabled people, and the reason nonspeaking people who type to communicate are so often disbelieved -- if someone isn't "smart enough" to master a "baby skill" like talking, they can't possibly be "smart enough" to read and write! Nevermind that for many speech disabled people, reading and writing are much easier than speaking. And if someone isn't "smart enough" to use the toilet unassisted, they can't possibly learn any advanced topics at all, because they must the "mind of a baby." (The only people with the minds of babies are babies. A 50 year old with incontinence has the mind of a 50 year old.)

So. To sum up: Kennedy is intentionally evoking the concept of autistic people as The Abject Unthinking, and neither "Plenty of autistic people can do those things he says we can't do" nor "Disabled people deserve respect and dignity even if they can't do those things" fully addresses the dehumanization he's trying to conjure. Maybe I'm just jaded, too, about calls for "respect and dignity" for disabled people that don't challenge the concept of The Abject Unthinking. I see behavioral therapists, institution staff, and parents pursuing adult guardianship talking about "respect and dignity." I see articles about how to restrain and forcibly drug people with "respect and dignity." Ableists literally murder disabled people in cold blood in the name of "respect and dignity." I don't know what "respect and dignity" means to these people, but it's sure not synonymous with "bodily autonomy" or "civil rights." By this point, I consider "respect and dignity" about as meaningful as "thoughts and prayers." All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, express themselves. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, make their own decisions about their own bodies. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, participate in their communities. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, pursue relationships with other people of their choice.

[rpfisfine]

(hi im back I got scared bc I worried I'd focused too much on myself in my last ask and the demons took over Help) idk why im shocked that there aren't any fics unique to wattpad I dont think the boyboy following is a wattpad bunch we're all old pretentious fucks (endearing). I rly hope they're cool with fics,,, i hope they Get It,,, that would be really sick. they've surprised me before, they can do it again!

you ARE being brave holy shit if I was in your position I think I'd shit myself to DEATH this tension is killing me but I agree your fics are so well written like they're rpf but more importantly they're really good??? truly moving?? literary even??? and i have hope that they'll appreciate that too

- 🌵

HIIIIIIIIIII noooooooo omg not at all!!! its just that ive genuinely sucked ass at answering asks in general since the dawn of time and in the past couple of weeks i have gotten more asks than ive ever received before in my entire life LOL plus my memory is shit so if i dont answer Immediately i forget ive even been sent anything in the first place and its just this whole thing but me not responding wasnt caused by anything you did in the slightest i LOVE getting asks from you!!!

god i literally know it makes complete sense but at the same time it surprised me as well maybe wattpad rly isnt what i remember it being anymore maybe it has fallen off in a pretty major way since 2014..... dude i literally cannot exaggerate how much i want that to be true LOL i rly rly rly hope they are too like i know logically they wouldnt be making the video if they werent but still...... tbh aleksa does strike me as someone who has legitimately written self insert fanfiction abt him & alex in the past so. i think there's some hope for us (joking obvs. unless..)

im gonna be real there hasnt been one moment in the past couple of days where i wasnt shitting and pissing and vomiting myself to death i literally wake up in cold sweat nowadays expecting my inbox to be flooded w anons being like DUDE THE VIDEO IS OUT FHFGNG.. like its BAD the tension is kiling me as well. ohhhhhmy god stop you guys are sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo niceys to me i cant believe it..... god.....them apprer . them Complim , them ap- i cant even say it . is something i genuinely honestly cannot even begin to think abt like you guys r being so brave and normal abt this and r trying to comfort me constantly and i just feel like i havent made any mental progress at all since the day of the fateful discovery LOL like ever since i learned its not gonna be posted to their patreon w roughly 5000 subscibers like i hoped but instead to their yt channel with 800k+ subscibers i have been trying even Harder to gaslight myself into thinking my fics somehow wont make it into the video bc when i like sit down and make a serious attempt to entertain the possibility of 800k ppl potentially seeing my writing its just . Like my brain legitimately shuts down. i just cannot physically or mentally comprehend that number at all its not REAL!!!! to me!!!!!! get me out of here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[reidmotif]

Hands-On Learning

Summary: Reader is deep in preparation for her finals, much to Spencer’s frustration. When she creatively incorporates him into her anatomy review, it turns into a pleasurable experience for them both.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: f!receiving oral, face sitting, face riding, f!masturbation, softdom!spencer, but he's needy and desperate, anatomy terms that may have been used incorrectly (sorry), slight dry humping, overstimulation, yearning.

Word Count: 3.3k

Masterlist

Finals season. 

The ever-dreaded, ever-disliked period between the end of April to June where every student you know is scrambling to absorb roughly four months of material in a matter of weeks.

All bets are off in this lawless space of time. Coffee at 2 AM? Completely advised, go right ahead. Hundreds of dollars spent in food delivery? Sure. Anything to keep the grind going, right? Major papers that should’ve taken weeks to write being done in a frantic three hours? It’s a rite of passage, really. And luckily, you get to spend a much-needed summer break afterwards, recovering from all these horrific decisions you’ve put yourself through. 

Needless to say, your current setup involved many textbooks, flashcards scattered about, and highlighters in the most random of places, all in the name of preparation for this beast of a week. 

And of course, it was all set to the sounds of a very needy Spencer Reid, who’d been begging for your attention since he’d gotten here.

“You’ve studied so much already, I swear. Can’t you take a break?”Spencer questions petulantly, sitting on the bed adjacent to your desk, where you were currently hard at work memorizing the thirty-one pairs of nerves that made up the spine. 

You’d been studying intensely for this semester's finals. By making a couple of well-informed choices beforehand, you were actually quite on track when it came to your learning and retention of material.

For the most part, it seemed like you were on track to sail through all your classes without a hitch. That held true, until you brought up Introduction to Anatomy. 

Anatomy was fun, by all means. Interesting labs, interesting people, interesting content. However, what daunted you more than anything in pertinence to the material was the enormity of the terms and vocabulary you were expected to know in time for the exam.

“I haven’t studied enough.” Is your quick response, a small smirk finding its way to your lips. Despite loving your boyfriend, there was a certain pleasure in seeing him so desperate for you, a power-rush that felt unbelievably good.

And to your credit, you really were hard at work memorizing these terms. As much as you enjoyed his company (and the sex he wanted to engage in), it simply could not take precedence over the task at hand. 

“You know, multiple studies recommend at least twenty minutes of a break for every hour you study, for peak brain efficiency, and you-” He checks his watch, mentally calculating how long you’d been at that desk. “You’re due for at least an hour’s worth of break at this point.” 

You finally look up, your finger halting on the paper it’d been tracing over. “Spencer, you know I’d love to take a break but-” 

He sighs heavily. “I’m aware. This is important. I get it.” He grumbles, flopping onto the bed in a slightly dramatic fashion. 

You giggle at the scene. For all his propriety, there was never a more amusing sight than your boyfriend reduced to base desire and instinct. You take pity on him though, and smile gently at him. 

“Look, why don’t you get out? Go have lunch, do whatever, and come back. Hopefully I’ll be closer to finishing then, and we can hang out then?” You offer, hope in your voice. 

He sighs and nods, lifting himself off your bed. “Yeah, sounds good.” He murmurs, coming over to the desk to place an affectionate, chaste kiss upon the top of your head. “Good luck.” He says, cracking a half smile as he leaves, which you return with a smile of your own. 

The door closes, and you’re left with nothing but silence, and the lateral cutaneous branches looking up at you from their place on the page. Time to work at it, you suppose. 

It’s about two hours later, when you hear the tell-tale knock of your boyfriend at your door, presumably back from his excursion away from you. Your place at your desk is momentarily abandoned in favor of letting him in, and there’s instant delight in your eyes, considering the two cups of coffee he presents to you. One is iced, one is not. Without any words exchanged between either party, the iced coffee is grabbed and you grin. 

“Thank you.” You say, taking a sip. Of course he’d remember your order perfectly. 

“You know, that could’ve been my coffee, for all you know.” He teases, striding into the room. 

You roll your eyes fondly whilst you close the door. “Spencer Reid drinking iced coffee? I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“Coffee is supposed to be hot!” He protests, immediately, this being an obvious subject of passion for him. “Hot brewed coffee contains far more antioxidants, and doesn’t risk being watered down by ice- oh, and another thing-” 

You stifle a chuckle whilst watching him. This had been an ongoing debate for you two, essentially since the day you met. Your first date had been at a coffee shop. When he'd asked for your order, he looked almost appalled at the prefix of “iced” you’d tacked onto your statement.

Nevertheless, he still ordered it, and did his best to educate you on why hot coffee was “clearly” superior.

Somewhere between lecturing you on caffeine effectivity and nutritional information, you were head over heels. 

“Anyway.” He says, breaking your thoughts, and seemingly done with his argument. “How far are you into studying?” 

You make your way back to your desk, biting your lip as you stand over the material.  “Pretty far.” You murmur, reluctantly. “I dunno. I know I know this material, but I feel like it hasn’t solidified in my brain, you know? Like I need to keep hammering it in until it’s basically muscle memory for me.” 

He moves slowly to be behind you, his hands coming to rub your shoulders gently, soothing the worn out muscles on your back. His touch is warm and reassuring, a quiet way of saying, “You can rest.”

“You know.” He murmurs, softly. “You’d probably do better with a break. Take a breather, let your brain relax for a second.” 

There’s a pause, before he adds in a quiet voice, “Maybe spend some time with me?” His hand comes to move some hair away from your neck, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the side of it. 

You melt into the movement. He always knew exactly where your weak spots were, where you’d falter and give right into his ministries.

But you know you can’t. You force yourself to breathe and look away, as though that simple act might help you forget how his hands had lingered on you just a moment ago.

“I want to, I swear. But I won’t feel good about taking downtime until I’m absolutely sure I’ve got this.” You say, firmly extricating yourself from his grasp.

He gives another one of his heavy sighs, accepting his fate quietly, knowing he won’t be able to convince you outside of your own accord. 

“Alright then. I’ll just hang out here then.. For however long that might take.” 

You give a small, pained smile. “Thank you. I know I’m being difficult.” 

“You’re not. You could never be difficult.” He responds, immediately, returning your smile with one of his own. “It’s just finals season. I know your  performance will be wonderful, and we’ll have all the time in the world afterwards to spend time together.” 

Your heart melts. You were beyond lucky to have him, and that adoration and knowledge is displayed plainly through your expression. “Thank you.” You repeat, unable to verbalize just how much his support meant to you. “I hate finals.” 

“You and I both.” He shoots back, cracking a grin. “You’re going to do great.” 

There’s no trace of doubt in his tone at all. 

For the next hour or so, you both quietly coexist in the same space, the names of musculature and types of fibers muttered under your breath. After a while, the terms click into place, and with a quiet breath, you let the tension go. The final step in your preparation involved practicing the newly learned terms on a human model. Ideally, it would be one of the fake skeletons in the anatomy lab. Your gaze, however, drifted to your boyfriend on your bed, sprawled out, reading your physics textbook for fun. 

Nerd. 

An almost evil plan enters your brain, and your voice goes sickly sweet as you call out his name. 

“Spence?” “Mm?” He murmurs, looking over the book. 

“Can you strip down to your underwear, please?” A harmless smile plays on your lips as you ask.

Spencer’s all ears as he hears that, and in record time his clothes are shed. “Are you-” “Lie back on the bed.” You order. 

He’s so obedient and eager, immediately complying with what you’ve asked of him without question. You smile, and discreetly grab a washable marker before making your way to where he was laid out. 

“God. I’ve been so insanely needy for you all day. I’m so glad you’re done.” He says, his expression reeking of starvation as you straddle him. You can feel him harden under your touch, and choose to ignore that. 

You lean down, your head at about his chest. His breathing quickens in anticipation, already so turned on from the minimal contact between you two.

Before he can make a move of his own, you pull out your marker and mark the space between his clavicle and shoulder.

“Brachial plexus.” You murmur, much to his utter confusion and dismay. 

“You have to be kidding me.” He says, his look of confusion quickly morphing into one of realization. “I thought you were done-” 

“I’m not.” You say, with a small smirk on your lips. “But I will be, if you’re quiet and let me work on you.” 

He groans. “You’re evil, this is evil. I won’t-” 

“The faster we get through this, the faster I’m all yours.” You interrupt, mostly ignoring him, because you know he’ll do anything if it means touching you by the end of it. 

He takes a pained breath and tries to relax while you work on top of him,  his obvious erection straining against the fabric of his briefs.

The pen drags down his chest, as you move down on him to better position yourself in accordance to the medial pectoral nerve you were marking.

“Baby, please.” He groans out, his hands fisting in the sheets below him in an attempt to not grab you and take you right then and there.

The slightest bit of friction seems to set him off, and you can tell he isn’t playing it up in the slightest. He truly was, well and gone for you within this moment.

“Sorry.” You murmur. “Just marking your.. anterior cutaneous branches.. of the thoracic nerves.” The pen drags against a spot on his chest, and he shudders. 

“Won’t this stain my skin?” He says, a slight whine in his tone, doing absolutely anything to free himself from the absolute torture of this predicament he’d found himself in. 

“Nah. It’s one of those pens they use for surgery.” You respond, dragging it along his sternum to mark a few more necessary terms. “It’ll come right off in the shower.” 

You know exactly how to push his buttons. You lean in closer and whisper against his ear enticingly, “We can get clean together.” 

He squeezes his eyes at that, the feeling of your lips brushing against his earlobe triggering an involuntary response, a low moan escaping him. “This is.. so unfair. I just want to touch you. Please.” 

“Not until I’m done.” You fire back. “C'mon. You can be good and wait, right?” 

“Easy for you to say.” He grits out. “You’re not the one, half naked and hard and having to watch you be..” He trails off.

“Be what?” You ask, a bit distracted as you mark another nerve of importance.

“Be.. sexy.” He mumbles out, clearly embarrassed by his own musings. 

A small, wry smile comes upon your mouth. You lean back, a breath of laughter slipping free. “You think I look sexy?” You say, a teasing lilt in your tone.

He rubs a hand over his face, clearly mortified. “Yes. Yes, okay!” He grumbles out, clearly self-conscious by just how much he’s managed to be affected by you. “You’re on top of me, drawing on me, and I’m aware they’re just anatomical terms, but God the way you say them.” 

His voice devolves into a near whimper, pitiful and aching. “It’s killing me.” 

You hum, pleased with yourself. “Killing you, huh?”

“Yes.” He mewls. “Killing me. I want you so much, please. You’re so smart. Please. I know you’re going to do so good on this final. Just please, please, let me touch you.”

He collapses into his words, into you. No pride left, just need.

“Yeah? You think I’m smart?” You murmur teasingly, tracing the plastic of your marker along the side of his neck. 

“Yes.” He moans, lowly. “So smart. You’re so hot when you’re working so hard. Makes me want you so bad.” 

Your head turns back, and you can see the wetness of precum leaking from his cock on his briefs. He wasn’t faking it to get your attention. He yearned for you, plain and simple.

Your eyes find his, and they’re full of need, his expression absolutely shameless and desperate. “Please.” He repeats. “Please let me touch you. I don’t care how. Just- god. I can't do this. Please.” 

It’s enough to make you yield. You slide off of him, and he lets out a soft, needy sound, already missing the press of you, until his breath catches at the sight of you stripping, your clothes landing somewhere off the edge of the bed without a second thought.

“You wanna touch me?” You murmur, crawling up the bed a little. 

“Yes.” He whispers, nodding.

The way he looks at your naked body, eyes fixed, hungry, reverent.. it’s almost too much. You feel dizzy from the weight of it.

You straddle his face, a thigh on either side of him whilst you hover over his face, and then you look down. “Touch me then.” You murmur.

He practically growls as his hands wrap around your thighs. “With pleasure.” 

He pulls you down entirely, effectively forcing your core against his mouth, his tongue lapping against every inch of your wet folds.

You moan, your hands coming to grasp the headboard in front of you. There’s absolutely nothing he could be thinking about, besides the taste and smell of you flooding and overwhelming his senses. 

He devours you with a single-minded focus, his tongue expertly alternating between flattening  and lapping you in slow, deliberate strokes, and quick flicks against your clit. It’s all done in service to you, Spencer thinking of the fastest way to unravel you, desperate to taste your release against his tongue– to hear you moan his name and shake above him. 

He gets his wish when another stroke of his tongue finally causes you to come, your sweet release flooding his face, and him eagerly drinking it in. He moans as he attempts to pull you even closer to his mouth (if that was even possible). 

You let out a breathy laugh as he seems to slow down, indicating the end of your session. “Spence.. Oh god. That was so good.” You try to get off him, but his grip on your thighs is iron-clad. 

“Again.” He moans. 

“What?” You ask, not sure if you heard him right. 

“Again, please.” He begs, voice broken. “I need you.” 

The absolute depravity and torment in his voice lulls you into complacency, as you assume your previous position above him. 

“Okay. Okay, baby. We can go again.” You murmur, soothingly.

He wastes no time going right back in, his tongue albeit, a little slower now, keeping in mind that you’d just orgasmed, and that you were probably still sensitive. 

He’s right to do so, little high-pitched moans and drawn out of you as you get comfortable again, despite the overstimulation.

His tongue circles your clit slowly, never properly touching it, delaying your next release. After a while of this teasing, you finally moan out his name, your hips shamelessly rocking against him. 

“Spencer, god. Please. Need to come.” You beg, feeling yourself at the edge of a small death. 

Spencer responds in kind, rapidly flicking his tongue against your swollen bud, and in record time, you’re coming again, much to his delight.  He doesn't let up until he's absolutely sure he's lapped up every single drop, not letting any of it go to waste.

“Okay, baby. I gotta get off. Gotta breathe. So do you.” You pant out, as you get off from your seat on his face.

He shakes his head, tugging you closer. 

“Please, wanna keep touching you.” He pleads, eyes teary, your release practically dripping off his chin. His hand digs into your arm with a lustful urgency.  “Please. We can go again. I know we can.” 

You yield to his request, because honestly, who could deny him right now? His hair messy, lips shiny and his voice, fractured and full of ache, barely held together. 

You nod, lying down, on the bed, motioning for him to roll on top of you. 

He rolls over and kisses you, and it’s absolutely sinful. You can taste yourself on him, moaning as your lips easily part and make way for him, the wet warmth of his tongue sliding against yours. There’s nothing held back between the two of you as your lips connect and reconnect, as his hand slowly slides down the expanse of your skin, finding your clit and beginning to rub slow circles against it. 

“Oh god, Spencer.” You moan bonelessly, feeling the effects of your previous two orgasms and the one you were hurtling towards currently taking over you. 

“Yeah?” He mumbles. “That feel good?” 

“God, yes.” You moan. “You always know how to touch me, always know how to make me feel good- oh-” 

He groans in delight as he dives in for another kiss, his fingers sliding across the slick bud even faster now, determined to make you fall off the edge for him one last time. He humps your thigh, practically desperate for some relief for his aching cock as well.

“Say my name.” He murmurs against your lips. 

“Spencer.” You wail out, in response. 

“Louder.” 

“Oh god, Spencer, please!” You groan, your body beginning to tense up with the tell-tale signs of an orgasm, your body taut like a bowstring. 

“That’s right, come for me.” He whispers, placing a sweet kiss against your collarbone, his hips continuing their rut in an attempt to chase his release as well.

And with a shout, you come, your body seizing up and succumbing to his touch, your hands wrapping around his neck in an attempt to ground yourself as you experienced the intense pleasure that could only result from being with him.

He seems to follow shortly after to the sound of your moans, a wet patch appearing on the front of his briefs.

You whimper as you come down for your orgasm, Spencer stroking your skin soothingly, peppering little kisses wherever he could reach. 

“You doing okay?” He pants out.

“Better than okay.” You murmur, folding into his embrace, feeling as if you were floating on clouds, or some other poetic description of just how light you felt in this moment. 

“I pushed you pretty hard, huh?” He mumbles, his voice tinged with a slight bit of concern. 

“Don’t worry. I deserve it for teasing you so hard." You mumble.

"Thanks for helping me study, by the way." You tack on, already feeling yourself drift off into a quiet, peaceful slumber in his arms. 

He chuckles a bit, and places a kiss against your forehead. “Glad I could make the lesson... hands-on.”

woah!!! hello!! so unfortunately, much like reader, i have also been swamped by finals :( but, this idea came to me and i decided to write it and try to make my way back to writing even a little bit more regularly. as usual, please like, reblog and comment if you enjoyed this fic. reblogs are basically the lifeline of tumblr, and if you'd like my work to reach more people, i would 10000% appreciate it so much. thank you so much for reading regardless, and i hope it was enjoyable. thank you thank thank you for all your support!!!! <333

[haru-dipthong]

Did you know that the english word “star” and the japanese word 星（ほし）don’t actually mean the same thing?

Language does not simply name pre-existing categories; categories do not exist in 'the world'

— Daniel Chandler, Semiotics for Beginners

I read this quote a few years ago, but I don’t think I truly understood it until one day, when I was looking at the wikipedia article for “star” and I thought to check the Japanese article, see if I could get some Japanese reading practice in. I was surprised to find that the article was not titled 「星」, but 「恒星」, a word I’d never seen before. I’d always learnt that 星 was the direct translation for “star” (I knew the japanese also contained meanings the english didn’t, like “dot” or “bullseye”, but I thought these were just auxiliary definitions in addition to the direct translation of “star” as in "a celestial body made of hydrogen and helium plasma").

To try and clear things up for myself, I searched japanese wikipedia for 星. It was a disambiguation page, with the main links pointing to the articles for 天体 (astronomical object) and スター（記号）(star symbol). There was no article just called 「星」.

It’s an easy difference to miss, because in everyday conversation, 星 and star are equivalent. They both describe the shining lights in the night sky. They both describe this symbol: ★. They even both describe those enormous celestial objects made of plasma.

But they are different - different enough to not share a wikipedia article. 星 is used to describe any kind of celestial body, especially if it appears shiny and bright in the night sky. “Star” can be used this way too (like Venus being called the “morning star”), but it’s generally considered inaccurate to use the word like this, whereas there is no such inaccuracy with 星. You can say “oh that’s not actually a star, it’s a planet”, but you CAN’T say 「���はそれは星ではなく惑星だよ」 (TL: that’s not actually a hoshi, it’s a planet). A planet IS a 星.

星 is a very common word, essentially equivalent to “star”, but its meaning is closer to “celestial body”. I haven’t looked into the etymology/history but it’s almost like both english and japanese started out with a simple, common word for the lights in the sky - star/星 , but as we found out more about what these lights actually were, english doubled down on using the common word for the specific scientific concept, while japanese kept the common word generic and instead came up with a new word for the more specific concept. If this is actually what happened, I’d guess that kanji probably had something to do with it - 星 as a component kanji exists inside the word for planet, 惑星, and in the word for comet, 彗星, and in the scientific word for “star”, 恒星, so it makes sense that it would indicate a more general concept when used standalone.

This discovery helped me understand that quote - categories don’t exist in the world, we are the ones who create them. I thought that the concept of “star” was something that would be consistent across all languages, but it’s not, because the concept of “star” is not pre-existing. Each language had to decide how to name each of those similar star-like concepts (the ★ symbol, hot balls of gas, twinkling lights in the sky, planets, comets, etc), and obviously not every language is going to group those concepts under the same words with the same nuance.

