#Thorough Analyses

[majestativa]

Herod’s palace rose up like some Alhambra on slender columns iridescent with Moresque tiles, which appeared to be bedded in silver mortar and gold cement; arabesques started from lozenges of lapis lazuli to wind their way right across the cupolas, whose mother-of-pearl marquetry gleamed with rainbow lights and flashed with prismatic fires. The murder had been done; now the executioner stood impassive, his hands resting on the pommel of his long, bloodstained sword. The Saint’s decapitated head had left the charger where it lay on the flagstones and risen into the air, the eyes staring out from the livid face, the colourless lips parted, the crimson neck dripping tears of blood. A mosaic encircled the face, and also a halo of light whose rays darted out under the porticoes, emphasized the awful elevation of the head, and kindled a fire in the glassy eyeballs, which were fixed in what happened to be agonized concentration on the dancer. With a gesture of horror, Salome tries to thrust away the terrifying vision which holds her nailed to the spot, balanced on the tips of her toes, her eyes dilated, her right hand clawing convulsively at her throat. [...] The dreadful head glows eerily, bleeding all the while, so that clots of dark red form at the ends of hair and beard. Visible to Salome alone, it embraces in its sinister gaze neither Herodias, musing over the ultimate satisfaction of her hatred, nor the Tetrarch, who, bending forward a little with his hands on his knees, is still panting with emotion, maddened by the sight and smell of the woman’s naked body, steeped in musky scents, anointed with aromatic balms, impregnated with incense and myrrh. Like the old King, Des Esseintes invariably felt overwhelmed, subjugated, stunned when he looked at this dancing-girl, who was less majestic, less haughty, but more seductive than the Salome of the oil-painting. In the unfeeling and unpitying statue, in the innocent and deadly idol, the lusts and fears of common humanity had been awakened; the great lotus-blossom had disappeared, the goddess vanished; a hideous nightmare now held in its choking grip an entertainer, intoxicated by the whirling movement of the dance, a courtesan, petrified and hypnotized by terror. Here she was a true harlot, obedient to her passionate and cruel female temperament; here she came to life, more refined yet more savage, more hateful yet more exquisite than before; here she roused the sleeping senses of the male more powerfully, subjugated his will more surely with her charms – the charms of a great venereal flower, grown in a bed of sacrilege, reared in a hot-house of impiety.

— Joris-Karl Huysmans, Against Nature, transl by Robert Baldick, (2003)

[iholli]

living my best life with the new content (deleted scenes getting animated) but this part really gave my brain an itch that I've kinda thought about before and just haven't had reason to scratch at,,,

I think Blitzwing really dislikes getting dirty (or being in a space that could get him dirty), when it's unnecessary? I mean, he'll do it, he doesn't mind or care on a mission or during a fight, but he doesn't enjoy it, and don't expect him to get grease on his frame otherwise.

like, any time he's in a situation where he's getting dirty or scuffed and it's not in a fight, Hothead or Random are usually the dominant response, quickly finding something else to focus on. Icy only responds to complain, because he certainly likes to complain. he gets kind of bitchy about it! (I get it. I don't like unnecessary dirt either. I didn't authorize that. I mean this affectionately, I enjoy when he's bitchy.)

I imagine if he willingly got into a mess (for fun, or cannibalism, or both) it would be fine, but eugh, he wasn't planning on Autobot gunk or Earth grime, no thank you.

[saintobio]

gojo, akemi, and sachiro all snuggled together in one giant bed, with sachi nestled close to auntie ‘kemi who’s softly singing him to sleep, while dada satoru watches them both, holding them in his arms and feeling this warmth in his heart at the sight of their bond >>>

[ryukiethebored]

the fact it's almost word for word repetition of sang-woo after THREE YEARS, implying moments he spent with a once good friend were still significant enough to him that they ran through his mind over and over, branding his traumatized brain. that his time in the game left such a heavy, lasting impression of loss and still he chose to keep the instances he'd admired in his friend close enough for him to emulate and use to help all he could the second time around. this lingering admiration of the sang-woo that was noble & clever, despite what he witnessed of sang-woo's descent

[kalkydra]

was workshopping a post in my head about a guy who has moral ocd but he's evil so instead his intrusive thoughts are about, like, not kicking puppies and then remembered there's a phineas and ferb episode where dr doofenshmirtz has a like Episode over people thinking he saved a kitten on purpose when it was on accident

[soverane]

something something half-blood (?) khaenrian native something something cursed; doomed by the narrative and yet—something something cleansing fire (ignis purgatorius) something something betrayal, backstabbing, getting away with it without consequence something something Should Be Corrupted/Cursed But Isn't (see: hilichurls; dainsleif), or at least Not Quite something something a glitch in the matrix

i'm no genshin lore expert but judging by what we know of her from (1) fatui harbingers' voice lines about her; (2) other characters' voice lines about her; (3) her still incomplete character description; (4) bits of lore scattered around fontaine that don't explicitly say it's her but they do fit her description well that it can't be unintentional; and (5) her design—the glitches, the dark-stained arms, etc.—there is CLEARLY something 'wrong' with arlecchino. something is 'off,' something is 'glitchy,' masked by a flawless exterior.