Knowing this, one might be tempted to say that 恒星（こうせい） is the direct translation for “star”. But this isn’t true either. In most of the contexts that the word “star” is used in english, the equivalent japanese will be simply 星. Despite the meanings not lining up exactly, 星 will still be the best translation for “star” most of the time. This is the art of translation - knowing when the particulars are less important than the vibe or feel of a word. For any word, there will never be an exact perfect translation with all the same nuances and meanings. Translation is about finding the best solution to an unsolvable problem. That's why I love it.

[foxy-eva]

A Lesson in Faking it

Summary: An evening of fake dating leads to a night of revealing true feelings

Request: They have to pose as a couple and heavy make out in a club or a bar to get the attention of an unsub. When the case is over they also have to share the hotel bedroom

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut, Fluff

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) Fake dating in a swinger club, mentions of case related violence, consensual voyeurism (because they are in a swinger club) including BDSM scenes, implied bisexual reader, awkwardness, tension, jealousy, heavy kissing, fingering, protected penetrative sex

Word count: 4.2k

Masterlist

Joining the BAU came with a lot of new experiences for you. Today you learned that going to a swinger club with Spencer Reid would be one of them. 

It was the hunting ground of the latest unsub you chased and you and the good looking doctor just happened to be the same age group as his previous victims. So it was only logical that you’d have to pose as a couple to finally catch this guy. 

Spencer was resistant at first but when he realized it was the only good option your team had at catching this guy, he agreed at last. 

“Let’s do this, babe!” you chirped as you stepped into the backseat of the car where Spencer was already waiting for you. He raised his eyebrows when he heard the nickname you chose for him.

Luke drove the car while Emily explained the details of your mission. The overly confident demeanor you displayed was your way of hiding the fact that posing as a couple with Spencer would certainly be your downfall. For weeks you had been pining after him while desperately trying to not let your true feelings show. 

From the corners of his eyes your coworker ogled your outfit and you couldn't ignore how he licked his lips while doing it. The lacy top you wore barely covered your skin and left little to the imagination. Together with skin-tight black leather pants it was the perfect outfit for a fake date night at the swinger club. 

Turning to Spencer, you looked at his clothes. He was wearing a black dress shirt and suit pants, not too different from his usual work attire. With a playful smirk you reached for his shirt, prompting him to almost jump at the contact. 

“What are you doing?” he squeaked, his voice a lot higher than usual. 

He didn't stop you when you undid the first two buttons of his shirt. “Making you look less like an agent,” you explained.

“Reid, you better get used to her touching you,” Luke laughed while looking at the rear-view mirror. “Don’t bust this mission right away.”

“We’re not undercover yet,” he retorted while rolling his eyes.  

“Maybe you two should talk about your boundaries before you go in,” Emily suggested with a firm tone. “I don't want either of you to be uncomfortable.”

Spencer sighed at her words. “That’s gonna be difficult in a swinger club.”

Emily turned around to look at the two of you. “You said you were okay with it. We can abort this mission right now if you’re having second thoughts.”

“No, it’s fine,” Spencer said and looked at you. “As long as you’re okay with it, too.”

You nodded. “I’m good.” 

That's what you had convinced yourself to believe, at least. Being surrounded by half-naked people in an overtly sexual environment while trying to catch a killer with your ridiculously attractive coworker was certainly not an easy task. Neither Spencer nor you had been to a place like that before. It was hard to imagine what exactly would expect you and how that would make you feel.

“Are you okay with me touching you?” Spencer asked, concern written over his face. 

Despite Emily’s suggestion to discuss exactly that, his question still caught you by surprise. Imagining his hands brushing along your body let your heart beat uncomfortably fast inside your chest. 

“Uhm… yeah, I am. Just not uh… everywhere,” you awkwardly laughed.  

“Just be reasonable,” Emily requested. “I really don’t want us to end up in a meeting with HR.” 

“What about kissing?” Spencer asked both you and Emily. 

A silent gasp rolling over your lips at the thought of his mouth on yours. Of course you knew that anything happening tonight was a sham but that didn’t change the fact that you yearned for his nearness nonetheless. 

“If you're both comfortable with it,” your unit chief answered. 

Without thinking too much about it, you said, “I’m okay with it.” 

A reassuring smile spread over Spencer’s face. “Yeah, me too.”

“Make sure to never separate and have each other’s backs,” Luke reminded you. “You're both wearing your ankle holsters, right?” 

In unison Spencer and you nodded. 

“From what we know he’ll try to separate his victims from the crowd by asking them to watch them or join them having sex. The men were all tied up when they were found, that's how he gained control. Don't forget that he’s extremely dangerous once you're alone with him. He has managed to overpower three couples so far,” Emily warned you. “So please be careful.”

There was no reason to worry, you knew that Spencer would not let anything happen to you. His presence made you feel safe and you were confident that this mission would be successful. 

At your destination, you got out of the car and instinctively grabbed Spencer's hand as you approached the entrance of the club. There was no hesitation on his side either, he intertwined his fingers with yours without making a comment. It felt natural, almost normal to hold his hand.

Once you stepped in, you were glad to have someone to hold onto. The sight of barely clothed people flirting and making out with each other was overwhelming. When you walked by a couple having sex in a jacuzzi, you felt the heat rushing to your face. 

It was almost impossible to focus and you had no idea where to look without seeing something even more scandalous. Spencer noticed your current state and gently squeezed your hand. 

“It will take a few moments to desensitize,” he explained seemingly unfazed. “Just try to relax.”

How he could stay so cool in a situation so awkward was inexplicable. His words proved to be right, though. After the initial shock had faded, you were able to focus more on your surroundings without feeling too much out of place. 

The people in the club seemed respectful and genuine. You realized that they were all just trying to have a good time in a safe environment. A vulnerability the unsub exploited. 

“You good?” Spencer murmured after locking eyes with you. 

“Yeah I’m okay. Are you?” 

He nodded before scanning the room once more. “Nothing suspicious so far,” he mumbled before turning back to you again. “You look beautiful, by the way.” 

His words made you smile and reminded you that you were supposed to pose as a couple tonight. “Thank you.”

Spencer placed his hand around your waist to pull you closer. “So, what are you in the mood for tonight, sweetheart?”

Leaning against his body, you winked at him before chirping, “I think I just wanna watch, for now.”

You made your way around the club, peeking in every room to look out for a sign of the unsub. In an attempt to merge into the crowd, you tried your best to act like a couple enjoying the show. It was weird and awkward to be there but having Spencer by your side made it tolerable. After a while curiosity took over as you took a look around the club. 

You stood in the doorframe of a room with a couple having the most sweet and loving sex when a sigh fell from your lips. It had been a while since you were intimate with anyone. Watching someone else in such a vulnerable moment let your heart yearn for a similar connection. 

“They are so cute,” you said when Spencer looked at you with raised eyebrows. “Don’t you think?”  

Your coworker just shrugged and took your hand to walk over to a different room. The expression on his face didn't reveal how he felt and you began to wonder if the stoicism he displayed was just a cover for his discomfort. 

The next scene that unfolded in front of you was too intense to hold back a gasp. Skillfully, a man was tying ropes over a woman’s body in an artistic way. It was obvious how much she enjoyed her confinement, moaning loudly whenever another cord dug into her skin. 

You couldn't help but imagine how you would feel in her place. The attention the man paid to her was unlike anything you’d ever seen. It was pure adoration. 

“Woah,” you muttered. “That's beautiful.”

Spencer leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Do you have to comment on everything we see?”

Tilting your head to look at him, you retorted, “Sorry, not everyone can play it as cool as you.”

“We’re wired,” Spencer reminded you. “Our team hears everything we say.”

With a smug grin on your face you teased, “So, bondage isn’t your thing?”

Rolling his eyes, he chuckled, “No comment.”

A smirk formed on his face even though he tried to suppress it. Maybe he wasn’t as unfazed by all of this as he led on. 

When you got to the next room, you almost froze in place when you realized what was happening. Two women, one more gorgeous than the other, were on a bed pleasuring each other. The skin on your face heated up so much you were practically glowing. With your mouth hanging open, you couldn't avert your eyes from them. 

From the corner of your eyes you realized that Spencer was watching you instead of them. “Interesting,” he chuckled.

Almost choking on your own saliva, you muttered, “Shut up.”

Your words caught the attention of the women in front of you. They both smiled when they looked at you. 

“You’re very pretty,” one of them said to you. The other one nodded and added, “Would you like to join us?”

“Uhm…,” was the only thing that made it past your lips. 

It wasn’t as if you actually considered accepting their invitation, this situation was just a little too much for you to handle. 

In an instant, Spencer grabbed your hand to drag you away into a private corner. 

“You need to get ahold of yourself,” he playfully scolded you. 

His implication that you were acting unprofessional made you angry. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Spencer stepped closer and let his fingertips drag along the neckline of your top, making your skin break out in goosebumps. For a moment you thought he was trying to feel you up. It surprised you how little you resisted his touch. In fact, his attention was very welcome and you wouldn’t even have thought about rejecting his move. 

Then you realized that he was looking for the microphone of your wire. When he found it, he pressed against it and leaned towards your ear while covering his own mic with his other hand.

“I can tell you're really aroused right now,” he softly spoke. 

Embarrassment clouded your mind when you heard his words. You felt like he had just caught you in the act. 

“What? That's not true!” you whisper-yelled in response. 

“Are you sure about that?” He took a moment to lean back and look at you before finding your ear once more. “Your pupils are dilated, your chest is heaving and–”

“Don’t profile me!” you squeaked. Taking a moment to breathe, you asked, “How is none of this affecting you at all?” 

That was when you noticed the rosy shade on his cheeks. Before he could answer, Emily’s voice echoing from your earpiece brought both of you back to reality. 

“Is everything okay? We suddenly only hear muffled sounds,” she asked, her voice laced with concern. 

Your coworker let go of the mics and said, “Yes, everything is fine.” 

“Good,” you heard her through the earpiece. “I don’t know what exactly is going on but it sounded like you two were arguing. Remember, you’re supposed to act like a lovey-dovey couple to catch the unsub’s attention.” 

“Yes, we’re on it,” Spencer said before he took your hand. “Let’s have a drink at the bar.” 

Without questioning his move, you followed him and ordered a glass of water at the bar. Sipping the cool liquid helped you clear your head and focus back on your mission. 

“Is it possible that he isn’t here tonight?” You asked your coworker as you watched him look around. 

Seemingly absent-minded, he said, “Maybe.” 

After a moment, Spencer placed his drink back on the bar and grabbed your waist to pull you closer. The sudden contact let a gasp fall from your mouth. His lips lowered down to your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, your arms found their home around his neck to pull him even closer.  

“Someone’s watching us,” he breathed before gently letting his lips graze over your pulse point. Before he proceeded, he wanted to make sure, “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?” 

“Y… Yes.” 

Without hesitation, his hands cupped your cheeks as he leaned in for the kiss. Your heart threatened to jump out of your chest and you couldn’t help but press your body firmly against his to feel even more of him. Playfully, your fingertips intertwined with the curls in the nape of his neck and you felt him smile into the kiss. 

His lips were so soft and tender but grew hungrier with every second passing. Feeling his tongue brushing against yours was enough to make you forget about your surroundings and you had a feeling that the current mission might have slipped Spencer’s mind as well.  

Suddenly, he leaned back before he mumbled, “He’s gone.”

Confused about what he was talking about, you mumbled, “Huh?”

“The guy who was watching us,” he clarified as he turned his head to look for him. “Come, I have an idea.”

Following his lead, you walked right behind him as he approached an empty room. He left the door wide open when he entered, allowing any passerby to watch whatever he was planning to do. Nervousness overcame you when you locked eyes with him, unsure of what he had in mind. 

Gently, he grabbed your arms to turn you around so you were facing the door. He stood right behind you as he placed his hands on your waist and leaned down to whisper, “Keep your eyes on the door. And please tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”

Then he began kissing along your neck, licking and nipping on the sensitive skin in a way that made your head spin. However, it was nothing compared to the feeling that overcame you when his hands began wandering over your body. His fingertips buried into the fabric of your shirt as they moved further down to grip your hips. 

There was no way to hinder the moan from falling from your lips. Spencer halted his motions for a split second, obviously surprised by your reaction, before he continued. You tilted your head to give him better access as he continued caressing your neck while his hands explored your body. 

It was difficult to keep your eyes open but you still managed to watch the curious glances of the people passing by. One man walked by the room and lingered for several moments before he disappeared again, only to come back a few seconds later. He stood in the doorframe to unabashedly watch how your coworker manhandled your body. 

“Babe,” you moaned to alert him. “Don’t stop.” 

Your coworker understood immediately, his eyes fluttering open to look at the man watching the two of you. Now all you had to do was to make him take the bait. 

Your nerves were on edge, adrenaline rushing through your body at the thought that a potential serial killer was watching you. Turning your head, you found Spencer’s lips while his hands moved along your top to carefully touch your breasts. That was what seemed to catch the man’s attention. 

“Can I join you two?” He said as he stepped closer. 

Spencer let go of you to watch him intently. You looked at the unsub, faking your best smile when you said, “Of course.” 

Closing the door behind him, he walked towards you, scanning your body as he licked his lips. The way he looked at you sent a shiver down your spine and let a knot form in your stomach. If this really was the unsub, you knew you couldn’t let this get too far and had to make your arrest quickly. 

Stepping closer to him until there was barely any distance left, you playfully cooed, “So, what are you into?” 

Motioning at your coworker, he said, “I would love to see you tie your boyfriend up and make him watch as I fuck you.” 

Spencer huffed at his words. One wrong move from the guy and you were sure Spencer would break his nose. His suggestion was exactly the modus operandi you saw with the unsub. There was no more doubt it was him.  

“Yeah?” you purred while reaching into your purse without raising any suspicions. Then, without a warning you swiftly grabbed his arm to pin it behind his back and push him against a wall. “What if I tied you up?” You snarled as you handcuffed him. “You’re under arrest.” 

“That was smooth,” Spencer chuckled as he stepped closer to assist you. 

After finishing up the arrest and the necessary paperwork for the day, your team headed to the hotel for the night. 

“Sorry guys, the hotel is overbooked,” Emily announced once she returned from the reception with keycards in her hands. “We’ll have to double up.” 

Before you realized what was happening, everyone of your coworkers quickly paired up with someone and left you and Spencer standing in the lobby. Too much had already happened tonight and you were too tired to try to convince someone else to share a room with you. If you could make out with him in a swinger club, you’d survive sharing a hotel room with Spencer. 

When you entered the room you quickly realized that there was only one bed. “Of course,” you laughed at the absurdity of the situation. 

“Are you okay with this?” Spencer wondered when he came to halt behind you. “I can sleep on the floor if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Yeah right,” you deadpanned. “You can grope my boobs but sharing a bed is where we draw the line.” 

Turning around to find his eyes, you noticed how the color drained from his face at your words. 

“I was joking. Relax! We’re all good,” you tried to calm him. 

“I still feel like I overstepped back there,” he confessed as his sight dropped to the floor. 

You stepped closer to him and placed your palms on his chest, tenderly brushing over the fabric of his dress shirt. “See?” you snickered. “Now we’re even.” 

Locking eyes with you, he showed you the sweetest smile. “What about your hickey?” he chuckled. 

In an instant your hand flew to your neck as you walked over to the mirror. With widened eyes you squeaked, “You gave me a hickey?!”

Inspecting the red and blue spot on your neck, you felt your cheeks heating up. The fact that Spencer had left a mark on you and everyone had already seen it before you could cover it up, made you feel dizzy. 

Spencer walked up behind you and found your eyes in the mirror. “Can I be honest with you?” After you nodded, he said, “I did it on purpose.” 

“Why?”

His voice was laced with a certain desperation when he kept talking. “I hated the way the people at the club looked at you. Like you were just another piece they needed for their collection.”

Confusion was written over your face when you stared at him through the reflection of the mirror. Focussed on watching everyone else back there, you hadn’t noticed how the other people at the swinger club had looked at you. 

“So you marked me?” you mumbled. 

For a moment he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I know you were just pretending but it was too hard to resist. I’m sorry, I overstepped.” 

His choice of words replayed in your mind once more until you realized what they meant. 

“Spencer,” you muttered as you turned around to face him. “Are you saying you were jealous? For real?”

“Yes,” he confessed.

It was as if his words broke the last restraint you still had. There was no more going back from this and you both knew it. Spencer still seemed surprised when you swung your arms around his neck to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. After the initial shock subsided, he grabbed your waist and reciprocated your motions. 

“I have wanted this for so long,” he muttered against your lips. 

Between more kisses you breathed, “Me too.” 

Weeks of longing and pining finally unloaded as you both gave into your desires. Walking over to the bed, you hastily began undressing one another until the last piece of clothing fell to the floor and you laid down on the mattress. 

Spencer took a moment to take in your beauty before he joined you. “You’re so pretty,” he cooed between more kisses. “So are you,” you answered as you welcomed him on top of you. 

His lips grazed along your jaw before they found your neck, littering it with tender kisses. When he bit down on the sensitive skin, your hands flew to his hair to tug on them. 

“Please no more hickey,” you purred. “I’m already yours.” 

Leaning back, he found your eyes, a soft smile painted over his face. Then he kissed you again, groaning, “Mine” against your lips. 

The confirming hum you let out in response quickly morphed into a whine once you felt one of his hands moving down your body. With purposeful motions it found its destination between your legs, making your body tremble at the sudden contact. 

Despite still yearning for more kisses, Spencer leaned back to be able to look at you when he began dragging his fingertips along your slit. When he found you already desperate for his touch, he sighed and closed his eyes for a second to savor the moment. 

You couldn’t hold back anymore and began rocking your hips against his hand ever so slightly. He wasn’t in a teasing mood and obliged your silent plea as he began drawing precise circles around your little nub. 

“Spencer,” you whined his name and noticed how his pupils dilated. “Please!” 

Two of his fingers lingered at your entrance for a second before slowly pushing in, making you arch your back at the sudden pressure. Your hand became curious as well and wandered down his stomach until it made contact with the tender skin of his cock. Before you could fully wrap your fingers around him, Spencer’s body began trembling. 

“I need you,” he whined, desperation clearly audible in his voice. 

Take me, you wanted to beg him before the rational side of your brain took over. “Do you have a condom?” you said instead. 

“Y… Yeah, I do,” he murmured as he carefully withdrew his hand from your center. 

Hurried and with little grace he got up from the bed to find his bag. He pulled out the condom and returned, finding you staring at him with raised eyebrows and a smug grin. For a moment you considered asking him why exactly he had condoms in his go-bag but decided against it. Right then you were glad he was prepared. 

Kneeling between your legs, he put the condom on before leaning over you to capture your lips in another kiss. You reached between your bodies to guide him to your waiting heat. He didn’t hesitate to push into you, a deep groan escaping his throat as he felt your tight walls enveloping him. 

The pressure he provided was almost overwhelming, making you whimper when he was fully inside you. Before he could mistake your excitement with discomfort, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pleaded, “Fuck me, Spencer.” 

Slow at first, he began pushing into you until he was sure that you could take the full extent of his eagerness. With purposeful motions he thrusted into you, showing no more reservations when you began singing his praise in the form of moans falling from your lips. 

When your walls began fluttering around him, Spencer realized how close he had come to his own downfall. Neither of you wanted it to be over. Both of you craved to prolong this feeling of being one. 

“You feel so good,” he praised you as his motions became more erratic. 

You stared up at the man on top of you, heat rushing through your body at the sight. Shimmering skin and unruly curls, crimson red cheeks and lips hanging open, lust filled eyes and scrunched up brows. Never in your life had you seen anything more beautiful. 

Your name fell from his lips like a prayer right when his hand moved to where your bodies were joined to press his thumb against your most sensitive spot. The way he caressed you sent shockwaves through your body, feeding the tension that begged to be released. 

When ecstasy finally overcame you, Spencer followed you into the sensation of pure bliss. Every pulsing of your walls was answered with him twitching inside you before he collapsed into your arms. 

Your fingers began playing with his curls as he evened out his breathing against your neck. It was then that you realized that even when you pretended to be a couple earlier, there was no reason to fake anything. It had been real from the start. 

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings @eliana773 @hits-different-cause-its-you @spensreid @silversprings-mp3

[strangersteddierthings]

"You just can't handle the fact that these people aren't falling all over themselves to get your attention for once in your life!" Eddie growls, arms thrown in the air in exasperation.

"I don't care about getting their attention, Eddie!" Steve says once again because it feels like they've been arguing in circles forever when it's really only been about half an hour. Steve wishes he could say that he didn't understand how they got here but he does.

Eddie and his new friends. Friends that don't like Steve and go out of their way to make sure he knows that. Friends that throw snide remarks that Eddie chuckles along with. Friends that make Steve feel unwanted in his own home.

It's infuriating and frustrating and hurtful that Eddie just lets them talk about Steve like that, lets them talk to Steve like that.

"Right, so you've said," Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, like Steve's the one being immature.

"Well, since you think I'm fucking lying or something, what do you think this is about?" Steve's says, hands on his hips as he stares down Eddie at the other end of the tiny galley kitchen of their apartment.

Eddie works his jaw, the way Steve's seen him do when he's holding back a comment he thinks is particularly scathing. It's been a while since Steve's been on the receiving end of this.

"Just say it, Eddie! We're never going to end this argument unless you do," Steve goads. If Eddie will just say the thing, they can talk it out. They can work through this. Steve can fix it, but only if Eddie tells him the truth.

"Maybe it's just fucking karma, Steve!" Eddie yells. "Maybe you just can't handle that I have friends who think you're not cool and they aren't going to pretend you are!"

Steve's jaw drops, the infuriating-frustrating-hurt feeling intensifying into what feels like a lead ball in Steve's gut. Karma. Karma? "Karma? Like because I was a self-centered asshole in school that I, what, deserve to be treated like trash by your so-called 'friends'!?" Steve goes as far as to make air quotes around the word friends.

"Yeah, maybe," Eddie says, quick and even like he... like he really believes that.

Like he really believes that this treatment is what Steve deserves.

"This situation is not the same," Steve shouts back.

"Seems the same to me. The group majority against the minority. It's not like you ever stood up for anyone when Hagan was trying to give everyone swirlies, or when Perkins would knock shit out of people's hands and fake laugh an apology. You just can't handle it now that you're the minority."

"That's not the fucking same! I didn't know you in high school!"

"Well, they don't know you, either!"

All the fight drains from Steve at those words. It's like Eddie has flipped the switch in his brain to see what is happening. To see it from Eddie's point of view. Or, if Steve is being kind, the point of view of Eddie's friends who don't know Steve because they refused to get to know him.

"So, what, they're allowed to treat me the way you think I treated you?" Steve asks, voice quiet and matter of fact.

"Yes," Eddie says and then his face pinches as he actually processes what Steve said. "Wait. No. That's not- It's not exactly like that. It's just, like- the guys were saying it was status quo or something."

The guys. Eddie's 'friends'.

It's strange how 'the guys' went from meaning Jeff, Gareth, and Grant to this new group of friends and Jeff, Gareth, and Grant have become The Band. A separate, new category, othering even them from Eddie's new friends.

"I- Are you even hearing yourself right now?" Steve says in disbelief. He can see Eddie getting worked up again, so he barrels on. "I'm not just some jock you don't know. I'm your boyfriend. Your fucking boyfriend, Eddie! If you were my boyfriend in high school, I wouldn't have ever let my friends speak to you the way you let them talk to me!

"And I can't even defend myself because then everything they're saying is fucking true! That I'm a bullshit dumb jock just waiting for a chance to get violent. And I'm not! I'm not a jock anymore. And I'm not dumb! And I'm not bullshit!" Steve's vision gets blurry, and he knows he's crying but he doesn't really register it. The hurt he's feeling is leaving his body and he's just feeling numb now. "Jesus Christ, Eddie, I would never let someone talk to you the way you let your friends talk to me, and about me! Because beyond it just being the goddamn decent thing to do is not let people speak about others like that, but I love you and I can't imagine ever allowing someone to treat you the way your friends treat me. Why do you like them more than you love me!?"

Eddie's face is doing something complicated, like it always does when Steve cries. Like Eddie wants to sooth him but isn't sure how.

And that's all it takes. Something in Steve crumbles but not in the way he wants it to. Steve was hoping that if they talked this out that they could be okay. They could figure out a way forward.

Because here is Eddie's face, showing how much he loves and cares for Steve and wants to help him, but all Steve realizes is that Eddie might love him, but not enough to tell his friends to treat Steve with some basic respect and kindness.

He can't be here anymore. He can't be in this kitchen and see his hurt reflected on Eddie's face. He can't be in this apartment that used to feel so cozy and comforting and now just feels like a prison. He doesn't know if he can even be in this relationship if Eddie doesn't love him the same way as he used it.

How did they get to this point? How did they get to a point where Eddie is just okay with people treating Steve this way? How did Steve let it go this long without addressing it sooner?

When did Eddie decide that the approval of his new friends was more important than his feelings for Steve?

"Steve, I-"

Steve doesn't stick around to hear whatever it is Eddie's going to say. He turns on heel, speed walking to the door where he pauses just long enough to grab his jacket from the coat rack before fleeing the apartment.

-

Inspired by @novacorpsrecruit's fic, It’s lonely at the top. Which has a happy ending, so you should read it.

[threestarsinline]

The Gala

Jason Todd x reader one-shot

Summary: It was supposed to be simple. Just accompany Jason to the party. It was also supposed to be quick. Just go in, talk to a few people, and out. But then, you find yourself meeting your boyfriend's family.

Word Count: 9.3K

Category: Fluff (established relationship) and a tiny, tiny little bit of angst

Warnings: Rich people?? Bahahsjsjs Mentions of alcohol

Author’s note: My Wayne gala fic debut (with a super original title, I know jskdks), hope you like it!

You look at yourself once again in the mirror. The truth is that you love the image that looks back at you. You feel comfortable and true to yourself, as well as beautiful. The dress that you’re wearing playing a big part in it. Your fingers slowly trace the hem of the bright red of the soft fabric.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You know that the dress probably won’t live up to the standard of the women that will be at the place but for you, it’s beautiful and elegant, making you feel like a seven year old girl wearing her favorite princess dress and giving you the confidence that you will need tonight.

Even if the style of the dress is not as chic or as sophisticated as others, you’re sure that the red will stand out. The thought increases your nerves. You don’t usually wear red but when you saw this dress you knew that you had to buy it, you could easily see yourself in it. And also, you couldn’t wait to see Jason’s reaction.

You knew that he would love it, or so you hoped. He always liked it when you wore red, or anything for that matter. No matter how you looked he always looked at you with the same silly smile and caring eyes. But there was something in wanting to see him swoon all over you. You smile thinking of him. Even if the night ends in a disaster, you both will be at each other's side.

Just as you do a little spin to see the movement of your skirt just a bit up your knees, the doorbell rings. When you open the door Jason is looking around stressfully, breathing heavily, his hands alternating on running through his hair as if trying to fix it and adjusting his tie. He doesn’t seem to notice that you have opened the door.

“Hey,” you say softly. He turns to you.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly in return, and by the way that he’s taking you in, you can tell that it isn’t for the same reason as before. You look down shyly and put a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You then take him in, and to say that you’re not ready for the full sight in front of you is an understatement. Jason was already handsome but to see him in a suit… Your insides are doing crazy things.

“Y/N, you look… incredible.”

“Thank you.” You take a small step and on your toes you give him a kiss on the cheek. “I have to say that you look great. I think that I could get used to seeing you in a suit.” He smiles warmly but suddenly he seems to come out of his daze.

“Listen, I’m so sorry I’m late and that I kept you waiting. I got caught up before and then this stupid tie wouldn’t work with me and…” You shush him softly with a kiss and then shake your head.

“Don’t worry, I just got finished too.”

He sighs in relief, and then, with a life of their own, before you can help yourself, your hands lift to fix his hair to give it his usual style but less messy, although as always, the white streak stays as rebel as ever. Your hands slide down his neck to the lapels of his jacket and then adjust his tie that was crooked to the left.

“You know how to do that?” he says, referring to the tie.

“Not really. I have just always wanted to do that. You know, like in movies and so.” You can’t help but giggle a bit while you say that.

“Well, that makes two of us.” He takes your hands and places a kiss on them. You sigh happily, the soft gesture making you melt. You’re sure that this man is going to be the death of you. The care and affection with which he always touches and looks at you was both deadly and invigorating. “Ready?”

“I think so.”

“Because if not, you know that I wouldn’t mind one bit to stay here and take a more careful look at this gorgeous dress.” His hands find your waist and after a peck on your lips, his own meet your neck.

“I know. And that’s why we have to get going, we’re already late.” You put a hand in his chest to place some distance with the temptation of his lips, that now are pouting.

“‘A queen is never late, everyone else is simply early,’” he deadpans.

A laugh threatens to escape from your throat. “You just did not.”

“What?” he says feigning innocence, but the smirk on his lips gives him away.

“You just did not quote the queen of Genovia,” you say amused.

“Okay, first, Julie Andrews is always right. And second, you were the one that showed me that masterpiece so, you should have seen it coming.” He’s grinning from ear to ear. You wish that you could always see him like this. So happy and carefree.

“Can't say that you’re not right,” you reply while hugging him, resting your head on his chest and letting his calming scent surround you.

He then takes your face in his hands and with your noses touching he whispers, “I love you.” 

Your smile at those words never faltered. “I love you too.”

When you two reach the manor Jason drives past the main gate and goes directly to the secondary one that leads to the back entrance of the manor in order to avoid all the fancy cars and limos that litter the road of the main one.

Even from outside you can tell that the party is already in full swing, the windows of the main living room that in these cases often transforms into a dance hall, the only ones with light in them and cluttered with people.

Jason parks the car but his hands do not leave the steering wheel. His grip tightens and untightens around it as he takes a deep breath and looks towards the back door of the manor. You know well how even though the manor is a home to Jason, in events like this it almost feels like a cage.

“Hey,” you whisper softly while you take his hands into yours. Immediately, Jason’s eyes leave the manor and turn towards you. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m here. And it’ll be quick, we just have to show face for a little while, just like we talked about. And then as fast as we’re in, we’ll be out,” you reassure him while softly rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs.

Jason gulps and nods, trying to will the nerves away, though his hands have stopped flexing and now lay relaxed in your grip ever since you touched them.

“Or we can leave right now. Forget all this. Spend the evening alone, just you and me. Maybe even some Batburger?” you tease with a smile, letting him know that he always has an out with you. Your calming words seem to work as a small chuckle leaves him and he lifts your hands to kiss them once again.

He shakes his head.

You tilt yours. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I just needed a moment. Besides, if I don’t go in I’ll never hear the end of it. Also, if we get this out of the way now, we won’t have to come to another one for a long while. And like you said, it’ll be quick.”

You nod and give his hands an encouraging squeeze. “Exactly. And remember, if you want to leave early, you just tell me.” 

He nods, a lot more sure of himself than just a moment ago. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go,” you echo.

Jason gets out of the car and you know better than to try and get out yourself, having learned in the very early stages of your relationship that if Jason can help it, you will never have to open a door again. And like always, your door opens and he extends a hand to help you out.

Despite the temperature dropping slightly during the night with the summer reaching its end, it’s a very nice evening. A soft breeze grazes your arms and the cut of your dress but it’s not enough to make you feel cold, mainly due to the warm hand that settles on your lower back. In the sky, the stars that would be impossible to see downtown accompany the moon in illuminating the night.

You two make your way through the gravel path that leads to the back door hand in hand, giving each other courage for the night that awaits ahead.

Once inside, it’s like entering another world entirely. Chatter and glass clinks fill the air and you’re just glad that at least this way your entrance to the party won’t make that much of a fuss as you would have done if you had used the main door.

“I was starting to think that you weren’t going to appear, Master Jason.”

At the sound of the voice both you and Jason stop dead in your tracks near the kitchen, almost like two kids getting caught trying to sneak out instead of sneaking in.

“Alfred!” Jason greets him exaggeratedly, trying to distract from the fact that you two have been caught arriving late. The British man can’t help but mirror Jason’s big smile, even as it breaks his teasing smirk. You smile as you watch them hug and then Alfred turns to you.

“Oh, and you’ve brought Miss Y/N as well! So great to see you again, dear,” he says as he also gives you a quick hug.

“You too, Alfred,” you reply with a smile. “Though it’s just Y/N, please.”

“You know I’m not going to do that, Miss Y/N.” The crinkles of the butler’s smile reminding you that trying to argue with him was a futile attempt.

You had only met him once before but that had been enough to get to know each other quite well and to already care for each other.

You had met him some weeks before, when Jason took you to the manor for the very first time one weekend as a kind of romantic getaway, as it had been left deserted and empty by Alfred and Bruce due to a business/Batman trip and Tim and Damian were away with their respective friends. It was an opportunity like no other.

It had been a wonderful long summery weekend, spent cooking together, lounging in the pool while sharing lazy kisses in the water with your arms and legs wrapped around him, his hands holding you as the sun set behind you, and watching movies in the home theater. You had never felt more at peace or relaxed.

And then, Alfred had come back a couple of days early. You and Jason had been cooking lunch (well, Jason had been cooking while you admired him perched on the counter), when Alfred entered, surprised to see anyone in the manor. After the initial surprise, friendly introductions had been made since from all of the members of his family, Alfred was the only one that Jason wasn’t wary of you meeting.

Jason could only thank whatever was out there that it had been Alfred who had come back early and not Bruce. He wasn’t ready to handle that yet.

Alfred joined you two for lunch and even though you were slightly nervous at the beginning at meeting a member of Jason’s family, you were glad that it was Alfred since he instantly made you feel welcome and at ease. Jason had watched your conversations with a small smile, glad to see and not surprised at all that you got along so well.

After lunch, Alfred left you two be to enjoy the rest of the day as well as the next day since it was your last in the manor. However, he still insisted on making you two breakfast the next day and you got to try Alfred’s famous pancakes. There was no doubt from where Jason had gotten his excellent culinary skills.

You still crossed paths with Alfred a couple more times but they hadn’t been awkward at all. During that short time of seeing you and Jason interact, Alfred saw just how happy you two made and loved each other. He could clearly see the certainty of your relationship and he couldn’t be happier for the young boy that had once been the second Robin. He totally deserved the happiness that you brought him.

And as Alfred insists on calling you Miss Y/N, with the sounds of the party drifting into the kitchen, just like he had done the first time that he met you, the same thought crosses his mind.

That the only way in which he would ever call you something other than that would be when you became Mrs. Todd. Something that he was certain would happen from the very first moment that he saw you laugh with Jason before he had made his presence known that summer afternoon. A truth as plain as the sun.

Now, seeing that the British man isn’t giving up upon your insistence on calling you just by your first name, you sigh defeatedly. “Alright.”

At that, Alfred smiles and turns back to Jason. “Your brothers will be glad to see you’ve been able to make it.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

You smile at his antics and squeeze his hand. The thing was that at each Wayne gala, as it was to be expected, a few members of the family should be present. But considering the fact that all, literally all, the Waynes hated the galas, having Waynes at a gala had long been a recurring problem.

No one still talks about the time that at one of them, not a single Wayne had appeared. The press had had a field day with it and it took the Waynes months to repair the damage.

For a rich family in Gotham that lead a double life as vigilantes, they sure hated the appearances and masks that came with having to entertain the socialites. You have always found the fact extremely entertaining.

And so, in order to avoid the great gala disaster, as Jason had explained to you, they had come up with a system. Taking turns attending the galas and doing so in different groups as they all knew that no one, absolutely no one should have to suffer through a gala alone (except Bruce, who sometimes had to go alone, downsides of being the face of the company).

For example, a group could be Bruce, Dick and Damian (who, lucky for him, has never had to experience the torture of going to one alone, still being a kid and all), or Jason and Dick, but never just Jason and Tim alone, the two always looking to make an escape and neither of them keeping the other in check. However, if they were accompanied by someone else it was manageable. The pairings and different groupings going on and on.

But tonight, however, it was the turn for all four of the batboys to be there, Bruce out on a mission. And so here you were, having offered to accompany your boyfriend when he told you that he had to go to the gala. Jason had said that it wasn’t necessary but you could see the relief in his eyes when you assured him that you wanted to go with him, knowing how hard these things could be sometimes.

Though not liking large crowds either, you were no better. What a pair did you two make. But you knew that together, you could face this night. Now, apart from the overall challenge of enduring the night, came the very real possibility of finally meeting Jason’s brothers. It wasn’t that Jason was trying to keep you away from them or hiding you, they did know about you, it’s just that it was a delicate issue that he wanted to handle at his own time and when he was ready.

You understood that and of course never pushed him on the topic. You knew that if it were for Jason, he would scream that you two were together a hundred times a day, he had no problem holding your hand in public nor kissing you until you felt dizzy in the middle of the street.

Either way, when you two realized that you could meet them, Jason came to the conclusion that it wasn’t so bad. That way they’ll stop pestering him about meeting you and you would do it in a more relaxed ambience than what a formal dinner with all of his family, including Bruce, could be, with all of their eyes fixed on you and asking you millions of questions. At least this way, with the gala, distractions were easy to come by if a quick escape was necessary.

So, if you met them, good. If you didn’t, good as well.

Though still, the nerves persisted.

After exchanging a couple of phrases more with Alfred, he returned to his duties at the party and with your arm looped through Jason’s, you stepped into the space that had been turned into a ballroom of sorts, all of Gotham’s elite there. Either to donate to a Wayne fundraiser (sadly, the least likely of them all), invest in Wayne Enterprises (more likely), drink (very likely), or to snoop around the mysterious Wayne manor and find out more about the peculiar family (the most likely of them all).

You have to say that you're impressed with what has been done with the space. Added chandeliers and carefully placed lamps give the room a golden glow, highlighting all the luxury of the attendees, from expensive watches, to even more expensive necklaces, and making all the glasses of champagne around the room sparkle.

On one side, a bar has been set up, on the other, on a small stage, musicians play for the dancing couples on the dance floor that has been put up in the center. And scattered around the room, high tables where people place their drinks and gather for conversations.

The lack of chairs does not go unnoticed, just a couple every few tables and the stools that surround the bar. The lack no doubt made deliberately, that way, no one would settle for long, either forcing them to mingle and spend some money on the gala or directly leave. The Waynes really do not like to have people in their house. You have to stifle a laugh at the thought, you could relate to that.

Though it makes perfect sense, given that no one wants too many people on the floor above the headquarters for Gotham’s vigilantes for long. You also know that in whatever way they can, they always try to have the galas either at Wayne Tower or at any other place, but sometimes, having one at the manor once in a while was inevitable.

You can’t help but tense up as you notice more and more people start to look towards you two. You don’t even notice that your anxious nature has gotten the better of you and that your grip on Jason’s arm has tightened until his other hand covers yours, the touch immediately grounding and soothing you. You look up at him and take a deep breath as his green eyes look at you encouragingly and gratefully, telling you that you can do this and that he’s thankful that you’re here with him.

You smile before squeezing his arm back and then you two plunge into battle. Showtime.

You make small talk with a few of the guests before approaching the bar to get something to drink. As you wait for your drinks you feel Jason lean down to whisper in your ear.

“I’m going to the bathroom real quick, I’ll be right back. You okay?”

You nod with a smile, telling him that it’s okay before he gives a quick kiss to your temple and then disappears into the crowd.

Your eyes scan the room as you take the refreshment that has been placed in front of you and take a sip, trying not to draw too much attention upon yourself while you wait. You’re no vigilante but as a person that prefers alone time, assessing the room before making any social interaction goes without saying. You’re even thinking of seeking Alfred and asking him if he needs help with anything when your eyes clock Jason again on the other side of the room, cornered by a bunch of socialites.

He has a pleasing smile on his face as he listens to what they’re telling him. To any other person, it might seem like he’s genuinely interested, but you can read him like a book. The corners of his smile are tense, apart from the fact that it doesn't reach his eyes, and his too constant nodding tells you how he is feigning the interest. His eyes find yours for a moment before returning to the lady speaking to him and in that split millisecond you can see how his smile turns real for you, before becoming fake once again.

You leave your glass on the counter of the bar to make your way to him and save him from the people crowding him when suddenly-

“Care for a dance?” a smooth voice says at your side.

You turn to decline when you’re met with eyes of a vibrant shade of blue, a boyish youth and mischief in them, but also slightly hardened with years of experience dealing with the worst of Gotham. His black hair is perfectly styled, a winning and charming smile on his lips and clad in a black suit with a bow tie that highlights all of his features. You can see how he’s a handsome man but still to you, he doesn’t hold a candle to Jason.

Of course you know who he is.

Gotham’s golden boy.

“Dick Grayson.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” His smile widens and you realize that this is happening whether you want it or not. You’re meeting one of Jason’s brothers. Your eyes flick back to Jason but he’s no longer surrounded by the socialites. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found. He must’ve managed to escape somehow. Looks like you’re going to have to face this alone. You had even been starting to think that this moment wouldn’t come since you hadn’t seen any of Jason’s brothers since you arrived.

You turn back to Dick and he’s still in the exact same position, leaning with one arm on the bar, carefully watching you with a knowing smile. Everything in his demeanor open, easy.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,“ he says, extending his hand.

Your force your body to release the small tension that it has accumulated and with a small smile you shake his hand. “You too.”

“Glad to see that Jason hasn’t made you up. We were starting to doubt that you really existed,” he comments playfully.

You know that he isn’t intimidating you or trying to scare you, merely wanting to meet you, know more about Jason’s life, see the reason why he’s the happiest that they have ever seen him.

“I’m very real, yes.”

“So, how about that dance?”

You pause for a second. “I’m not the best dancer.”

“Come on, please. How am I supposed to get to know my new sister-in-law otherwise?”

“By just talking?”

He chuckles. “Alright, fair enough. How about this, how am I supposed to get to know my sister-in-law without gossiping rich people interrupting us over and over again?” Dick nods to the side and you see how a few of the guests are looking towards you two, no doubt about to walk up to you and force you to establish conversation.

“Lead the way,” you end up saying and Dick’s smile beams even more, his joyous nature and openness making you feel at ease. You feel like he’s trying to make this easy for you, knowing how awkward meeting your boyfriend’s family could be.

He then offers you his arm to guide you to the dance floor and in no time you’re joining all the couples waltzing around it.

“So… Y/N, tell me. What are your intentions with our dear Jaybird?” he jokes in mock seriousness while arching an eyebrow.

“Jaybird?” you ask, never having heard the nickname before but already liking it.

“Oh, Y/N, I have so many anecdotes to tell you. We’re going to have so much fun.”

You smile at the prospect of hearing stories about Jason. “Can’t wait. But to answer your question, my intentions are to just be with him. For as long as he wants me.”

Dick nods, as if you just confirmed something that he already knew. “I feel like that’s going to be a long time.” You feel your cheeks warm at his words. You really hope that it is too. Forever, if you can help it. “Though are you sure that you want to put up with him for so long? He can be insufferable,” he adds, and you chuckle.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Afterwards, he asks you about your job and your family, and you ask him about life in Blüdhaven. You’re glad for his easygoingness, allowing you to feel comfortable and a sense of camaraderie and friendship already between you. You’re also glad that you’re dancing since you’re sure that if you weren’t, conversation wouldn’t have flowed as easily without the privacy that it has given you.

“My turn, Grayson,” a voice suddenly speaks.

You two stop dancing and turn your heads to the side, and then slightly down to find a young boy. His dark combed back hair and his straight posture making him a shadow of his father, his green eyes looking up at you expectantly and his tan skin inherited from his mother. Talia al Ghul.

“No, it isn’t,” Dick replies. 

“Yes, it is,” Damian retorts, holding Dick’s gaze. It’s like they are challenging one another while also having a mental conversation.

Finally, Dick sighs. “Fine. But only if Y/N is okay with that."

“It’s alright,” you say softly.

“See?” Damian insists and Dick rolls his eyes. You smile at their interaction and then Dick turns back to you.

“Thanks for dancing with me, Y/N. It’s been really nice finally getting to talk to you.”

“Likewise.”

Dick squeezes your hands in goodbye before letting go, Damian taking his spot to dance with you. “See you around.” Dick says and you nod and watch as he takes his leave, until a throat clears in front of you and you begin dancing once again.

“You’re Todd’s girlfriend then? Y/L/N?”

“That’s me. You must be Damian. It’s nice to meet you.” Damian nods solemnly before staring intensely at you, as if deciphering you. His movements are graceful and elegant, even more purposeful than Dick’s even. You suppose that all the grace must have something to do with growing up with ninjas and practically being raised like royalty.

Not one to back out, you hold his gaze and stare back at him. He’s shorter than you but you have no doubt that in no time he’ll be taller than you.

“You’re a great dancer, Damian,” you finally say and you can see how something in him changes, no longer putting up the intimidating facade, allowing himself to relax slightly.

“Thanks. Mother taught me.”

“That’s nice. I hope I’m not making you look too much like a fool.”

Damian shrugs. “You’re alright.”

You smile, taking his version of a compliment as a win. Then you take another look around the room, wondering where Jason could be. Maybe Alfred has asked for his help on something. You turn back to Damian, who looks around the space uninterested.

“I’m guessing you don’t like these galas much,” you say, trying to get him to open up a bit more.

“They are… a responsibility.”

“Yeah, well, I’d much rather prefer doing something else. Like going to the aquarium or the museum.” Damian’s eyes shot back to yours like a flash, a small sparkle in them.

Bingo.

You try to contain your triumphant smile. “Have you seen the new art exhibit? Jason told me that you like drawing,” you continue.

And just like that, whatever it was that Damian was wary of disappears as you two make conversation, discussing different painters, Damian’s art and your own hobbies. Then, for a second, Damian pauses in thought, like a jury about to deliver their decision, making you wonder what he’s about to say. 

“You’re cool. Todd was right about you,” he finally says as the current song ends and you two come to a stop.

You smile softly in thanks. “Glad to hear that.”

“Though I’m not yet quite sure what you could be seeing in Todd. You’re clearly way cooler than him.”

That makes you chuckle and you don’t miss how a smile twitches on Damian’s face.

“Thanks, I guess? Though he’s not that bad. Not at all.”

Damian just shrugs at your statement but you have the feeling that behind all the picking, there’s fondness and a brotherly bond between him and Jason.

“Anyway, I have to go feed my animals. It was nice meeting you, Y/N.” Your jaw almost drops, but you manage to avoid it before your lips twist into a wide smile.

Damian’s calling you by your first name. When Jason has told you that he never does that with anyone. Not even Dick.

“You too, Damian.”

He nods in goodbye before going towards the exit of the ballroom. You leave the dance floor and take a deep breath. Well, that wasn’t so bad. It was fun, actually.

You decide that you need some air in order to take all of the recent events in and head towards the open patio door that looks out to the gardens. Even though you can still hear the party, as the door is still open, the change of ambience is very much welcomed. You inhale the fresh air before releasing a content sigh at having a moment for yourself.

You lean on the railing surrounding the few steps that separate you from the grass as you gaze up at the clear sky, the moon illuminating the patio and the late summer evening breeze creating ripples along the surface of the pool. It’s a nice break from the scorching nights that Gotham can have along the summer. You can’t wait for the fall.

As you let yourself relax in the quiet evening, you think back to what has just happened. You just met two of Jason’s brothers. And everything went well. You still can’t believe it. You let out a soft chuckle at the thought that your social skills haven’t failed you this time. Despite usually needing a lot of time with a person to open up and build trust, you’re surprised at how easy it came to you with Dick and Damian, already getting along and having the feeling that you’re going to become good friends. Family, someday.

Maybe it’s due to Dick’s easygoing personality or the things that you have in common with Damian but you feel like it’s more than that. The knowledge that these kind of connections don’t come easy for them either, given all the secrets that they have to keep and the fact that they don’t have to tiptoe around you. The fact that you all love Jason Todd dearly.

You’re just glad that you click with them as well as you did all that time ago with Jason. Who, by the way, is still MIA. It’s been a good while since you saw him. Where could he be?

“Do you want some?” a voice suddenly says, interrupting your thoughts and making you turn towards its source.

Well, looks like the meeting-your-boyfriend’s-family night isn’t over.

Tim Drake stands on the doorway, holding two glasses of champagne. He’s wearing a suit as well but his appearance isn’t as neat as Dick’s or Damian’s. His hair is slightly tousled and his tie is loosened around his neck. His blue eyes, a shade lighter than Dick’s, look kindly at you.

“Sure, thanks,” you say as you take the glass that he offers you. The truth was that you weren’t a big drinker, only having a few sips on scattered special occasions during the year, like champagne on New Year’s Day or the rare instances in which you found yourself in glamorous parties like this.

You take a small sip of the sparkly drink as Tim comes to stand next to you.

“So, what do you think of the gala? Having fun?”

“It’s alright. You all do know how to throw a party,” you answer.

“What can I say? If there’s one thing we’re good at is appearances,” Tim says jokingly.

You nod with a smile while taking another sip, though this time you can’t help the grimace that you make at the growing bitter taste of alcohol in your mouth.

“Not a fan?”

“Not really,” you respond honestly, deciding to leave the glass on the outdoor table for now.

“Me neither, actually.”

And then, your eyes widen when, just like nothing, Tim literally throws the content of his glass, his untouched and what you’re sure of is a very, very, expensive champagne towards the grass and leaves his now empty glass next to yours.

Seriously, what was wrong with rich people?

You shake the thought as you and Tim start making friendly conversation. He’s telling you a story in which Jason faceplanted once during training, when it strikes you that it really is amazing how all the Robins somehow actually physically look like family despite not being blood-related. And it’s not just the coincidence that all of them have clear colored eyes and dark hair, but rather the way in which they hold themselves, something in their stance and attitude giving them a similar aura. An aura of shared hardships and experiences.

“I’m sorry that it took so long for us to meet,” Tim says after a small moment of peaceful silence. You shake your head and you can feel the shift in the air as his expression turns more serious and continues talking before you can say anything.

“I know that we can be a lot, and you haven’t even met all of us.” You tilt your head, listening, waiting to see where he’s going with this. “Things between us and Jason are good, though of course, like with any family, there are some rough patches.” He pauses for a second, leaning with his hip on the metal railing while crossing his arms. “We really wanted to meet you and we feared that something that we hadn’t realized had been going on with Jason and that he was retreating again by refusing to introduce you to us.”

You shake your head again. “It’s not that at all, Tim, I promise. Things are good. He just gets doubtful sometimes and needs to take things at his own time.”

Tim nods, letting you know that he understands. “I’m just sorry that we boarded you like this, we thought it might be easier taking the pressure out of it. Instead of having a formal family dinner or something, just meet you today in case that Jason decided to bring you. All in all, I’m glad we did, we probably wouldn’t have met you for a lot longer, probably until it was strictly necessary, if we hadn’t intervened.”

You’re processing all the information when before you can reply, you finally hear Jason’s voice again.

“Y/N!” he calls as he approaches you after spotting you outside. “I’m so, so sorry for leaving you alone. I was ambushed by the guests before going to the bathroom, then Alfred asked me to go help him with something in the kitchen and then Dick couldn’t fucking wait to ask me something about a case. It was just one thing after the other, I’m so sorry,” he rambles, a hand running through his hair in distress, knowing how you hate this kind of events as much as him.

Just as he finishes his rant, he finally reaches you and as he takes your hands in his, you can visibly see how his distressed state morphs into a relieved one just by being next to you. It’s like during your unexpected time apart Jason had been underwater the whole time and has just been finally allowed to come up for air to the surface and fill his lungs just by seeing you and being near you again.

You just shake your head and gently bring a hand to the nape of his neck to press your foreheads together so that he can ground himself and focus on you, showing him that you’re okay. You just know he’s feeling guilty for leaving you on your own when you two promised to be together to face the night.

“It’s okay,” you say softly in a low voice, trying to calm him.

And then, after connecting the dots between what Tim and Jason have just said, everything clicks. It’s not a coincidence that you’ve met Jason’s brothers one right after the other and that Jason just so conveniently had been missing from your side to prevent that from happening. You can’t help the small smile that pulls at your lips upon realizing what has happened, finding the Waynes’ antics and dramaticness quite entertaining.

“And don’t worry, I had company,” you add.

And just as you say that, you can see how Jason feels movement to his right and turns his head like a hawk to find Tim shifting on his feet. Jason hadn’t seen him earlier since you were the only one visible through the open door and once outside, Tim’s side of the terrace was covered in shadows.

You see the exact moment in which Jason’s gaze hardens staring at Tim, realizing just exactly what had actually happened, all of his family plotting to distract him so that they could meet you. You know that Jason isn’t actually angry, just slightly annoyed from the ruse and from being kept away from you, and now he’s channeling all of that towards Tim, making it seem bigger than what it actually is.

“Tim…” Jason says through gritted teeth in a threatening tone as he separates himself from you and starts stomping towards Tim. It’s almost comically funny how Tim immediately scrambles and bolts to the other side of the terrace, putting the outdoor table between him and Jason, extending his arms in front of him to protect himself as if he was some defenseless animal and not a well-trained vigilante.

You almost have to stifle a laugh.

Sibling dynamics at its finest.

“Listen, Jason, I-” Tim starts to plead his case but before Jason gets too far away from you, you grab his hand again. And it’s incredible the way in which Jason turns towards you and immediately his posture softens. Tim doesn’t waste the opportunity and escapes into the gala again, leaving you and Jason alone.

“It’s alright, they just wanted to meet me,” you say and Jason sighs, deciding to let the matter go and just come back to your arms, his hands on your waist, giving a small subconscious squeeze.

“Yes, but they had no right to play with us,” he answers, pressing your foreheads together once again.

“I know. But, hey,” you lift your hand to push some hair away from his forehead, “nothing bad happened. I’m still here.”

Jason nods and his gaze softens before closing his eyes, relishing in your touch. You close your eyes as well and you two stay in your embrace for a moment. Letting the night envelop you, surrounding yourselves with the evening sounds of the faded chatter from the party, the breeze rustling the bushes, the water in the pool, the night time insects and an owl in the distance.

“I think it’s time for us to leave,” Jason finally says, looking at you once again, having had enough of the social night.

“Yes,” you wholeheartedly agree, wanting to have your boyfriend all for yourself.

With that said, Jason nods, kisses your forehead and takes your hand firmly in his in order to not lose you again and you two make your way out of the gala. You don’t even bother to say goodbye to anybody. As you two leave, on the side of the ballroom, Dick, Tim, Damian and Alfred all stand in line, watching you fondly, glad to finally have met you and seen how happy Jason is with you. Before disappearing from view you give them a small wave and they smile.

You still have to meet Bruce, but that’s a problem for another day.

When you finally get home and Jason closes the door behind you, the two of you having already decided that he would spend the night at your apartment, you feel a weight lift off your shoulders. Finally home. You take a deep breath, shedding your social armor. Jason feels relief too at having finally left the manor, because even though the place will always be a home to him, the very definition of the word changed when he met you.

Jason watches you mesmerized as you leave your purse on a table and then move to the kitchen to drink a cold glass of water. He stands idly in your living room following your every move, a cast spell on him.

You’re beautiful.

Even though your hair isn’t as perfectly done as it was at the beginning of the evening and there’s a tired drag to your feet, you are. You always are.

He still can’t believe that you’re with him.

The way that you move around him as comfortably as you’d do if you were alone amazes him. It amazes him that you feel safe enough with him to just be yourself, not putting on any mask like you did in the gala with the attendees. He’s just so immensely grateful that you let him see you like this, open and being so undoubtedly yourself.

You’re saying something about cooking something quick or maybe ordering takeout when you brace yourself with a hand on the back of a chair to take off your heels with the other. But before you can take off your shoe, Jason softly grabs your hand, stopping you mid-rant.

He pulls you to follow him and you don’t put any kind of resistance, letting a comfortable silence fall upon you two. The only sounds the passing cars on the street and the steps of your heels on the floor. Once you reach the couch Jason makes you sit on it and you watch as he kneels in front of you and then, with a care and gentleness that no one would expect from the man known as Red Hood, he begins to undo the straps of your heels.

And there’s just something in the sight in front of you that makes your heart flip in your chest. How someone as big as him gets down on his knees before you, for once him being the one looking up at you instead of the other way around, almost as if worshiping the ground you walk on, as if you were the one that brought him back to life and not some mystical pit.

Now it’s you the one that watches him enchanted, wondering how you were so lucky as to have him love you. He takes one of your heels off, his eyes never leaving yours for a second, and then gives your free foot a slight massage to help the soreness out of it and you sigh in relief.

How is he even real?

And then, just before slipping the other heel off, with one of his warm hands on your lower calf, you watch with your heart in your throat how he kisses the inside of your knee.

You let out a small gasp and it’s crazy how much your heart is racing because you just know that he did it just for the heck of it, an act so loving, so simple, with no major intention rather than the selfish feeling of wanting to feel your skin against his lips.

But what raises goosebumps all throughout your body is not the action in itself, but rather the dark sparkle that crosses his eyes upon hearing your gasp, promising you something for later, for when he’s drawing shapes all across your body, as if tracing a map signaling a treasure. Except that the map itself is the treasure and he’s just taking his time exploring it, enjoying it, admiring it, worshiping it.

Jason then finally takes off your other heel and gives your foot the same quick massage treatment as the other one. When he’s done he gets back up on his feet and offers you a hand.

You take it and he pulls you to your feet again. And then, in the same silent comfort that has settled over you, with the same care and gentleness that Jason has treated you with, you slowly undo his tie, your gaze still fixed on his, saying a million different things that do not need to be said out loud. Most of them having to do with how much you love him.

After you discard the tie somewhere on the couch, you undo the first couple of buttons of his shirt, releasing him from the uptightness that comes with them and you feel his muscles relax even further under your hands. Next, you slip his jacket from his shoulders and he helps you take it off of him while he looks at you with the same intensity that you regard him with, reveling in how you take care of him.

Then, Jason rolls his sleeves up a bit his forearms before taking one of your hands in his and then, with his other arm around your waist, pulls you flush against his chest, practically fusing you two together, as if he could never pull you close enough, needing you as physically closer as possible, just as much as he needed oxygen, if not more.

“We didn’t have a chance to dance,” he whispers then with your faces inches from each other, still not disturbing the peaceful silence.

You hum in agreement and before you know it, you’re already swaying softly together in the living room, both of you with your eyes closed, your head resting on the crook of his neck and his on your hair. There’s no music but it doesn’t need to be, you feel so at peace and content, none of the opulent galas in the world could compare to a quiet evening with Jason.

You have no idea how much time you’ve spent there, barefoot and wrapped in Jason’s arms, swaying to the sounds of Gotham’s nightlife and your own heartbeats, only knowing that you would gladly spend forever like this.

“Thank you.”

You lift your head to find that Jason’s already looking at you.

“For what?” you ask in the same soft tone as him, a lilt of confusion in your voice.

“For coming today.” Before you can respond he keeps talking. “For sticking around. For putting up with my family.” A pause. His eyes leave yours to look to the side. He shrugs. “Just… for being with me, I guess.”

Your gaze softens and you feel a pang in your chest as you see Jason’s insecurities eating away at him. You stop your swaying and bring your hands to Jason’s face to make him focus on you, his hands moving instinctively to hold your waist. But Jason’s still avoiding your gaze and you hate the doubt that you see creeping in your favorite shade of green.

“I’m always going to be here. I’m right where I want to be. I love you. And I’m not putting up with anything, I want you. I want to be part of all the parts in your life,” you say, softly caressing his cheek with your thumb, having the suspicion that these doubts have something to do with meeting his brothers tonight.

“I know. I just…” Jason takes a deep breath closing his eyes, taking a moment to organize his thoughts before looking at you again. “I just can’t believe that you’re still here. I have this… this feeling that one way or another I’m going to screw up and lose you.”

You open your mouth to refute him but Jason shakes his head, presses his forehead to yours, closes his eyes to concentrate on what he wants to say, and continues before you can say anything. “And I know, trust me, I know that you love me and that you’re not going to leave. You show me every single day. I was just afraid that if neither myself nor me being Red Hood hadn’t driven you away, my family surely would.”

When Jason finishes he doesn’t move, his forehead still against yours and his eyes still closed, as if he doesn’t want to face what may come next, and his hands on your waist in the same position, if anything, holding onto you even tighter.

Holding onto you as if it were the last time, as if his confession would finally be the thing that would drive you away. You close your eyes as well for a second and take a deep breath.

How can you even begin to express how much you love this man?

Your heart is bursting with how much you feel for him. The love that you hold for him begins in the depth of it and as your heart pumps blood through your body, it also pumps that love through every single vein, nerve and cell in it. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes. It’s something that lies beneath every single movement and action that you make, to the point where you’re not sure if what sustains you are your bones or your love for him.

And that love of course, is interlaced with the pain that comes from watching the one you love hurt. You know that Jason is telling you the truth, that he knows that you’re not going anywhere and that you love him. But there’s this underlying fear in him, an instinct acquired from having lost all the good things in his life, things that he loved, from both his mothers to wearing the Robin mantle, that makes him subconsciously always expect the worst.

That’s why he prolonged you meeting his family for so long.

Without knowing, he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the moment in which the rug will be pulled from under him and he’ll fall into the void. He survived all the previous things, more or less, but he isn’t sure that he would if you were to leave his life.

Because now everything, every single piece of him is rooted in you, like the earth orbiting the sun, the very thing that allows life on the planet in the first place. And that’s what you are to him, a source of warmth, comfort and life. And he’s sure that if he didn’t have that he would crumble. He might technically survive it but he wouldn’t be the same.

But the thing is that just as much as he's rooted in you, you’re rooted to him. He’s the anchor to your boat lost in a storm, the earth to your forever spinning moon. He’s your anchor, your earth, your sun, your everything.

You know that the doubts and insecurities aren’t going to disappear overnight but maybe, together, you two can make them lessen.

“Jason. Look at me,” you say when you open your eyes once again, pulling back slightly so that you can look him square in the eyes. Jason sighs, not wanting the quiet moment, the infinite second in which he can just be in your embrace and forget everything else to end. But then he slowly opens his eyes, showing you his troubled thoughts.

“I love you. So much that I can feel it in every single part of my body. It’s like you’re part of my DNA. And nothing, absolutely nothing, can make me want to leave you. And you’re not going to screw up anything. Call me selfish but I want to be near the things that make me feel strong, like I can achieve anything I want. The things that comfort me when I need it most, that are always there for me, even when I’m not at my best and I feel like a burden.”

Now Jason is the one that shakes his head and wants to refute you but you move your thumb from his cheek to his lips to shush him. “The things that make me feel loved. And you’re the only thing that makes me feel all of that. God knows I have my baggage too and it still amazes me that you understand me, that you want to carry it with me, that you’re proud to do so.”

You take a deep breath. “So no, I’m not leaving. Ever. I’m always going to be here. And I’m very glad that I met Dick, Tim and Damian tonight. They’re nice and they have allowed me to see more of you. And if there's something that I can’t get enough of is you. Okay?”

Jason nods as he leans into the touch of your hand, his eyes bright with love and admiration for you. And then he closes the small distance between you and kisses you, gripping your waist tightly, one hand coming up to hold your face and deepen the kiss. Your hands drop to his shoulders and you don’t waste a single second to kiss him back as fervently as he does. He hasn’t answered to your reassuring words but you don’t need him to. He’s telling you everything you need to know in that kiss.

When his lips first came in contact with yours, he said, Okay.

Where his hands are grabbing your body so tightly but oh so gently, he’s saying, You’re what I treasure most in this world.

And as you stand there in the middle of the living room, being kissed like nothing else exists except you two in this very moment, he’s saying, I love you.

You could have been like that just a couple of minutes or a couple of centuries for all you know, always forgetting the outside world when he kisses you. And when you finally part to catch your breaths, foreheads against each other, your hand softly caressing the hair at the back of his head, the shine in his eyes tells you everything that his lips have just said and more.

Still, he wants to make sure that you’re aware that he isn’t going to let his thoughts eat away at him and so he finally whispers, “Okay.”

“Good,” you whisper back, your hand finding his cheek and caressing it once again. And then you find his lips again, because if there’s one thing that you could spend doing forever without ever growing tired of is kissing him.

And without speaking, your lips tell him something too. Something that he feels as certain as the sun, the moon and the stars. 

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[midniqhtt]

jack abbot

masterlist • the pitt • 05/13/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs two

one

𑣲 soft spoken!reader I @erwinsvow

𑣲 falling asleep in jacks arms I @/erwinsvow

𑣲 jealous!reader I @/erwinsvow

𑣲 drabble I @/erwinsvow

𑣲 i can see you I @thecherrypittttttt

𑣲 peachy I @/thecherrypittttttt

the 4 times they didn’t get caught and the 1 time they did

𑣲 wrong name I @randompiecesofwriting

Reader visits her partner Jack in the ED to drop off his lunch catching the excited attention of all of his colleges much to his chagrin

𑣲 baby, no I @dulcebloodhnd

𑣲 soak I @inknopewetrust

Jack knows how to cure the remnants of a difficult day.

𑣲 didn’t see that coming I @aquaholicsanonymousworld

𑣲 thinking of you I @poisonofthepaint

jack broke up with you because he said you needed someone younger. yet, he's still offended when he hears you're going on a date with someone else. you show up to his apartment to set the record straight.

𑣲 put him on speaker I @abbotjack

Jack gets home from a long night shift, exhausted and unreadable as always. When Robby calls for a quick update, you decide to test his patience—climbing into his lap and pushing until he breaks.

𑣲 baby name drabble I @spaceyaemonds

𑣲 quiet I @butyoudidthis4what

Widower Jack and widowed single mom Reader meet in the Pitt when Reader's baby gets sick. What follows is healing, patience and becoming ready.

𑣲 roommates I @candlelitea

you answer a small newspaper ad, which leads to you living with the one and only, Dr. Jack Abbot.

𑣲 drabble I @bookofbonbon

𑣲 the newlyweds I @yxtkiwiyxt

You and Jack are enjoying married life.

𑣲 gravity I @youvebeenlivingfictional

Abbot didn’t make you uncomfortable, per se. But the nerves that had welled around him during your first few weeks at the Pitt had never really gone away. If you were hard-pressed to examine and classify your feelings, you would (grudgingly) sort them into the mild to moderately romantic category. You blamed him for that entirely.

𑣲 you shouldn’t be (down here with me) pt2 I @/youvebeenlivingfictional

When you're almost shot at work, your body snaps into autopilot as your mind goes into overdrive. Jack has always recognized parts of himself in you—he knows a mind teetering on the edge when he sees one.

𑣲 just in case I @kilojulietsierra

He had given Robby so much shit about Collins. "Really brother? One of your residents?" Then you had put in a request to move to the night shift and Robby had fucking signed off on it.

𑣲 young at age, old in heart I @ohtobeleah

Jack Abbots unlikely affinity for the younger PT down at the VA starts to really spiral out of control when she’s brought in during a mass casualty event.

𑣲 night shift!reader I @mercvry-glow

𑣲 really very bad day I @abbotsanatomy

𑣲 the favorite I @midnghtprentiss

all the times you were everyone's favorite person and one time you were jack’s person. 

𑣲 trauma surgeon!reader I @vanilleandclove

pittsburgh has a vibrant pub scene, being of true east coast fashion. when it’s playoff season for the steelers, that can only lead to bar brawls and broken tooths, most times. sometimes it’s bloody knuckles and misogynists. + as jack’s 49th birthday is around the corner, you book him a solo-vacation. 

[cherry-leclerc]

we never talk about it ☆ op81

genre: humor, angst, yearning, massive crushes, and lots and lots of miscommunication, assistant!reader

word count: 11k

It's unwise—longing for someone like Oscar. While he's the epitome of someone anyone can easily fall in love with, you're the epitome of a devoted girl who will fall in love with him. You might not even care too much about all the heartbreak you endure along the way.

inspired by sharpest tool, sabrina carpenter !

cherry here!... based on real events.

Do you remember the day we first met?

The wind doesn’t do its job in blocking him out, the way you prayed and wished it would. You’re still able to catch the crack in his voice—a distant reminder of the way it once made you giggle. Even his nose is beet red, matching the Christmas lights. But apart from all that, you still hear him. You still see him. 

You always have.

“A little bit. Yeah.”

He flinches, then tries to play it off with a soft smile. Like he doesn’t want you to uncover the slight hurt he feels. But he can’t read your mind. He never could. And that was the problem.

Oscar nods, feigning indifference. “I do. Remember it all, I mean.  Think back to it quite often."

-

It’s utterly useless to try and ignore him, really.

His hair is too fluffy, his eyes are too bright, and his accent is making you want to flaunt the way some loony character would with a hand over their heart. It was honestly a tad bit demeaning.

But you can't help it. You admire the way his brown locks fall in a lousy manner when he towers down to sign the contract. You blush when his eyes get that twinkle in them. And you swoon over almost anything he says with a shy smile.

“You’re drooling.”

Mortified, you briskly run the back of your hand against your mouth before sending a harsh glare. Lando snickers. “Would you please stop?”

His jaw drops, theatrically. “You’re not actually into him—are you?”

He says it with a trace of humor, but also shock, and you can't help but have your mouth run dry. A loose grin starts to expand across his lips as you hurriedly shake your head. “O-of course not. Are you crazy?”

But if anything, you feel crazy. You must be, right? With every passing second of your heart beating faster and faster against your chest simply just by looking at the young Australian, you’re sure you fall straight into the category like some love fool.

Lando squints his eyes. “I don’t know.” He leans in straight into your face, nearly hissing. “Am I?”

“Am I interrupting?” 

Flinching hard, you turn quickly to face Anastasia. You’d initially met the black haired girl back in 2019. As you started off as the Brits personal assistant, she took over as Carlos’ and later also Daniel’s. Over the course of time, you two came to be as close as sisters. 

“No! Not at all,” you squeak, nervously before pushing the McLaren driver away and patting towards the open chair next to you. She giggles, rolling her eyes and adjusting herself. “How was the flight over?”

A shrug. “As good as it can get. Sat next to a silver fox, so I guess that must count for something, no?” Lando shudders. She leans in closer, plopping her head against your shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Only, that’s not true. She missed the way he laughed awkwardly when the doors wouldn’t slide open and let him into the headquarters. She missed the way he rolled his R’s a little too hard when saying ‘sorry’. She missed the way he grabbed the pen with a certain glow on his face, like he almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Lazy fingers pat her head gently once before sighing. “He seems nice.”

“How do you know?”

You know because of the way he talks to everyone. Like he cares about what they have to say. Whether it’s about how great his career is going to be here in McLaren or if they introduce their kids to him via FaceTime. He always wore the same smile, talked in the same warm tone. So, could your guess be far off? Yes. It could be completely far off. But you would bet money that it wasn’t. 

“Just a wild hypothesis.”

Her laugh isn’t too loud, not ridiculously so, at least, but the fact that it echoes is what makes it appear as such. Anastasia is quick to slap her hand over her mouth, the Brit turns fast to face her with panic evident in his eyes, and you simply blink with a shade of red slowly creeping towards your cheekbones. 

Zak grins. “You three.”

“Oh, we’re out,” Lando mumbles in monotone, already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the exit. You follow numbly, like you don’t have any strength left in your body. 

“You’re leaving me?” Anastasia hisses.

“She’s my assistant,” he says like a matter-of-fact. “Where I go, she goes.”

“Oh, you Judas—”

“All of you,” Zak clarifies, narrowing his eyes over to you and the Brit. You gulp.

With a soft curse, Anastasia stands up, tall and firm, and makes her way over with all the confidence in the world. You frown, craving to be the same way, even just a small percentage. Instead, you have to be forced by the McLaren driver. 

With every step, your head just spins faster because now, he’s more than real. You can smell his cologne. You can count all the moles that cover his face if you really wanted to. You can spot how his hair is still a bit wet, indicating an early shower. 

He’s just becoming— too real. 

“Lando, buddy, meet your new teammate!”

“Nice to meet you,” the blue eyed boy declares with a loopy grin, letting go of your hand in order to shake his. 

“Likewise.”

Zak claps once. “Oh! And meet your personal assistant, Anastasia.”

“Here for anything you might need,” she cheers with a bright smile.

“Fantastic.”

A wave of silence overlaps your four before Lando clears his throat. “And even though you might not be working with her one-on-one, this is my Anastasia.” A snicker. “My assistant, if you will.”

“Nice to meet you—”

“Nice to meet you—”

You both freeze, hands intertwined for a second longer before abruptly letting go. He lets out a dry laugh while you do the same. The way your skin tingles makes you blush. 

“This is fun and all, but we actually have somewhere to be,” the Brit claims with a suspicious look slashed across his usual laid back expression. You nod. “But we’ll see each other soon, man. Can’t wait to race together!”

In a flash, you two are out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Oscar blinking slowly.

-

“He fucks with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Another bench press. “As in, he likes you. He’s into you.”

You don’t dare ask who he is because you already know who the Brit’s referring to and that would only inflate your ego. Snapping your fingers, you narrow your eyes. “Focus. Two more sets left to go.” He groans, flipping you off.

It would be a lie to say that this didn’t make your self-esteem skyrocket. Could he be right? Could someone like Oscar ever lay eyes on you? Somewhere in your dreams, you’d like to say yes. Yes. That is a possibility. But the longer you think about it, the more unrealistic it gets.

You don’t have what others do. And that itself is enough to pop the bubble. 

-

The start of the season is always tough. 

“He’s extremely nervous.”

For some more than others.

You frown. “Really? But he’s usually so…relaxed.”

Anastasia shrugs, hair falling over her shoulder as she continues typing. “I mean, I tried talking to him but with everything I said, he’d just reply—'that's nice’. It was sarcastic, if anything. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel for him. Poor boy.” Her fingers freeze mid-air. “Wait—do you think you could talk to him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

“Come on! Maybe it’ll help him ease his nerves!”

“Ana—”

“Please.”

You huff. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as you knock, you almost want to turn away. Maybe it was all an exaggeration. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to die from having butterflies in his stomach. Yeah, surely he’ll be fine and he doesn’t really even need you to—

“Come in.”

He wasn't expecting you, that much you can tell by the way his brows go up. But he’s quick to erase the confusion, settling with a fond expression. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you squeak before cringing at the sound. He chuckles, returning to his warm-up exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Another chuckle, this time amused. “Anastasia sent you, didn’t she?”

“What?” A beat. “No.”

He hums. “Tsk. I’m a bit nervous, that's all.”

You lick your lips, kicking your foot up against the doorframe. What could you possibly say that she hasn’t already? If she couldn’t ease him, then how can you? The thought of messing up and making it worse makes your stomach churn. 

“You’re going to do g—”

“Great?” He sighs, blowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“And what’s wrong with it? She’s only trying to help.”

“No. I know she is, but…” He looks down onto his lap, pausing all movements. “Look, I appreciate you both. What you’re trying to do for me, but I can’t stand hearing what others think I want to hear.”

“It doesn’t do it for you?”

His eyes grow slightly wide with the way you go about and ask. He’s never seen you be anything other than sweet and reserved. But this—right now—is stern and very coach-like. Something and someone you aren’t. Not even close.

“It doesn’t,” he admits, finally looking away. “Never liked it. Always sounds too forced.”

You nod, crossing your arms. “Fine. I can tell you the truth. I can be truthful.” He perks. “Oscar, you’re a terrific driver.” He groans, covering his face with his hands. “But just because you’re great doesn’t mean you’ll be great all the time.” The Australian frowns, uncovering and looking up at you with attentive eyes. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be second, or third, or sometimes even twentieth, but that doesn’t matter, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you signed that contract, so you sort of have to suck it up, either way.” He lets out a loud laugh. Very unlike him. A weak smile threatens to fall as you try your best to push it back. “There’s going to be bad races, but there’s also going to be very good races. It all depends on you and how hard you work. Sometimes you’ll have a good car, a good strat, and others you’ll have a shitbox and a bad strat. That’s just the way this sport works, okay?”

Oscar blinks slowly, as if trying to decipher who you are, and that itself makes you dizzy. “I-I-I don’t care if you’re nervous, I don’t care if you’re sure—all we care is that you drive that car, and that you try your best no matter what. Can you do that?”

It’s foreign. The feeling in his chest. He’s not used to hearing any of this. As of recently, everyones been texting him to say how great he’s going to be. How far he’ll go. And while he was grateful for having unconditional support, he also dreaded hearing it sometimes because he doesn’t even want to picture letting any of  them down. He’ll act like he’s fine, he’ll act like he doesn’t care—but none of that would be true.

The brunette tilts his head to the side, slightly squinting. “I can. I can always try my best. Even if I fall short.”

“Good.” A beat. “We all believe in you. No matter what, okay?”

A timid smile. “I know…”

He ends up having to retire the car by lap fifteen, but the most astonishing part is that he’s not even upset. He tried his best. He listened to every single advice his engineer would alert him with. He practiced long hours in the stimulator.

This is just the way things go sometimes. Just like you said.

-

“I’m bored. Can I get a ten minute break or something?” Lando grimaces, rolling his wrist like it's the worst pain in the world. 

You hum, fixing the signed hats back into the box. With eyes screwed, you shrug. “Fine. But only ten! I’m serious. We need to have this done by one.”

“Yes! Ten—got it.”

He doesn’t come back in ten. For the matter, he actually goes missing. 

You narrow your eyes towards the clock, watching as it clicks like some mockery. You’re going to strangle him. You vow at that very moment that you’ll strangle the Brit as soon as you lay hands on him. With one final huff of desperation, you stand up, rubbing your eyes. People frolic through the paddock—you’re sure you even catch a glimpse of Lewis being papped—but that’s not what catches all of your attention. 

Instead, you find yourself leaning against the rail, squinting down to where the man of the hour sits, microphones huddled all around him like some interrogation. Anastasia smiles politely, back straight, and voice-recorder in hand. 

It’s faint—you almost can’t hear a thing—but it’s just enough. 

How does it feel to be back home? Enjoying it, no?

Oscar hums, straight brows slightly furrowed due to the bright sun, but just one adjustment of his hat makes that all go away. “Feels good. I’m able to sleep in my own bed, so that’s pretty cool. And yes. It may be a bit biased, but I am enjoying my time here more than the last two races.” Everyone chuckles. 

Can we talk about your expectations for this weekend? 

You can see him pause, and from where you’re standing, the way his fingers drum against his chair. “Well, I, uh…I hope for a good car.” The joke is supposed to be there, but you can tell everyone was expecting more with the way they murmur to one another. You wince.

Will raises the microphone up to his lips, along with his hand in order to catch the brunette’s attention. “I’m sure there’s been lots of people reaching out to you since this is your first home race, but has there been someone’s advice that has stuck like no other?”

Oscar smiles gently. “There has been, actually.”

You freeze, gripping the steel bar with anticipation. Your knuckles nearly feel like they’re about to snap, and you feel like you’re probably leaning a bit too far over the edge to hear it all, but you don’t even care. Will chuckles. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing with us all? I’m sure it’ll help a lot of youngsters watching.”

Anastasia slides the recorder closer. Oscar visibly swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I never asked her for permission to talk about it. And quite frankly, I’d like to keep it between us.”

Will perks up. “Her?”

The black-haired girl is quick to whisper into his ear, turning the opposite way so no one can even attempt to read her lips. He nods, eyes trained forward like some guard. “Any more questions?” But everyone’s intrigued at this point, so all the questions that follow remain the same. Something that makes Anastasia panic and Oscar regret his choice of words. 

“Can we get a name?” some blurts out, nearly seeming desperate to get the inside scoop.

Only, his face remains still, jaw slacked. “No.”

Will raises his hand. “Very well, we don’t have any right to know, but are you willing to share a bit about what she said?”

And it’s almost as if the Australian can foresee that the only way to get out of this situation is by giving them what they want. Even if it’s a stupid little crumb. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She told me to try my best. That’s all I can really do.”

The mix of photographers and journalists deflate. “I-I’m sorry,” Lawrence Barretto slides in with a light tone and an ever lighter smile. “Don’t mean to lessen its meaning, but isn’t that a common thing to say? To hear?” An awkward laugh. “I mean, I just thought it’d be something a bit more…deep. Inspiring, perhaps.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re grateful to whatever God may exist that you’re not down there. On the other hand, Oscar is a bit bothered by the innocent comment, but then realizes he doesn't have to be. They weren’t there. They don’t know just how much more you said. How upfront you were with him without sounding condescending. Something most people did without even realizing. 

The brown eyed boy spares a smile. “Like I said—some things I’d like to keep between her and I. And even if it was just that, it’s the way she said it.” A beat. “It’s quite a lavish thing to have. A sincere person to talk to, I mean.”

Will tilts his head suspiciously. “It appears she might be someone special to you, yes?”

The Australian freezes at the unwanted interpretation. Suddenly, the atmosphere is far too crowded. He lets out a forced chuckle, rolling his neck before messaging it gently. “Well, yes. I’d agree.” 

A mix of giddiness and shock rushes through your veins as you refrain yourself from jumping up and down with excitement. 

“You’d be lucky if you had her as a friend too.”

-

“Is everything okay?”

Biting down on the churro he had gifted you as an apology for not getting back on time, you growl. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Lando raises a thick brow. “Dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re moping.”

Your jaw goes slack, immediately turning to face him. “I am not moping.”

The sound he lets out indicates he doesn’t quite believe you, but is choosing to let it go. Also, he doesn’t want to see your patience run out, too scared of what you might do. The curly haired driver plops down onto his bed that stands in his motorhome, closing his eyes. You nearly envy the indifference in him. The lack of worry. 

“I can hear your teeth clenching. Gross.”

A grunt. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Need anything?”

“Only a nap. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone.” He turns over to his side, bringing your jacket over his face to block out any light. You bite the air, swinging silently for a minute or two before exiting the cramped room. 

The sun hurts, you remember thinking, but the upcoming migraine you’re getting is even worse. You should be used to this by now, given you’ve suffered from them since elementary, but based on the way you zig zag without meaning to is enough proof to know that you’re not. Everyone's voices are suddenly muffled, even the sound of engines roaring is as soft as a feather. You wince, massaging your temples as if that might help. 

Woah, are you feeling alright? 

“I’m fine,” you respond meekly, to who even knows. You wave them off rudely. “I’ll be fine. Just. Leave me alone.” 

Anastasia frowns, all while fanning your face. “No. You need to lay down.” She nudges the Australian, who up until now, you had no clue he had his arm clung around your waist. If you weren’t too busy feeling like shit, you’d definitely be making a fool out of yourself. Her green eyes fill up with worry. “I’m gonna go look for a paramedic.”

“You’re doing too much,” you slur, body letting loose and making the brunette shriek as he grips you harder, trying to keep you upright. 

A deadpan expression. “Oscar, take her back to your motorhome and have her lay down.”

He nods, hesitantly. “Y-yeah, okay. Okay.” Once she runs off like a headless chicken, you let out a dramatic gag. Sharp brows knit together with horror. “Do I smell bad?”

A giggle. “No. As a matter of fact, you smell rich.”

With his arm still wrapped around you securely, and warm eyes flickering from you back to see where he’s heading, he grins, eyes crinkling. “Rich? That just so happens to have a scent?”

You purse your lips, wincing at the fact that your peripheral vision has gone completely dark. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m a terrific liar and I’m only stroking your ego for my benefit.”

Another chuckle. “Benefit? What benefit may that be?”

Tsk. “How else am I gonna get you to take me to bed?”

The Australian instantly chokes hard on a string of his own saliva, causing you to flinch at the loud sound. Loud to you, at least. He apologizes, but not before taking a glance down, like it’s the first time meeting you. 

As soon as you lay down on the miniature mattress, you release a groan. Even just having your eyes closed makes you dizzy. You let out a loud groan, kicking your feet against the cushion in desperation.

“That bad?”

“That annoying.”

And even though you can’t see him, he nods, internally freaking out, trying to think of ways to help. “Does this happen to you often?”

“Yes.”

He nods, sheepishly. “W-what do you normally do? You know? To help?”

Tossing over to lay on your side, you pinch your eyes, grinding your molars. For a minute, you sort of thought your teeth might crack. Everything about this situation was becoming unbearable. “My mom, she, um…she’d normally braid my hair. It helped sometimes. Others it didn’t.” Messy hair dangles over your face as you let you out a loud exhale, as if you were in the middle of releasing some demon. “I moved too much, she said.”

Oscar smiles, coming across like a faint memory locked in the back of your mind. “I-I-I can try…” Loopy eyes flicker up to face him, and he’s quick to scrunch his nose. The sight alone makes you breathe easier, though he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. “Only if you want me to…”

“You know how?”

“Sort of? When I was younger, I used to sit across from my sisters at the breakfast table. I was bound to learn a thing or two.”

The subtle proud smile makes your heart beat flutter, smitten at the insight to his childhood. You wish you knew more. Like what was his favorite show? Did he have any imaginary friends, just like you did? Or maybe his favorite superhero? But you swallow all those questions down your throat as soon as he kneels down next to you. The whiff of soft musk distinctively adds to your headache, but you’re too focused on him for something as dumb as that to matter. 

“Just…close your eyes.”

Taking one last glance at him, you comply, lashes fanning slowly before going completely dark. You can still hear him adjusting, you can feel him take your hair into his hands, but nothing makes you stop breathing like his touch that grazes your cheek. 

It’s almost ghostlike—doesn’t really stay on the same spot for too long—but you know it’s real. Long fingers calmly push strands of hair behind your ear, tranquility expanding over your body. The slight tickle it causes helps ease your pounding migraine, little by little. 

“Are my hands too cold?” he whispers, not trying to intrude, but at the same time, wanting to know. You twist, bottom lip jutting out. Not at all. Keep going. And he does. He ends up tangling your hair a bit, because as it turns out, he doesn’t remember much, but he’s sure to delicately fix his mess, brows drawn in with heavy concentration. 

As soon as your hair is back to flowing free, he relaxes, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees. Your hair feels soft. Just what he would imagine a cloud would feel like. For a second, he begins to wonder, who’s this really for? He feels like this might be soothing him more than you. 

Just then, his finger catches on a knot, and he freezes, stopping all movements. “Holy crap, I am so sorry, I—”

You let out a low whimper, but don’t do so much as bat an eye. You’re sound asleep. The brunette lets out a breath of relief, falling back to sit on the ground. 

Your face is a bit squashed—and you’re drooling just a tad bit—but for some odd reason, he finds himself admiring. You’re full lips. You’re lashes. God, even the way you breathe. He feels a tender smile itching, but it never truly gets to see the light of day, because before he knows it, the door is swung wide open. 

Anastasia stops dead in her tracks. “What happe—is she asleep?”

Oscar opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He does this a couple of times, awkwardly turning to face you and his assistant, back and forth, back and forth. “She, um…just did. A minute ago.”

She pouts, scratching her head. “Weird. Usually when this happens it prolongs for at least ten minutes before it gets any better.” The green eyed girl sheepishly waves the group of paramedics away. A trail of sighs echo as they turn away. As soon as they’re gone, she gently shuts the door, then tippy toes towards the edge of the small bed. Neat brows furrow. “At least she’s feeling better, no?”

Brown eyes follow her gaze. “Yeah. At least.”

-

Lando ends up throwing—and according to him— “The World’s Coolest Jamboree”. You beg for him to call it anything but jamboree, but he’s too attached to it by the time he sends the last text invite, which so happens to be to the rookie driver. 

“Has anyone RSVPed?” you question over his shoulder. He’s in the middle of mixing some mysterious liquid, but by the looks of it, doesn’t look any good. You grimace. 

He lets out a bleh before dropping his utensils. “No one RSVPs these days. They either show up, or they don’t.” 

A slow nod. “So, you don’t know who’s coming?”

“Not a clue. But most likely everyone.”

You scoff. “How are you so sure?”

He gives you an ‘are you kidding me?’ type glare before sending a sly grin. “First of all, it’s my party. They’d be crazy to miss out. And second of all…it’s only the biggest, funnest, coolest jamboree!”

“Funnest is not a word.”

“And party-poopers aren’t welcomed.” You gasp, smacking his chest harshly. He lets out a snicker, picking up a bag of ice and spilling it into the glass bowl. “But I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

“Just this once,” you mimic before dipping your pinky in. He instantly slaps your hand away. Smacking your lips, you let out a yelp at the bitter taste. “This tastes like ass. God—not even Daniel will drink this, and that guy drinks anything in his way. I’m surprised he hasn’t been accidentally roofied.”

Lando claps his hands with amusement. “God forbid. And please, pay your respect to Lando’s Best Worst Decision.” A beat. “™.” 

“™?” you deadpan. “What? Are you planning on adding a trademark to this sewage water?”

“It’s good, okay?” Mixing the clear liquid once more, he smiles fondly down at it. “And maybe. I’m seriously considering it.”

You sneer, already walking away.

He ends up being right. Not even an hour later, the party is in full swing. Sure, a couple drivers aren’t able to make it, but it’s still jammed packed. It's honestly a miracle to get through the Monaco flat. 

You’re still sober?

Laughing, you nod, raising your water up in the air like some toast. Daniel frowns. “Considering I have to make sure my number one client doesn’t make any bad choices tonight, then nope. Can’t have a sip of alcohol.” 

Brown eyes flutter slowly. “I’m sure there’s other beverage choices. Have you tried Lando’s Best Worst Decision?” He leans in, winking. “™.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you actually like it?” He shrugs and you shudder in disgust. “I’m sure I saw him add ten energy shots and God knows what else.”

“No wonder I feel kinda funky.” Your face drops. “Hey, if you pass out, can I crash tonight?”

“Daniel!” you groan, covering your face. “I swear, I’m going to spill that stupid drin—” Only, Daniel is gone. Craning your head, you circle the room. From where you stand, you’re able to see Carlos and Lando taking part in a heated round of pool, all while Charles sways back and forth, infamous red cup in hand.

Marching over to the kitchen island, you pick up the glass bowl and carry it over to the sink before tipping it over. You huff, hair fanning across your nose. 

“Stupid, stupid boys—”

“Hey.”

You shriek, dropping the bowl, and wincing at the sound of glass shattering. 

Oscar grimaces. “Shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No.” You sigh. “Lando’s gonna kill me.”

Grabbing the nearby broom, the Australian sweeps carefully while knitting his brows. “Why?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“A glass bowl?”

You giggle. “I wonder why too.”

Despite the blaring music, and constant chattering, the room feels rather silent. You fiddle with the hem of your dress, and that seems to catch his eye as it dawns on him that he hasn’t really seen you in anything other than your usual uniform. To be fair, you could say the same. He likes it. 

You clear your throat. “Halfway done. How do you feel?”

He sips on his water, jaw clicking before settling with a sharp tsk. “Good. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Anastasia even congratulated me the other day when I diverted a series of questions with ease.”

Impressed, you raise your brows. “Bravo. Wish that was the case with Lando. I swear, sometimes I think he does and says things to make me look bad on purpose.”

“He should stop,” he says with a goofy smile. “Does he not know how lucky he is to get to call you his assistant?”

You blush. “Best friend, actually. I’ve been promoted ever since I pretended to be his girlfriend last New Year's Eve.”

The brunette inches forward with curiosity. “Wish to clarify?”

You hop onto the island, fixing your dress and crossing your legs. “Don’t tell him that I told you any of this, but I secretly think he was embarrassed of not having a midnight’s kiss. Especially since his ex was there with her new boyfriend. Talk about the unexpected.”

His chest tightens. “You two, um…kissed, then?”

“Yes,” you confirm with a childlike grin, and for some reason, it makes him want to puke. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about this in forever!”

He pretends to find interest in the crowded room, but really, it all remains on you. “Was it any good?”

You blush this time and he swears he’s close to walking away. “Yes and no. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t feel right.”

He perks up then, floppy hair bouncing at the sudden speed. “Really?” He coughs, then fixes his watch, training his eyes towards the floor. “Erm, I mean, is that so?”

A nose scrunch. “It felt like kissing someone you’re not supposed to. Which I suppose is true. We’re better off as friends.” He relaxes. “Thinking about it, we might’ve gagged each other's mouths.” You grimace. “If that doesn't show our discomfort, then I don’t know what will.”

“Good to know.” Oscar rubs his arm, up and down, then steps closer to you. You blink. “Hey, I was meaning to ask—”

Strippers? I didn’t order any strippers. 

Hire, a male voice interjects. He means to say he didn’t—hire—any strippers. 

“Son of a…” You wince apologetically, to which he shrugs. Don’t worry. Go. Biting your lip, you nod, rushing to the living room, where Lando, Daniel, and a bunch of other randoms circle the almost nude girls with long legs. 

“I mean, I won’t turn you away, ladies,” the Brit mumbled, already wrapping his arms around their waists. They all giggle, inching closer until he’s a blushing mess. 

You snap your fingers, pointing towards the exit. “All of you need to leave.”

Is that your sister? the one with a cowboy hat whispers into his ear. He quickly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you like a deadly weapon. 

“No. That’s his girlfriend,” Daniel yodels, face pressed up against the couch, admiring the group of girls. “But they’re in an open relationship.”

“I’m not his girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend—”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on the entire commotion. The older Australian rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t talk about it.”

“Would you stop trying to help?” you shoot back, sarcastically, and clap your hands as if you’re rounding up a new high school cheer. “I need you all out. You want money? Fine. He’ll give you money,” you declare, signaling towards Lando. 

“Hey,” he groans, instantly letting go and stepping closer to you. “They haven’t even done anything to earn it….”

Your eye twitches. “I swear to God—”

“Deal,” the redhead shoots out. “But we need a moment to come to an agreement. You know? On how much we want to ask for.”

“Perfect,” you chirp, rolling your heels. “Take out your wallet, Big Boy.”

“You used to be fun.”

“And you used to be terrified over a pair of tits when I first met you. Whatever happened?” Lando blushes profoundly before pushing you away. “Want them gone, Lando, gone!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ—let me deal with this.”

“I’m done,” you promise with your hands raised up in surrender. “But just remember what happened last time.” He frowns, cocking his head to the side. You wiggle your brows. “São Paulo.” 

Color drains his face before letting out an unhinged laugh and motioning you away. You giggle, heading back to where Oscar stands. 

“I see what you mean,” he announces. What? “How he can have a bit of a headache.” 

“See! I told you! Four years of this!” A dramatic yawn. “I’m tired.” 

A string of boo’s follow once the strippers prance out the door, waving all their money in the air. Specifically Daniel, who genuinely looks upset to see them go. Oscar leans down against the counter, the proximity between you becoming smaller. “You should get some rest, then.” But he selfishly doesn’t  mean it. He wants you to stay—to keep talking to him. 

You let out a snort, grabbing your sides. “I mean, I'm tired of being Lando’s assistant. It’s a full time job, y’know?”

“Oh.” He stands up straight again. “Right. Of course.”

You purse your lips, looking down to your shoes. “But that was actually quite thoughtful.”

She thinks I’m thoughtful, he internally swoons because that must be a good sign, right? Not everyone is thoughtful, but he is, and that must count for something. Gathering all the strength he has left—which is not much considering you blink up at him like some angel—he licks his pink lips. “Back to what I was going to say earlier before you left—”

“I wasn’t trying to step on him! I already said I was sorry!” you hear a familiar voice, instantly turning to find Anastasia kicking Daniel’s face back into place, well, since he now lays asleep on the floor. You curse beneath your breath, jumping off the island once again. 

“His head did a complete 360!” Yuki accuses, clearly panicked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No, it is,” Pierre replies with a bored tone. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Crouching down next to the curly haired driver, you jab his cheek before motioning Oscar and Anastasia closer. “Help me carry him to the guest room,” you instruct, already taking off your cardigan. 

The black haired girl is quick on her feet, grabbing the Australians right leg as you grab the left. Oscar, however, swallows hard at the amount of cleavage you’re suddenly displaying, but instantly snaps out of it when both you and Anastasia blink back at him. He picks up the Alpha Tauri driver’s upper body before puffing. 

You blush bright pink at the sight of his muscles pulsing against his t-shirt. “I-It’s just around the corner.” 

As soon as you make it into the room, you three carefully place Daniel onto the bed, to which he squirms before flipping over and snoring away. You motion a finger over your lips before pushing them both out. Gently closing the door behind you,you let out a breath of relief. 

Anastasia lets out a whistle. “Surprisingly not that heavy.”

Oscar scoffs. “Easy for you to say. I had to carry most of his weight.” 

She shrugs, hugging you hello and apologizing for being so late, and you’re quick to reassure her that it’s fine, though she missed the chance to see strippers give Lando a tough time. She sneers. “I didn’t even know there existed strippers in Monaco.” And then she’s off, clapping loudly at the sight of Lando giving out a round of jello shots. You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I-I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

He freezes. “Oh. Just that—” He panics. “Only that I like your shoes!”

You blink, deflating from within. But you try to cover it up with a soft smile. “Thanks, I guess?” Orbs flicker down toward your white Sambas. “Lando says they are overrated, but I like ‘em.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like them too.”

-

It happens one Friday afternoon—the decision. 

You’re in between races, you’re in between headaches, and you’re ready to self-implode. So, before any of that happens, you make your first decision. To go on a walk. 

It’s getting rather chilly these days, something you love, but also hate. You love it because there is a certain coziness that comes along with it, but you also hate it because you can’t always be cozy, so you’re left shivering. Much like now. But to be fair, this was your own choosing. 

The pounding that takes over your head lessens the longer you stroll, the longer you breathe actual fresh air. You don’t really think much, you mainly remain blank, but the sound of tires screeching rips you away. Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of a lady with grocery bags flipping off the fellow driver, who shares nothing but an apologetic smile before driving off. 

“What happened? Do I have something on my face?”

Dusting your nose, then your cheek, you blush faintly. You instantly assume it’s the powdered donuts fault—the one you had gobbled up in a hurry during the drive back to the paddock. It was an early morning, and no one really made it on time when it came to early days, but you always did. And so did Oscar. So, a sleepy Zak gave you a wad of cash, and sent you two to the nearest donut shop. 

The Australian shakes his head, blinking straight ahead. “N-no, I was just checking my blind spot.”

That only makes you blush harder because in what crazy world would he be looking at you? 

A single nod. The car is quiet apart from the sound of his hands moving against the steering wheel, and the sound of the blinker clicking. It’s gloomy, too. You clear your throat. “I love it when it rains.” He hums, calmly, encouraging you to continue. “It just makes me happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You purse your lips. “I sort of wish I were home. That way I can snuggle near the window and fall asleep to the sound of light drizzle.”

The brunette quirks a brow towards the road. “That sounds nice. Like…really nice.” A pause. “Why can’t you do that here, though?”

Here—here means where you are right now. Here means this place that’s not home. Here is not close to being enough, but he doesn’t figure that one out. You blink, dragging your finger along the pink box sitting on your lap. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” A small shrug. “But it’s just not the same, y’know? There’s always something missing.”

He doesn’t waste a moment in asking. “What do you think that is?”

Taken aback by his inquiry, you let yourself surmise for a second or two before licking your lips. “Maybe a pup. To keep me company”

He semi-frowns, cocking his head to send you a deadpan expression. “A dog?”

Now it’s your turn to frown, sending him a glare. “What were you thinking?”

The red light lets him take focus on you. “Dunno. A boyfriend, maybe?”

You’re sure you’re nearly as tomato red as the light staring at you both. “What? You instantly just assume I don't have one already?”

He freezes. “Well, I, um…t-that’s not what I meant—”

“Look, I know I’m not a guys’ typical ‘dream girl’, but sheesh I’m not that unlovable. At least, I hope not, but now you’re making me second guess. I mean, your opinion must indicate everyone sees me as some sort of lonely widow.”

Oscar shakes his head, adamantly. “I don’t see you as such.” A slow pause. “A lonely widow, I mean. I find your words to not be all that true, really. You’re nice. You’re persevering, You’re beautiful. And you have a good heart.” The light translates back to green, and you’re freakishly thankful, that way he can’t see you burn up. “You could easily be anyone's dream. Whoever makes you think otherwise is a phony.”

It’s getting harder not to laugh—most likely out of skeptic shock—but you refrain. He’s simply being kind with you, but that doesn’t stop you from nearly going into cardiac arrest. His words should have been labeled with a warning. 

“Guess this world is filled with lots of phonies.”

He scoffs. “There shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to a girl like you.”

Your breath catches. “Os—”

All of a sudden, the car comes to a harsh stop, sending you flying, but not the Australian, who remains sitting up straight. An older man flips him off before riding off on his bike. You both breath hard, turning to face each other. 

“Are you okay?” he questions, voice laced with worry. 

You nod, slightly dazed. “I, um—yeah. Are you?”

A nod. “I didn’t even see where he came from.”

A weak laugh finally erupts. “Blame it on the poor innocent man— clever.”

Brown eyes soften. They flicker from your orbs back to your pouty lips. He’s only checking if you’re okay, of course. You send him a reassuring bow and he releases a heavy breath. 

“Guess I was too focused on my blind spot, once again.”

The next decision comes when you opt in to join your neighbor, Mr. Lennon, for a cup of tea after he finds you shivering. By that time, it’s raining hard, you're soaking wet, and it only makes sense to accept his kind offer. 

“Mint. To hopefully push back any upcoming cold. God, what were you thinking?”

You let out a laugh. “Not much. That’s why I was aimlessly roaming.”

“What about now?”

You halt, mug raised up to your chapped lips. “What about now?”

He smiles, softly, mixing his own tea with a heavy spoon of honey. “Did the walk help? Were you able to get the wheels rolling?”

Now you giggle loudly. “That’s not very nice! The wheels are working just fine, thank you very much.”

The light scent of pine trees enter the room as soon as he stands up to open his window, the sound of soft rain singing to you as some much needed therapy. “So? What were you pondering about out there?”

“I wasn’t pondering.”

“Walking alone in the middle of a thunderstorm?” A sore laugh. “Been there. Done that. There’s always something on someone’s mind when that happens. Which isn’t often, or usual, so that must mean you’re really stuck up on something.”

“Or someone,” you mumble beneath your breath. His brows dart up, and you sheepishly settle the mug down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You blink. You don’t really talk about him out loud. Not with Lando. Not with Anastasia. Not even with your own reflection. Everything has always remained with you. A place you knew to be safe because you made it safe. But Mr. Lennon’s eyes prove to you that he’s lived enough lives—enough scenarios—to maybe understand. Even just a fraction. He watches you visibly gulp. And he knows that look. The confusion, the yearning. 

“I’m in love with this boy.”

He hums, leaning back against his wooden chair. “There’s always a boy.”

You look down. “He’s a friend of mine, which makes everything much worse because I can’t ruin that. But for the first time in all my years of living…” Round, glossy eyes stare back at him with a hopeless expression. “I really—really—want to.”

He’s attentive, he listens like some frozen statue, and maybe that’s what fuels your courage to continue speaking. “My entire life, I’ve had crushes, sure, but I’ve never loved someone. Not seriously. So, of course I’m caught off guard when I do feel that for someone who I’m not even in a relationship with.” A playful snort. “God, I feel so stupid.”

The silence that lingers is comforting. Your nerves flow away with the rain, and you feel at peace. Quietly, he clears his throat. “Can I tell you a story?”

A soft sigh. “I’m all ears.”

Gray brows furrow as if trying to recover a distant memory. “I once loved a boy, too.” Your eyes widen. Sure, you knew he was never married, never even had a kid, but you never thought of any reason as to why not. He nods, faintly. “Not many know, and not because I’m ashamed, not by any means…” A single beat. “But because real, sincere feelings are easier to ignore. Because who wants to deal with reality, right? Who wants to confess and be turned away like some dog at your door?”

Exactly, you think, nodding along. “Everyone is always going to be scared of something, but avoidant people like us are terrified about the what-ifs.” He sends a wink. “And I’m living proof that being that way won’t get you nowhere. And you'll realize sooner or later in life that you’d rather be nowhere with someone you love, than nowhere…” His eyes circle the nearly empty kitchen, despite living there for the past twenty years. “...all alone.”

Your chin wobbles. “You know you have me, right? I’m always next door.” A wet laugh follows. “Anyways, I might even join you in this lonely life, eh? Doesn’t sound half bad if I’m doing it with you.”

Tender eyes close slowly before blinking back at you. “No. I want you to be the complete opposite from me. Be different. Tell him how you feel. Even if it costs you a broken heart, tell him. Because I’m telling you right now that a broken heart is always better than the constant desire that will always follow you like the devil.”

A warm droplet rolls down your cheek as you sheepishly laugh, but he doesn’t judge. He never has. Instead, ever the true gentleman, he hands you his handkerchief. “Did you ever get the chance to tell him that you…”

His wrinkles imprint more vividly as he breathes out. “I did, but it didn’t really make the difference I had hoped for. He was already married to someone else.”

A loud sob escapes. “That’s not f-fair. You deserve to be happy with the man you love.”

“I do. But you know what?” You rub the tears away, eyes connecting. “I’ve made peace with the consequences of my own actions.”

By now the rain has died down, and so have you. With one last smile, Mr. Lennon gives your cold hand a soft squeeze.   

“Learn from my mistakes, won’t you?”

-

That same night, as you cried over a bottle of wine, you made your third and final decision. And you would execute it all the next time you saw him, no matter the outcome. 

But now that you spoke about it once to someone, you felt almost invincible. Which is why you called Lando. 

You what? 

A wince. “You can’t tell him, okay? I’m legitimately trusting you with this!” He opens his mouth, but you’re quick to signal him off. “Including Ana.”

“Wow. I thought she’d know.” You shrug because you don’t really have an explanation for not having had confided in her, but you know deep down that you’re not really into playing a game of Cupid, and that’s exactly what she'd turn this into. The Brit nods, sympathetically. “Alright. I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

His question comes out hesitant—like he’s afraid of scaring you away from the possibility—but it doesn’t. Instead, you nod, to which he’s extra surprised because you’ve never been the kind to. “That’s the main reason I told you any of this. Because I wanted to ask you if you knew if he has a girlfriend or not? Someone he’s trying to pursue? I’d hate to…intervene.”

Lando let’s put a soft smile, dimples imprinting neatly onto his face. “I mean, he’s particularly private—you know him—but I’ve never heard him mention having a girl. It doesn’t seem like he does. Go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? A good friend?”

Silently, he grimaces because even he can see how much this all means to you—how much you’re scared. So, to boost up your confidence—which is something he definitely doesn’t lack—he flashes a loopy grin. “He probably likes you, anyways.”

You come to a fast halt. Suddenly, painting your nails isn’t your top priority. “Really? You think so?” He nods, and you can’t help but smile back. “What’d he say?”

“Well, as I already stated before, he keeps his things locked up pretty well. But I do recall one time…” He closes his eyes harshly. Then, he snaps his fingers loudly. “I believe in Hungary. He was on a high. And we shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. So, he sort of let loose. Like insanely loose.”

“And?” you push, eagerly trying to get whatever he has stuck in his throat out of him. The green eyed boy snickers. 

“He wasn’t very clear, but he did say he had a crush on a girl. Someone he really wanted to get to know. But that  things were a little bit difficult.” You nod, urging him to continue. “I asked why, and he said it was because she had a good heart, or something of that sort? Good intentions? Can’t remember—and that he didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitches.

And you have a good heart. You could easily be anyone’s dream. 

-

Ironically, you’re huddled in Lando’s flat once again when it happens. Well. Almost happens. It’s filled with a few McLaren members because he insisted on hosting a nice brunch. And it was. Nice, you mean. 

“Pretty,” Anastasia says, sending a soft smack towards your ass. You yelp, swatting her hand away, and pulling your skirt downward. She snickers. “You should tie your hair up more often. Let’s everyone admire such an angel face.”

“Stop it,” you hiss, but can’t hide the pink flush. “But thank you.” 

She grins, eyes crinkling. Black hair sways as she moves to the beat of the music, nursing her drink. “Nice to have a break…”

“Definitely.”

At some point, she slithers away, leaving you all alone on the balcony. Which was quite lonesome until he came along. Oscar scrunched his nose, meekly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t own this place, do I?”

He lets off a raw chuckle. Deeper than when you first met him, and you come to the realization that a lot about him has changed. His hair is longer, his neck is thicker, and his shoulders are wider. But his smile and eyes remain the same. Boyish.

“Thinking?”

You sigh, admiring the ocean set out right in front of you. “Thinking, yes. A lot these days.”

And if he’s patient enough, he’d notice the way your hands shake. Tiny vibrates, but still. He’d notice the way you bite down on your lip, brushing it along the way. He’d notice the way you blink feverishly, like even the wind hurts. 

And he is. He is a patient person. So, he does notice. 

“Do you know what song this is?”

Brows furrow, deep in thought. And he’s quick to note that the ticks you had are coming to an easy halt. Mentally, though, you’re cursing yourself out because you do know. You do know the song that flows nicely into your ears, but simply having him next to you is what’s making you forget. How dare he have that kind of power over you?

“I know it,” you start. “But I can’t seem to remember right now...”

The brunette gently nods his head along to the beat. His eyes close, and his hair delicately tussles, and suddenly he’s the only thing you see. “Sex,” he says. You blush, ripping your gaze away before he catches you in the act. Oscar laughs. “It’s Sex by The 1975. How could I forget?”

“Oh yeah.”

The guitar screeches when the volume somehow gets louder, despite not being inside. “Would have killed me not to get it right. My sister listens to it all the time.”

Plump lips pressed together. “You have a sister?” But you know the answer to that question, of course you do. You’re a girl. You’ve done your research, even when you pinched yourself not to. 

He nods. “Three, actually. Talk about a headache, am I right?”

And it’s almost nostalgic—your laugh. Like it might be one he heard in his past life, but in his current one, can't remember. But it’s okay if he doesn’t because at least he knows he can learn it. And he has. 

“You look really pretty when you laugh that way. Insanely so.”

You can’t seem to register his words. The way they come off as soft and ginger as they could possibly get. As if he really means it. And for the first time since your first interaction with him almost two years ago—you sort of believe he might. 

“You’re just saying that?” you question as some test, round eyes challenging him into finally spitting out the truth. The same truth you carry. He shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“I mean it.” 

Like a sudden magnet, you two are hesitantly connecting closer and closer together before either of you could stop it. Not that either of you would. The Australian towers over you, almost caging you like some endangered species he’s afraid of slipping away and going extinct. 

You swallow, lashes fluttering, and he smiles at the sight—melts. You’ve always been reserved. Quiet. Shy. And so has he, so he can’t really judge you, but he’s willing to be different—just once in his life—to get what he’s been wanting for a long time now. 

His eyes follow your lips. Admires how plump they are. How they’re the perfect shade of pink. So, when he leans in and you don’t pull away? He thinks he might explode with the need to kiss you. One time. If he’s lucky, just—once. 

“You’ve always been my dre—”

“There you two are!” Anastasia cheers, zigzagging to you both as an apologetic Lando follows right after. By now, Oscar has jumped far away from you, and you’re left feeling empty and lost, blinking at an alarming rate. “We’ve been looking all over!” A hiccup. “What were you doing?” Your lips remain open but Oscar is the first to let out an awkward cough.

“We were just talking about…logistics!” He turns to you, sparing you a pleading look. “W-weren’t we?”

You finally come to, nodding slowly, eyes buzzing between the two McLaren drivers and your best friend, who wobbles from left to right. “Yeah, I….we—logistics, and whatnot.” A beat. “Doesn’t matter.”

He flinches, avoiding your doleful stare. Oscar forces such a bright smile—the kind that can’t go unnoticed by even the biggest idiot on earth—and nods in agreement. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter.”

Lando analyzes you, then his teammate, and wishes he had done more to keep Anastasia from barging in. But really, was this some sign? Maybe you were some delusional little girl who truly believed she had a chance with the boy next door. The one everyone wants, but only one will get to have.

And let’s face it. 

It was never going to be you.

-

You’d make an excellent detective in your next life, you’re sure of it. But for now, you’re just some brokenhearted assistant who mourns the death of her what-ifs. Someone who is really good at picking up on clues. 

It’s right before Christmas—right before Anastasia’s birthday party—and you’re curling your hair quite poorly. You daze off every now and then, you apply mascara almost zombie-like, and you’re dreading even showing up. Have you been avoiding him? Yes. Yes, you have. Have you been good at it? Only the best, if we’re being truthful here. And were you ready to face him without feeling the need to bolt? 

Nope. Not in this lifetime nor the next.

But still, you force yourself to finish getting ready because this isn’t about you. This isn’t about him. It’s about being there for your friend. 

Mindlessly, on the drive there, pouting in the back of the yellow cab, you click onto Instagram and the first thing you do is smile at the birthday post Anastasia had posted not even five minutes ago. You scroll, smile wider, and then come to a harsh pause. The kind that makes your throat close up. The kind that makes you stop breathing. 

The kind that lets you know—

You’ve lost.

His arms are tied around her waist, his head nuzzles between her neck, but you can still tell it’s him. His hazel hair can’t go unnoticed. Maybe to someone else, but not you. 

Then, as if all odds are against you, your feed refreshes and you’re left far more dumbfounded. 

She appears in most of his pictures because why not? It’s his girlfriend's birthday, it goes as expected. Museum dates. Pictures of them with each other's families. And you feel greedy like never before because—why couldn't that be you? 

Venmo or cash? You look up, making eye contact with your taxi driver who looks just as tired as you. You press your lips together into a fine line. Digging into your purse, you grab all that you have and jump out of the cab. 

It’s chilly out and the lights are beautifully hung, but it doesn’t do you any good. You just want to go home. Curl up in bed and die. Dig a hole—self-suffocate—who cares. And you’re ready to turn around, go back and apologize to Mr. Lennon for not doing better. You really thought you had it in you, but it just wasn’t enough. 

Only then, the door swings open and Pierre curls a brow. Kika waves from behind “He thought you were some serial killer. He’s been watching too much Dateline.” The brunette scurries over, throwing her arms around you and takes a step back. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

But even that didn’t sound too bad. You sheepishly thank her, following the couple back in. A string of jazz cradles the warm lit living room and the scent of apple pie makes you inhale sharply. A giggle stirs up behind you. Anastasia grins.

“You’re here!”

All of a sudden, you hate her smile. You hate her laugh. You hate her entirely. But you also don’t. You can’t hate her smile. You can’t hate her laugh. You can’t hate her entirely. Because even though you feel like she owes you loyalty, that’s not really true. She had zero idea about your feelings towards Oscar and she won. Fair and square. That doesn’t mean you had to like it.

“Happy birthday, Annie.” Hugging her, you giggle against her ear when she jumps up and down, nearly knocking you two over. “For you. From me.”

She wiggles her neat brows, green eyes buzzing with suspicion. “Is it a vibrator again?”

You blush. “No. Even better.”

“Wow! Even better?” She rips the small bag open, eyes widened double in their size. “Oh my God, you got me the Mary Jane’s I wanted?”

“Well, you kept bugging me, and so I thought—”

“D'accord, je comprends. I love them, thank you.” Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you into the empty hallway, and you can already feel her buzzing with excitement. Your stomach churns. “I wanted to tell you as soon as he asked me out—I really did—but he insisted on keeping it between us two for a while, and I told him no, I had to tell you, but then I understood that maybe it was for the best, and I’ve always liked him—”

Every word makes you feel smaller and smaller because the light in her eyes gives it all away. She, too—much like you—is in love with Oscar Piastri. You shake your head, sharing a light laugh. “I totally get it. There’s no need to explain.” 

The green eyed girl visibly relaxes, shoulders rolling back. “I knew you’d understand. Oscar was right—you have a good heart.”

Ana, Yuki just spilled wine on your coach, Daniel rattles from the other side of the room, pointing accusingly towards his teammate who rubs the cushion with his Dior sweatshirt. She sighs. Be right back!

At that moment, you don’t care if you wind up with a deadly case of hypothermia, you simply walk out of the warm house.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get sick.”

Screwing your eyes shut seems to be the only answer to help your mending heart into not breaking completely. And fuck him—fuck him for sounding so goddamn caring. 

You turn with a soft smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Won’t really make a difference, I already feel sick.” You cough for emphasis. “See?” Oscar rolls his eyes, ignoring the poor excuse, and hands you his puffer jacket. You shake your head. Take it. “No.” He frowns. Why not? Rocks crunch with every step he takes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“What? Borrowing a jacket from a friend?”

“Borrowing my best friend's boyfriend’s jacket.”

His stomach drops, rolling with a wave of anxiety as he tries to not show his uncomfort. “She told you?”

Your teeth grind harder. “That, and you both posted about a thousand pictures together. Wasn’t that difficult to understand what was going on.” A sore laugh. “I’m happy for you two, though. Really. I am.”

“You are?”

Sending a nasty glare that you tried to keep in for the life in you, you turn over to face him, nose rosy. “Yes. Over the fucking moon.”

He flinches. “Listen, about that day at Lando’s house. I-I-I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have said what I said, o-or tried to kiss you—”

“You’re a phony, you know that, right?”

Another flinch. “I’m trying to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I feel bad, okay?”

Tears well up inside your eyes. Somewhere deep inside your chest, you feel a harsh sting, and still that doesn’t compare to his pity. You let out a scoff, crossing your arms. “You feel bad, for what? For messing with my emotions, or for getting with my best friend?” You poke his chest hard, but he remains as still as a brick wall, a pained expression mapped out. “Which one is it?”

“For all of it!” He grabs your face, making you freeze under his fire-like touch. “I loved you—God—I loved every inch of you. Your humor, your heart, your jokes that never land, the awkward giggles that follow afterward—everything. There was not a single thing you could do that could have pushed me away.”

“Then what happened?” you whisper, eyes tracing his pink lips, trying to enjoy his hands. They’re calloused, sure, but they’re by far the closest thing you’ve had, so nothing else matters. His breath hitches, soft eyes looking down at you in complete defeat. You grimace. “Why was I not enough for you to try?”

His hands drop. Brown locks shakes as he rubs his eyes, like this is all some part of a fever dream. Maybe it was. The Australian frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

It’s a slap in the face, and it burns like never before because you know he’s right. “I wanted to tell you!” A shaky breath. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaves rustle. “You were?”

“Yes,” you confess, nodding adamantly. “That day at Lando’s place—I wanted to tell you.”

The McLaren driver bites his tongue hard, blinking rapidly. “W-what would you have said?”

“That I loved you too.”

He can’t hide his pain just by hearing those words. He scrunches his nose. He nods robotically. And he keeps his eyes trained towards the ground, like he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle. 

“I really did like you. From the moment we met.” Finally, he looks up, round eyes searching for any sign of intimacy. If there’s any left—any you still save for him. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“A little bit. Yeah.”

A second ticks by. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often.” He lets out a boyish grin, crinkles forming, making your heart flutter. “You took my breath away.” 

And as if humanly possible, despite the icy air, your cheekbones flush harder as you bite back a giddy smile. “You barely even noticed m—”

“You wore a white ribbon. Hair half up, half down. Denim overalls with your initials sewn onto them. Emerald earrings.” You blink, clearly taken aback by his polished memory. His eyes soften. “I’ll always notice you.”

-

Anastasia pecks the Australians cheek, giggling after each one. Oscar smiles, letting out a shy laugh. From the corner, seated next to Lando, you sigh sadly. The Brit bumps his shoulder up against yours. What’s wrong? But you must not have heard him, or you ignore him, but he, too, has eyes. 

“I swear I didn’t know a thing about them,” he whispers. “If I had, I would have warned you, you know that—”

“Lando,” you cut him off, voice weak and mellow. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

He frowns. “I know that, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time more firm. He swallows, nodding hesitantly. With a soft laugh, you poke his ribs and he’s quick to let out a yelp. “Just want to forget, you know?”

Lando hums. “Understood.”

Anastasia clinks her spoon against her mug. The one you each painted differently in that one pottery class years ago. She grins. “I’m so glad all of you could make it, really, it means a lot.” Her eyes crinkle sweetly towards Oscar who traces shapes down her back. She blushes for him—the same way you do. “I feel like…I finally have everything I ever wanted.”

A string of oohh's echo the room, whistles ringing. She laughs, head falling back, and he lets out a single chuckle, rosy cheeks making everyone grow louder. Meanwhile, you stay silent, focusing on Lando’s shoes. The Brit winces, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. 

Daniel yodels, raising his beer. “Well, in that case, I feel like I do too!” He hiccups, making Pierre and Yuki snicker. “A hot girlfriend, good ‘ol friends, and a nice pair of abs.”

“They are nice,” Lily mumbles, earning her a soft smack from Alex who rolls his eyes. 

Carlos cackles. “Me next—um, okay. A good team, my girlfriend, and…and—my hair.”

“Narcissist,” Lando whispers, trying to get a good laugh out of you. And it works. You giggle, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. Oscar perks up, orbs floating over to where you and the Brit whisper to one another, smiles only growing wider. His jaw clenches. Either way, you tune out all the constant chatter after hearing how Pierre was grateful for having a massive cock. 

“I really hope nothing changes between us.”

You laugh. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

The Australian scratches his shoes against the wet pavement. He agrees. He won’t admit it, but he agrees. Everything has changed. Timidly, he glances over at you, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze burns—just like always—and you turn to face him.

By now your tears have dried, but your heartbreak still continues. Something deep inside tells you that it will for as long as you live. You despise yourself for letting any of this get out of hand. For letting your fear of rejection play a big part in losing him. He smiles.

“I love you, okay?”

You smile. “I love you, too.”

Your voice sounds sweet—just like honey. And if it’s a lie, just to make him feel better, then he’s a grateful bloke. He might not have your heart—not completely—and he might not have your hand in his, but he’s fine with that. Because he’s heard all he’s needed to hear. And he can live at peace.

Oscar grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. It’s tender, just the way you pictured it. You smell like flowers, just like he had dreamt. He pulls away. “You can always talk to me. Whenever. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Thank you. But I won’t bother you too much.” His brows furrow, mouth opening to protest before you wave him off with a tired smile. “Don’t want to vent to you about…well—you.”

“What about you?” Anastasia squeals, making your jump in place. 

“What about me?” 

She rolls her eyes, theatrically. Oscar remains as still as a statue, enjoying the moment to admire you without having to explain why—all eyes were on you, after all. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Wistfully, your eyes look up, connecting with the ones you know so well. You admire his boyish features one last time before looking down onto your lap and then focusing on Anastasia.

“No. But I once got very close.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna

[velvetwyrme]

bringing back the question for 2025: who in the autobots would fuck a car and/or have an sti

hi i thought too long and hard about this. then i made a silly comic about it which quickly got derailed into another silly bit. and then it kept getting longer and more terrible

i don't know whether you're the same person as the original anon or not but im gonna freakin cry either way. is this my legacy...

on one hand this ask gave me lots of motivation for some reason, so thank you for that, but on the other hand it motivated me to draw a 6 page comic about robot STIs.

i put too much effort into this lmao. for my actual conclusions AND some extra notes about the comic click the read more 👍

Ratchet: No and no. Has HAD STIs before. When he was younger. True across continuities except... in TFA he would have an STI. I can see it.

Ironhide: Yes carfucking, but I feel like the carfuckin was also a one time thing specifically. No STI. To quote my notes: "Frag no, Chromia or Ratch woukd kill him". Typo included.

Jazz: Yes carfucking, no STI because if he got one he'd be on top of treatment. Originally there was a bit in the comic with Jazz and Prowl arguing about which is worse: fuckin a car or havin a STI but it got cut because its already like 6 pages

Prowl: No carfucking and yes STI. He thinks carfucking is Really Weird. Wait. Purely off of vibes because I still haven't watched ES (someday...) but ES!Prowl would fuck a car.

Optimus: Who else do you think gave Megatron the STI? (/j /j... unless?) Carfucking and STI status varies wildly across continuities imo. G1? Yes and yes. IDW... depends on what point in time. I feel like its a yes to both but not at the same time. TFA would not fuck a car but he definitely has an STI. TFP! and ES! OP is a mystery to me, you guys can tell me if you have strong opinions on them. Hm. Armada OP would fuck a car.

Sideswipe: originally it WAS going to be him in the comic but as I mentioned, it got derailed. He'd absolutely give a car an STI.

Wheeljack/Trailbreaker/Hot Rod: Yeah, probably both. Maybe not at the same time though. Hot Rod was only so low on Prowls list because hes Literally Offworld but who knows what hes capable of.

Yes to carfucking, no STI: Lets see... Bumblebee, Cliffjumper (despite Prowl and Ironhide's assumption in the comic, THIS is my actual opinion lmao), I think Mirage would as well, but he'd vehemently deny it. Also *leans in close to the mic* Elita-1 would fuck a car. But she'd do it and it'd be like. Cool.

No to carfucking, yes STI: *long pause as i look into the middle distance* mmm...Smokescreen. I don't know much about TFP!Smokescreen but he can get lumped in there too. Sunstreaker as well, but more because he says he didn't fuck a car but he could be lying and you genuinely can't tell if he is. Also Brawn for some reason.

As for other characters elsewhere... Rodimus is a strong contender for giving a car an STI. So is Whirl, but I feel like he's slightly less likely to have an STI, yknow? Only slightly.

Other notable ones I think would have both but NOT at the same time: Swerve, Skids, Drift (specifically because of Rodimus because even if they don't fuck they seem like the type of friends who share drinks), I think First Aid fits in here too, and is the only medic who would have an STI that I can think of off the top of my head. Oh also Armada!Jetfire.

I also think that the Aerialbots are all contenders for this category too. Some more than others but it wouldn't matter because they all end up with an STI and it's miserable.

ALSO...

The alternate punchline to the comic, had it been set on the Lost Light, is... a meeting (in which the general consensus is that Rodimus fucked the car that mysteriously appeared on the Lost Light, AND he gave it an STI)

Then, Nightbeat bursts in with Brainstorm in tow, and he reveals that it was in fact Brainstorm's fault- NOT because he fucked the car (he's far more interested in er... lab equipment, lets say) BUT he made a gun that fucks cars, and accidentally gave the GUN a STI

ALSO SIDEBURN FROM TF:RID (2001). he would ABSOLUTELY fuck a car and give it an STI. He canonically loves red sportscars and you KNOW that mans got an STI.

[buttastic]

god I told myself I wouldn't do political discourse on tumblr anymore but I swear to god if I see one more "artists are only against generative ai because it threatens their petit bourgeois profit margins" take I'm going to lose it

there are artists who are petit bourgeois. these are your mid-level gallery artists who run studios staffed by assistants and apprentices, as well as like showrunners and creative directors and the like who are at least partially in charge of a system that employs workers. there are also outright wealthy artists who are what it says on the tin. mosts artists do not fall into either of those categories however and tend to either be hobbyists (whose class is not defined by their artistic output) or workers themselves

in calling anyone in the art world "petit bourgeois" we are acknowledging that the creation of art is labor, and that that labor can be exploited. anybody who knows anything about any creative field can see why this would be the case

copyright is kind a double-edged sword in a lot of ways, in the united states it mostly functions as a means for large corporations to hold onto power. this is true. while it can sometimes be used to help avoid the exploitation of smaller creators, that's not usually how it works.

THAT SAID, copyright is a tool used by large corporations to hold onto the labor they have extracted from artist-workers, who obviously and completely do not own the means of production. this is why people say pirating from major corporations is always morally correct, that labor was already stolen

but so like you see where we're getting at here? that we're reaching a consensus that art is labor and artists can be exploited as workers?

I'm not going to get into the individual ethics of piracy since it's a big topic with a lot of nuance, I'm just going to point out that nearly all of my comics are already available for free. so with all this in mind:

how the fuck are you gonna use the framework of marxism to say it's perfectly fine to reconstitute the labor of others to your own ends without compensating them???

like I've been banging this drum the whole time generative ai is first and foremost a fuckin labor issue. all your bullshit phone games and product designs dumb commercial jingles were created by real people putting food on their tables. to treat it as unworthy of consideration is to concede that the need for these commodities outstrips the rights of the people that make them. like. oh my god???

[mytherapyisreading14]

Between Pregnancy and Prison

Summary: You find out you’re pregnant, unfortunately a couple of weeks after Spencer got arrested in Mexico.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: Summary says it all, nothing to add

Word Count: 3k

Part 2

It is late in the afternoon and gray clouds have gathered. Your apartment is quiet, aside from the soft dripping of rain and the gentle clink of a cup that JJ has just placed on the table. You sit on the old sofa, knees drawn up and hands nervously buried in your lap. You stare at the pregnancy test lying on the table in front of you.

You've been feeling exhausted for weeks, constantly tired, struggling with nausea and always having that slight pulling sensation in your abdomen. You convinced yourself it was just the stress of Spencer being wrongfully arrested. But deep down you knew something was wrong. You weren‘t the only one who noticed this and it didn‘t take long before JJ came up to you and asked you about it.

You were sitting at your desk at work, head in your hand, when you felt the familiar feeling of nausea and a dull ache in your abdomen. Again. It wasn't the first time this week that you felt this way. You had barely eaten anything, but even what little you tried to eat was hard to digest.

"Do you need a break?" JJ asked suddenly, her voice concerned. You looked up. Her eyes still sparkled, but there was something different in her gaze - something that reminded you of your condition. The last few weeks had left their mark not only on you, but also on the rest of the team.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, trying to put on a smile. "Just this damn nausea... and this stomach ache that just won't go away." JJ looked at you intently, as if she didn't fully believe your words. She shook her head slightly.

“You’ve told me about it many times. But it really doesn't sound good when it keeps happening. And you seem pretty... exhausted too. Are you really feeling this bad just because of what happened to Spencer? Or could there be something else behind it?”

You stared at your desk for a moment, the words so clear you almost got a lump in your throat. “What do you mean?” you asked quietly, although you had an idea where the question was going.

JJ took a step closer, her expression becoming even more serious. "I know you're dealing with so much right now, but... have you ever thought that there might be something else behind it?"

There was a moment of silence where you felt like the air around you suddenly became even denser. You swallowed. The nausea in your stomach increased. “You meant...maybe pregnancy?” you whispered.

JJ nodded carefully, her voice soft but firm. “Yes, it could be. I know this isn't really the time to think about this, but... sometimes the body has other signals that we don't immediately understand. Maybe it would help you just get some clarity.”

You sighed deeply and rubbed your stomach with one hand. The thoughts swirled in your head. You couldn't deny it. The last few weeks had been so chaotic that you hadn't even really noticed the changes in your own body. But somehow...somehow it was true. It didn't just feel like stress. There was something else there.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, looking down at the ground. “What if this is all just… stress-related?” you asked. “Then at least you’ll be safe,” JJ said calmly. “It could also just be because you are extremely stressed and your body is reacting to it. But maybe ruling it out will help you.”

You hesitated first, then nod slowly. You knew she was right. "Okay, you’re right,” you finally said, taking a deep breath. “Can you maybe come over then? I… I don’t know if I can do this alone.” JJ smiled as she met your eyes. She saw the pain in them.

“Of course, I’ll come over. We'll do this together, don't worry. Once you know what it is, you can finally think more clearly again.” You suddenly felt a little bit lighter. It was as if the thought of not having to go through this uncertainty alone gave you the space to breathe a little again.

“Thanks, JJ,” you whispered, trying to smile. “No problem,” she said with a smile. "You're not alone. We’ll do this together,” she said before you had to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom once again.

So now, after JJ convinced you to take a pregnany test, the two of you are sitting in your living room. “Are you ready?” JJ asks quietly. She sits in the armchair next to the sofa and eyes you with a mixture of concern and understanding. “It’s okay if you’re not ready. But remember, you need to know what’s going on.”

You close your eyes for a moment. Your thoughts are a chaos of joy and fear, of hope and uncertainty. Yes, you and Spencer always said you wanted to have children. You talked about a life together, about marriage and children and the future. But now everything is messed up.

„I... I don’t know, JJ,” you say, your voice shaking. “There’s just so much that’s going wrong right now. Spencer is still in prison, and what if it's months or worse - years - before he gets out? What if I burden him with this news while he’s sitting in this stupid cell?”

JJ leans forward and places a hand on your shoulder. “You will not burden him with this news. It's a decision you have to make together. And if you're happy, then he'll be happy too. He always wanted to have children. You too. And you need to know if you’re really pregnant.” You take a deep breath. Your mind is racing.

What if Spencer really had to stay in prison that long? You don't want to put this burden on him, but you can't just move on without knowing what's really going on. And you also know that you can no longer live in uncertainty.

You feel like you're stuck, caught between the future you imagined and the frightening reality in which Spencer is still trapped. “Okay,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I'll do it. I want to know.”

JJ nods without saying a word and stands up to pick up the test. She puts the test on the table and looks at you as if to give you time to calm down before daring to look at it. “Are you sure?” JJ asked one last time, standing next to her and looking at her sideways. You nod, your heart beating faster and the nervousness settling in your limbs.

But there's also a small, quiet joy within you - the idea that the dream you and Spencer have always wanted can finally become a reality. You grab the test and slowly turn it over. Your breath hitches as you looked at the results. Two red lines. Clearly.

“Oh my god…” you whisper, a smile spreading uncertainly on your lips. You couldn't help but put your hand over your mouth for a moment. It's so surreal. On the one hand, you are overjoyed. This is what you have always wanted. But at the same time, there's this huge insecurity that you can't shake. What if Spencer isn't there in time to experience it?

“It’s positive,” JJ says softly and smiles. Her voice is calm, but you can see the joy in her eyes. “You’re going to be a mom. You’re going to be parents.” You nod, but your eyes fill with tears immediately.

You are happy, so incredibly happy, but also so full of doubts. What should you say to Spencer? How would he react if he heard it? He needs to know, but the thought of breaking that news to him in his current situation somehow feels so... wrong.

“What if he can’t live to see it?” you finally ask, your voice shaky. “What if he doesn’t get out fast enough? How am I supposed to do all this alone?”JJ sits back down on the chair and takes your hand.

“You are not alone. You have me, you have your family, you have the team. And Spencer - even though he's in prison - he's still a part of it. He will be part of this miracle. And when he comes back, he’ll be happy to experience it with you,” she says. “But… the timing…” you start uncertainly, “what if it gets too much for him?” you ask.

“Yes, it’s complicated. Yes, it's not the perfect time. But you know what? There will never be a perfect time. Sometimes you just have to have the courage to take the next step. And you'll see that it turns out to be the right one at some point." You lower the test slowly, but still keep your eyes on it.

The joy you feel is overwhelming - you can already imagine a life with Spencer and a baby. But at this moment uncertainty prevails. You don't know what the future will bring and it scares you. “I’ll tell him right away,” you finally whisper. JJ nods and stands up to hug you.

“That's exactly what you should do. You two will get through this together. No matter what happens.” You close your eyes and hug JJ tightly, the pregnancy test still in your hand. A new chapter has begun, and even if you don't have all the answers, you know you've taken the first step.

-

You've made the trip to prison many times, but today everything is different. The rain has evaporated to a light drizzle, covering the streets in a dull haze. You can barely concentrate, the thought of the news you're about to tell Spencer making your heart beat faster.

Part of you is nervous, the other is happy. It’s news you've both always wanted for the future, but now that the moment has come, you feel strange and uncertain. What if he doesn't respond the way you hope? What if that's the last thing he wants to hear in this situation? You can understand it to a certain extent.

When you reach the prison building, you get out and walk through the gate, the sound of the massive door closing is ringing in your ears. The waiting room is the same as always - gray walls, worn chairs and the constant feeling of separation that you can never completely get rid of here. The minutes barely seemed to pass as you wait for him to come in. Your heart is pounding in your chest.

“He’s coming soon,” the security guard says without further ado as he stares at his monitor. You nod and try to organize your thoughts. You sit down, hands nervously on your thighs, then your belly. Your gaze is focused on the window in front of you, through which you will soon see Spencer.

Your eyes are already burning from the tears you desperately have to hold back in order to appear strong. But when the door opens and you see Spencer, his familiar face behind the glass that you miss so much, it feels like your heart is being ripped out.

Spencer looks at you through the window and there is the same exhaustion in his eyes, the same weariness that is in your own eyes. But you can see much more than that - He doesn't belong here. That's the thought that haunts you every time you see him in this environment. You can't imagine what it must feel like to be trapped, innocent, in a system that seemed to be turned against you.

It breaks your heart to see him here. Your eyes fill with tears that you can't hold back, despite your best efforts. “Oh, Spence,” you whisper, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gently place your hand on the glass, as if you could reach him.

He sits down on the bench on the other side of the glass, and as soon as he looks at you, he immediately notices that something is wrong. He frowns and looks at you worriedly, he also puts his hand on the window as if he wanted to touch yours, even though he knows it won't work. It hurts him to see you like this.

“Hey, hey…” Spencer said quietly when he noticed your tears, and his shoulders immediately tightened. "What's wrong, angel?" His voice is soft, almost fragile. “You have to stop crying. It hurts me to see you like this. I can't reach out to you and hold you in my arms. I can’t comfort you. It breaks my heart.”

You hastily wipe away your tears, trying to regain control of your emotions, but the mix of joy and pain makes it almost impossible. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest as you search for the right words. “It’s just… I’m sorry. I... I just wanted to tell you how much I miss you,” you say.

You need a moment to calm down. “I come with… big news today.” Spencer raises an eyebrow and his gaze becomes even more attentive. “News?” he asks, as if he wants to get every word out of you, but at the same time he also feels the burden you carry with you. It's obvious you have something more important to say.

You take a deep breath and wipe away the last of your tears, even as the emotions continue to rise within you. “I've been feeling worse for the last few weeks. I thought it was just stress after everything that happened. I somehow kept telling myself that. But JJ noticed that I had other symptoms that I just ignored. She said I should take a pregnancy test.”

Spencer stays silent, his eyes still worried, but now a hint of foreboding seems to be stirring in his eyes. “And what did the test show?” he asks cautiously, as if he’s not sure if he really wants to hear the answer. You can't stop yourself from smiling, even though your voice is still shaking. “It’s positive,” you say and the words themselves are creating a different reality.

The moment you said it feels surreal. It's something you've always wanted, a future you've always dreamed of. But at this moment you are not sure whether it all really fits into this world. Spencer is in prison. You are at home, alone. But you know you have to share this message with him. You are going through this together.

“You’re going to be a dad, Spence,” you whisper, and despite the uncertainty you feel, you can’t help the smile that’s starting to form in your eyes. You stare at the glass between you, your hand still placed on it. When you look at Spencer, you notice how his eyes are shining.

He can't quite hide the tears, but there's also a smile on his lips that's so warm that it instantly makes your heart skip a beat. It is a smile that radiates hope and love despite the circumstances, despite the prison and all the fear that stands between you.

“I’m so happy,” he finally says, his voice shaky as he forms the words. “I can hardly believe it. You're going to be a mom. We're going to be parents." He takes a deep breath, and you can hear the relief and joy in his voice, but also the pain that comes with it. “But I should be with you. I should be there to help and support you all the time,” he continues, a glimmer of desperation entering his eyes. “But I can’t help you. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

You feel your heart clench. You know he wants to be with you, to hold your hand, to comfort you, and to experience this together. “Spence,” you whisper, voice soft but full of conviction. “I want nothing more than for you to be here with me. That we experience this together. But we’ll get through it. And I won’t do it alone. I have my friends. I have the team and JJ, also with children, who will help me. We’ll manage it somehow.”

You feel your voice take on a hint of certainty as you continue. “And we’ll keep trying to get you out of here as quickly as possible. I promise you, we'll do everything we can to get you back with me. I'm now in my eighth week, Spence. We still have a little time, and I will fight to get you back here before the birth date. I don’t know how, but I’ll make sure you’re there when our baby comes.”

Spencer lets out a small, shaky breath as he hears your words. For a moment he just sits there, the smile gone, and yet in his eyes you can see that deep love and gratitude flowing through him. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are so incredibly strong. And you are here, despite everything that has happened. You're still there for me. I… I love you so much.”

You swallow, the lump in your throat almost too big to swallow. You want to tell him so many things, make so many promises. But your voice cracked as you replied, “I love you too, Spence. And I will always be there for you. We will get through this together, no matter what happens. We have each other. And that’s the most important thing.”

But suddenly you hear the bang of the door and the prison guard appears in the window, a sign that the time is around o'clock. “I'm sorry, unfortunately time is up. You have to go now,” he says. You take a deep breath and withdraw your hand from the glass.

You give him one last look and you know that this moment is yours - even if it's too short. You smile at him through the glass. “I have to go, Spence,” you say quietly, your voice almost breaking. “But I will come back. And we will do it. We’ll get you out of here soon. You’ll be with me again, I promise you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes following you, and there's an unspoken promise in his expression. “I'm waiting for you. I love you,” he says goodbye. “I love you too,” you say, your voice firm and full of determination. You let your gaze rest on him again, then you slowly stand up, turn around and leave, the thought of him and what you will go through together in your heart.

The hallway is empty as you close the door behind you. You know you don't have to walk this path alone. And you will do everything you can to bring Spencer back - for the team, for yourself, and for the little life you will soon create together.

[g4rvez-r3id]

Anything For Ellie : Part Three

Spencer Reid x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: Spencer is finally taking you out on a date and you discover just how lovely he can be with you — in public and behind closed doors.

Category: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, themes of spencer taking reader out on a date, spencer being down bad for reader, in a world of boys he’s a gentleman, reader being shy, takes place after the prison arc, mentions of season 12, kissing smut warnings: she’s a dirty girl- cunnilingus, minor dirty talk, slight nipple play, protected sex, p in v, fingering, spencer’s hung, praise kink go brrr, lowkey rough fucking, possession kink if you squint, spencer calls reader ‘angel’

Author’s Note: here is the longgggggggggggg awaited part three to anything for ellie!! i’m so sorry it’s taken me this long ahhhh but here it is and i hope it was worth the wait!! i lowkey got writers block with this so that’s why it took so long but i hope never to take so long again but yk life be getting in the way lol anyways please enjoy this! and ofc i had to post this on matthew’s birthday hehehe

part one / part two

It was official, you were going on a date with Spencer Reid. You’d sat with Ellie in front of your mirror as she applied your lip gloss on your face. Surprisingly, she was pretty good at makeup. That probably had to do with her favorite auntie’s doing.

You’d told Ellie she’d be staying with Penelope for a few hours while you and Spencer were hanging out. You didn’t exactly want Ellie to know about your date for good reason. You didn’t want her getting her hopes up about Spencer being more involved in their lives but it seemed as if he already was — getting her hopes up, that was.

“All done!” Ellie announces and you take a look in the mirror. “Great job, El! Where’s you learn to do makeup?” Ellie smiles to herself, “Auntie Penelope taught me.” Knew it.

You shake your head at your daughter and look into the mirror. Spencer told you to dress as nice as you wanted because he wanted to take you to a fancy Thai restaurant. So, you dressed in red, your best color — according to Penelope, she’d helped you with shopping for your date since you haven’t been on a date in years.

You’d pulled out all the stops, getting your hair done, doing your makeup, even dressing in expensively ridiculously high heels. It’d been a while since you were asked on a date, damn it, might as well look as good as you wanted. There is a knock on the doorframe and both you and Ellie turn around and see that it’s Penelope.

“He’s here!” Penelope beams and Ellie cheers as she jumps around. You stand up from your seat and look over at Penelope as you flatten out your dress with your palms. “How do I look?”

“Oh, you look amazing, pretty girl!” Penelope compliments and you smile at the woman as she grabs Ellie’s hand. “Now, Ellie, let’s go say hi to Spencer so your mom can make a grand entrance!”

Penelope and Ellie leave you, shutting your door behind them and you take a deep breath, staring at yourself in the full length mirror in your bedroom.

You’re completely stunned this is happening. You’re going on a date with Spencer freaking Reid. This has been something you thought about since you met him. You never thought it’d come true. Back then, these were just hopes and dreams. But now, this was reality. You wanted to pinch yourself because you had to have been dreaming, right?

You hear the chattering out in the living room and Penelope’s signal for you to come out. You nearly break your ankle as you walk down the hallway and Spencer is standing there, suit and all with a bouquet of roses in hand. When he sees you, it’s like time stops. You are his only focus of attention. And his breath is completely taken away as his eyes subtly rake over your figure in that dress.

“Wow…” He exhaled. “You look…” Spencer pauses, blinking a few times like he needs a moment. Was he really that focused on you, you wonder. “You look beautiful.”

You take in his suit, that sexy suit he looks oh, so good in. He’d matched your dress with a red cardigan underneath his blazer. How does he not sweat in that? Guess he was cold-blooded. “You don’t look too bad yourself, doc.” You smile.

You begin to walk over to him, your heel almost taking your ankle out again and you shake your head. “Okay, you know what?” You shake your ankles out of the heels and find your chucks near the couch and sit on the couch to quickly slip those on. “Now, I feel like I can walk without breaking something.”

Spencer chuckles as you make your way towards him without anything in your way, this time. “Hi.” You breathe, staring into his eyes and he stares into yours with a crooked smile — “Hi.” He says softly and you look at his hands, causing him to look down to see what you were looking at and then exclaimed — “Oh! These—These are for you. I remembered you said you liked roses, as cliché as they are.”

You’d remember the conversation as well, he’d been over for a movie night since Ellie practically begged him to come and she’d also chosen the movie. She’d chosen Beauty and the Beast and the topic of flowers had come up. Spencer had given Ellie a cool fact about wilted roses and that was where you chimed in and said that roses had been your favorite flower, even if they were a cliché.

You grab the flowers and smile at him, “Thank you, Spencer. These are lovely.” You take a whiff of them and he watches as you do so. He loves that you can be enraptured by the smell of roses.

“Well, we better get going. Our reservations are at 7:30. And if we get there in—” Spencer checks his watch. “Approximately nine minutes and twelve seconds, we can dodge traffic.”

You kneel down to your daughter’s level, “Be good for Penelope, okay, sweet pea?” You ask and Ellie beams, “Okay, Mommy!”

“Don’t worry about anything here,” Penelope chimes in, grabbing Ellie by the shoulders. “I’ve got it all taken care of. You guys just go and have all the fun in the world!”

Penelope grabs your arm gently as she pulls you closer to her — “And I am very available to stay the night if you need me to.” She grins with a wink and you flush at that sentence alone at the insinuation.

You bid your goodbyes to Penelope and Ellie and head on out with Spencer. He’d been a gentleman, getting you flowers, opening the car door for you, pulling out your seat at the table once you got there.

“I-I don’t drink, but I’d be happy to buy you a glass of wine if you’d like.” Spencer offered and you immediately shook your head. “Oh, I’m okay, thank you.”

You sat there and every so often made small talk with him, discussing anything and everything since he’d always had a fun fact in his back pocket. You’d enjoy those fun facts every time, never interrupted him, never disregarded him, just listened and asked questions every so often.

He’d talked about the origins of the restaurant you two were currently at when you wondered something in the back of your mind. And you felt the need to share it with him, because you wondered if maybe he’d thought about it as well.

“Spencer?” You run the rim of your glass with a finger.

“Yes?”

“I-I guess I’m just… a little curious,” You began, with a hitch in your breath. “How long did you feel—?” You pause, looking at his intriguing eyes and they’re burning into your soul, listening intently and you’re quick to shy away once you realize the attention’s all on you. “Never mind.”

“No, no, carry on. What were you gonna say?” Spencer sits forward and you shake your head, dismissing the topic. “No, no, it’s silly.” You say. Spencer grabs your hand across the table as he looks into your eyes and says — “Nothing you say is silly.”

You take a sharp breath and you break out of your shell, staring down into your lap as you think what you were about to say before you shied away. “How long… did you like me before you… asked me on a date? I guess I’m just curious.”

Spencer thinks on it for a moment before quickly responding. “It was the first time we met, and you had come to my door to ask if I had any juice.” You nod as you remember, “Oh, yes! Juice is the only thing Ellie will drink when she’s sick.”

“And you’d run, so you asked me. And I remembered your hair, sticking out, wearing a pastel pink robe and mismatched socks. And from that moment forward, I guess, I was hooked, so to speak.” You smile at the memory and lean forward, “Can I let you know on a secret?”

Spencer leans forward to you and you smile at the closeness between you two — “That was the day I knew, too.” Spencer smiles as he looks down and he too has grown shy and somehow you’ve grown more confident.

After you two have ate, Spencer pays for the check — you’d tried to split it but found out he prepaid for the meal before you two even got to the restaurant— and you two get back into the car, him opening the car door for you again had you weak in the knees.

“I do have one more question, Spencer.” You suddenly speak, turning your body towards him in the car. “What’s up?” Spencer asks, as he keeps his hands steady on the wheel and his eyes on the road.

“What made you finally ask me out? I mean, you had to have thought about it before you asked me, right?” You’d asked and for a brief moment, he turns to you before keeping his eyes back on the road. He doesn’t want to, but of course, safety first, he guesses.

Spencer bites the inside of his cheek, he’d debated on telling you right then and there. But he didn’t know how you’d take him being framed for a crime he didn’t even commit and how the reason he was gone for a few months wasn’t because of his job but because he was at the Milburn Correctional Facility because he was wrongfully convicted of murdering Nadie Ramos in Mexico. He couldn’t tell you that. What if you didn’t trust him anymore? What if you wanted to call the whole thing off? What if you didn’t trust him around Ellie anymore? There were so many reasons why he didn’t — why he couldn’t — tell you. He couldn’t risk losing you when he just got you back.

“Something told me it was finally time,” Spencer opts, which wasn’t exactly far from the truth. After being in prison for as long he was, he thought about you everyday. He wondered how you were, how Ellie was doing, if you’d thought about him, too. You were the only thing that kept him going in that godforsaken place. “I was, uh, gone for a little bit, as you well know.” He says and you nod at that. “I guess I just realized it was now or never.”

“Right,” You nod. “Now or never.” You look outside the window and Spencer thinks to himself. If he could keep this secret forever, he would. It’s best if he does. He can’t screw up what you two already have going on.

After it’s all said and done, you two walk back into your shared unit, stopping in front of your door— but walking slowly so as to keep prolonging your time with each other. Eventually, you stop short and sigh, “Well, this is me.”

Spencer nods as he bites his lip and scrunches up his nose and his eyes gleam at you as you smile at him — “I had a really great time tonight. It’s been a while since I had a date.”

“Same here,” Spencer nods. “But good, I’m glad.” You both stare at each other for the longest of times and just as you’re about to put a hand on the door, he speaks.

“Y/n,” He begins.

“Yes?” You ask, eagerly hoping he’s about to ask the one thing you’ve been wanting to hear for most of the night.

“Can I… Can I kiss you?” Spencer asks and you smile at him as you look him up and down, gazing at his perfect bodice in front of you. He’s bulked up since the last you saw him, you notice. You look back up at him and his gaze is solely on you. It never moved from you. “I never thought you’d ask.” You say.

And Spencer leans forward, hands placed to your cheeks as he pulls you forward and kisses you, so gently, so lovingly. Holding you like you’re gonna break apart in his hands, soft like your sand weaving between his palms, waiting to wilt away in a summer breeze.

You hold him close to you, not wanting to waste a moment of this, with his lips on yours— kissing him like you mean it and you’re holding him like you’re gonna lose him. Finally, you both back up and you look at each other, lips swollen and parted.

It’s as if you can read the other’s mind because in that moment, you have no idea if it’s you or him, but you find yourself straying towards his apartment door and finding refuge there as he quickly inserts his key into the lock and opens the door and he’s just as quick to shut it as he pushes you against it, hand under your head to make sure you weren’t bumping into the door too hard as you rake your lips from his to his neck and his collarbone as you even trying to unbutton his shirt.

He hikes your leg up over his hip, hand trailing up your thigh as he pulls you toward him and hikes you up as you lay your lips everywhere. He carries you to his bedroom, where he gently lays you down and cowers over you with a smirk and kisses you so lovingly.

“Unzip me?” You ask, sitting up a bit and Spencer shakes his head— “Not yet.”

You furrow your brows and Spencer pushes you back down softly and he bows his head down to your thighs, fingers lacing towards the waistband of your tights and pulling them down slowly. “I want to at least get a chance to taste you while you’re wearing this dress for me. God, I wanted to ravage you in this the minute I saw you.” He confessed and your heat throbbed as his sultry tone and you wiggle the rest of the way out of your tights so they’re easier for him to take off.

Spencer flings them somewhere in the room as you bunch your dress up higher and spread your legs for him. He traces his tongue down your thigh and you clench around nothing as the warmth of his tongue sends shivers down your spine.

He blows a hot breath into your core before moving closer and laying a kissing on your pussy and that’s when you pull him closer to your wet heat and he dives between your folds. You feel his tongue circle on your clit, slurping everything you had for him and his moans vibrating in your walls as he sucks on your clit, making you grip onto the sheets and his hair as you arch your back off the mattress as he gets you to the brink of your orgasm.

The coil breaks and your clit throbs under his touch and he looks at you, eyes blown with a mix of lust and love. You wove your fingers through his hair to get a clear look at him and he smiles warmly at you and you return.

Your hand grazes down to the collar of his shirt and you pull him up to you, placing a soft kiss on his lips. You taste your essence as he glides his tongue through the crevice of your mouth and it’s dizzying, heart beating faster than normal. He’s quick to take notice of that.

“If you want to stop here, that’s okay.” He tells you and you smile at him endearingly. He’d always want you to feel safe, no matter what. And he’d always make sure you’d have total control of the situation. You were sure of it.

“Not a chance I want to stop.” You smirk, pulling him back to your mouth as you move your knee towards his crotch, nudging his bulge aching in his slacks and he takes to moaning in your mouth.

His moaning nearly turns into a whine until he grabs your hands, holding both of them above your head and you swear you’re on the verge of a heart attack with how delicious he looks above you.

Spencer leans down, leaving kisses on your neck and most likely hickeys as you feel his tongue trace the column of your neck. He stops, looking at you. You think he’s looking just because he wants to but he’s looking to make sure you’re enjoying this just as much as he is.

You place a hand on his face, stubble scratching the palm of your hand. Your thumb traces his bottom lip as you stare into his eyes, full of wonder and what you were thinking at that very moment. You never noticed just how golden his eyes were on the inside.

He was so ethereal. He was infinite. One of a kind. The one man you held dear to your heart. You just wanted to bottle up this emotion you had for him and keep it locked away for you and yourself only.

Spencer is the first one to move as he sits up on his knees and begins to unbutton his dress shirt and you take this moment to try and help him unbutton his shirt, starting from the bottom as he starts from the tops and meeting halfway as you finally get the shirt off of him, revealing a white tank, that you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him rock before but you could get used to the sight anyhow.

You go to take the shirt off but he grabs your hands to stop you. “If you don’t mind, I’d… I’d like to keep it on. If that’s okay?” Spencer’s eyes are practically pleading with you and of course, you’d never want him to do anything he didn’t want to do. “Of course.” You nod.

You wonder what his big secret is. A third nipple? A weird birthmark in the shape of a foot you might make fun of? No belly button? The possibilities were endless. But you didn’t have much time to dwell on it when he pulled you close to him and began to unzip your dress with your body flush against his.

He pulls the sleeves of the dress, revealing the fact that you decided not to wear a bra underneath your dress. Spencer looks up at you with an amused smirk on his face. “A bra would’ve just ruined the dress.” You shrug and Spencer shrugs right along with you, “Oh, I’m not complaining.” He leans forward, kissing your nipple before fully suctioning on it like it’s his lifeline.

It seemed that the man you went out with had some kind of oral fixation. Spencer lets go with a pop as he looks up at you, “Did you know that it’s possible for women to experience an orgasm solely from nipple stimulation? It’s not as common as achieving orgasm through direct genital stimulation but some women may find that focused nipple play can lead to a full-blown climax.” You look at him with a surprised look but somehow even more aroused at the fact that he just knows that? You knew he was smart but damn, using his facts while having sex with you? A whole type of rush in itself.

You stop yourself from rocking against him and pull him back to face you. “Maybe we can test that theory another time,” You tell him. “I need you inside of me.”

Spencer nods and stands up, reaching into the desk next to his bed and pulls out a box of condoms and you furrow your brows at him with amusement. Spencer takes notice of this. “Luke-Luke said I should… be prepared.” He admits, shyly and you smile at this.

Spencer removes his slacks, as well as his boxers and sits down on the bed as you remove the rest of the dress off your body and toss it on the ground as Spencer rolls the condom onto his cock.

He turns towards you, staring at you hungrily and hovers over your body, like you’re prey, ready to be slaughtered. And by God, you’d let him eat you any day. Spencer probes a finger towards your entrance and you gasp at the feeling. “God, you’re so wet.” He comments, moving his finger deeper inside of you, gently moving it back and forth. You grab onto his taut bicep and relish in the feeling of this. He’s not even in you yet and he’s making you feel things you never thought you’d feel again.

This continues for a minute more but you’re tired of the teasing. “Spencer…” You pout and he chuckles, “Alright, angel girl. I’ll give you what you want.” Spencer steadies himself on top of you and that’s when you get a good look at him.

Spencer’s… huge, to say the least. Thick in girth and in length, you’d say he had to have been at least eight inches. You’d always imagined he was packing, but Jesus. Needless to say, you’d been intimidated by Spencer’s dick. You’d had big before, but never big like Spencer.

You gulp and Spencer, like he has been all night, noticed your behavior once more. “What’s wrong?” He asks and you look up at him with wide eyes. “Nothing, it’s just… will it fit?” You wonder and Spencer looks back down in between you two and says — “I’ll go slow. Tell me if you need me to stop at all and I will, okay?” You nod at his words.

With that, Spencer’s tip captures your hole and he plugs the tip in. He sticks a few inches in and you moan, grabbing Spencer’s bicep again as he does everything he can not to cum here and now. “God… you’re so tight.” He groans and you reveal, “It’s been a while.”

“I’m gonna try to move, okay?” Spencer moves a piece of hair away from your face as he leans close to your face. “You let me know at all if you need me to stop.” You nod at him and he sticks more of himself inside of you, peppering your face with kisses and words of affirmation.

“You’re so perfect.”

“So good for me.”

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

Those are just the few testaments he showers you with. It’s a thin line between pain and pleasure but pleasure overtakes pain and he moves within you, hips grinding against yours as you two fit together like a piece of a puzzle.

“Can you… Can you go faster?” You ask him and he looks down at you, “You want me to go faster?” He repeats and you nod, “Please, please.” You beg.

He’s animalistic in his next movements and holds your hands above your head and drives his hips harder into you and you nearly shriek at how good it feels. The bed creaks as he whispers in your ear about how good you’re doing for him, how he’s waited so long for this, how beautiful you are. You’re too far gone to hear any of it because he’s absolutely railing you right now.

You rock your own body against his and he places kisses on your collarbone and mutters against your skin — “Do you want to cum, angel?” He asks and you gasp, “Please, please!” You don’t know what you’re begging for, at this point. He’s willing to give you everything.

“Then say you’re mine. Say you’re mine and you can cum. Can you do that, angel, please?”

His own tone makes it sounds like he’s begging, which he is. He’d worried he’d regret it later, damaging you was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I’m— I’m yours. Forever yours.” You breathe.

“Then, cum. You can do it, angel.”

And you see white as your pussy shudders against his cock and he gasps and even lets out a low whimper at the feeling of you clenching tightly around him. You soon feel the warmth of him cumming inside of the condom inside of you. He even has to cover your mouth with his hand so your moans and shouts don’t reverberate in the walls.

Eventually, he collapses against your body, and you both pant and take breaths to calm down after your sexual encounter. Spencer lifts his head up and then looks at you, with the same love and adoration he held so dearly at the beginning of your date. You wonder how lucky you are, how much love he truly has for you, if this is all a dream. You’ve fallen for him. And you’ve fallen for him, hard.

“Hi.” You find that your voice is hoarse as you speak to him. “Hi.” He says back, lifting himself off of you and landing next to you on the bed so as not to smother any further.

Spencer pulls your body close to his and holds you against him and you hold him tightly, not wanting to let go, if it was the last thing you did. He holds you and you feel a kiss on the top of your head and mutters against your head — “Are you okay?” He asks.

You smile, moving your head to look up at him — “I’m perfect.” He grazes his eyes from your eyes to your lips and before you know it, you both lean in for a kiss.

You stay there like that, for the rest of the night. At least, after he cleans the both of you off and he discards the condom. And he later readjusts his body to lay against yours, head resting on your chest as you play with his hair and you smile to yourself. You still can’t believe it. You’ve fallen so hard for him. If he breaks your heart, you’d be done for. He’s everything you want and more.

As you stay there, you lean over to grab your phone and find a text message from Penelope.

Penelope💘: I take it by his late it is, you’re staying over? 😉🥰🫣

You shake your head as you send a reply back.

You: Tell Ellie I love her and that I’ll be home tomorrow morning.

Penelope💘: What? No details????

You: I don’t kiss and tell, Penelope 🙈

Penelope💘: So kissing was involved!!!

You roll your eyes as you set your phone back down and ruffle Spencer’s hair softly. This was the most peaceful you’ve seen him. You were sure he was asleep by now.

And in this moment in time, you prayed for more nights like this. In his bed, with his love and with his heart in your hands. He’d make you the happiest person in the world if you’d let him.

And maybe you might just let him.