[wonder-worker]

Analyses on the propaganda faced by Elizabeth Woodville during her life are actually so subpar and lacking, tbh. Slanders and accusations against her are either reinforced and reiterated or (to a lesser extent) debunked and dismissed; but they are rarely if ever properly examined as tools that constructed a narrative around her, and how that narrative actually framed her. Most examinations I’m reading are so incredibly generic and limited. Lot of times, people don’t even recognize the propaganda against her for what it is, and this includes several of her own well-known historians. If it is acknowledged, it’s usually stated matter-of-factly with its “meaning” taken for granted. Other times, it’s regarded as purely politically-motivated, ignoring the inherently political nature of all propaganda and how it is always reflective of the societal beliefs and biases of its period. Often, Elizabeth is absorbed into general discussions of her family rather than examined in her own right. Other times, she is deprioritized in favour of analysing what was being said about her husband. Both of these approaches are fundamentally misleading: it was Elizabeth who was always placed front and centre when it came to slanders; she was the one primarily framed as an instigator and disruptor.

I didn’t really realize how frustrating it was until now, when I’m trying to answer an ask on it but can’t find any concrete, thorough examinations on the same. Arlene Okerlund, David Baldwin, Susan Higginbotham and Gemma Hollman are all frustratingly generic and matter-of-factly rather than analytical. Baldwin, Higginbotham and Hollman uncritically ascribe to the popular idea that Elizabeth “usurped” Richard of his Protectorate; Baldwin even believes that she plotted against Henry VII and her own daughter and was imprisoned for it. Derek Neal doesn’t discuss or even mention the contemporary propaganda she faced at all in his analysis of her queenship. A.J Pollard, despite the fact that his “Elizabeth Woodville and her Historians” chapter dedicated to examining the propaganda against her, completely ignores how she and her family were slandered and degraded by Warwick and jumps straight to Richard III’s campaign against her, even though lots of Richard’s amplified defamations were inspired by Warwick’s; his analysis is thus very incomplete and fragmented. Pollard also traces the rise of her femme fatale image to the 18th century when in fact it was prominent from the 16th century (eg: Vergil in the 16th century? Habington in the 17th? Etc, etc), and when its basis lay in the slanders she suffered during her life - this isn't highlighted nearly as much, and it's led to a host of historians uncritically repeating Pollard's assertions without actually double checking with the actual sources that Pollard has in fact gotten wrong. John Leland, in his chapter “Witchcraft and the Woodvilles: A Standard Medieval Smear” (which I assumed, judging by the title, would analyse how the rhetoric of witchcraft was used against them) literally ends up arguing that actually, Elizabeth did use “astrological magic” against Richard III and that Richard’s charge against her was “at least partially true, and less likely to have been a purely political invention”, meaning his violent and defamatory reaction to them was “natural”; he also argues that it’s plausible for Jacquetta to have “used image magic” to enable her daughter’s marriage to the King.

Lynda Pidgeon is all over the place: apart from her disingenuous claim that the Woodvilles’ status “was not really an issue” (tell that to the classist propaganda against them, or the fact that Croyland and Mancini and Waurin noted how people were opposed to Elizabeth for her ‘humble’ origin, or the fact that she objectively WAS the lowest-ranked queen prior to her marriage till date which DID affect how her actions were perceived), Pidgeon is also incredibly assumptive and tends to minimize the impact and power of Elizabeth and her family in the name of defending them (particularly in the immediate aftermath of Edward IV’s death: her claim that “chronicles writing shortly after Edward IV’s death suggest that the real power around the throne belong to men such as Hastings” is very clearly contradicted by the very chronicles she references). Her view on Mancini is overly simplistic, seeming to think that he “exonerates” Elizabeth even though he literally does the opposite, emphasizing her “humble birth”, how she stole the treasury, how she usurped Richard’s protectorate, how she murdered Clarence and drove Richard away from court, and how she “controlled” the kingdom and the king. A complex examination of how Mancini was simultaneously aware that Richard was slandering the Woodvilles while unwittingly and unknowingly absorbing the propaganda himself is nowhere to be found in her work. Pidgeon also seems far less interested in examining Elizabeth in her own right and instead spends longer detailing how the propaganda she faced was similar to Margaret of Anjou’s (a simplistic and limiting statement in itself: the slanderous propaganda both queens faced was not unique to them or their time but was instead very common and convenient rhetoric against medieval women; comparing them purely to each other is very limiting) In any case, the comparison is wildly misleading: Elizabeth and Margaret were both accused of certain “standard” defamations but their differing status and nationality, along with the accusations of witchcraft attributed to Elizabeth, make the framework of the propaganda they faced very different. Pidgeon’s statement “such slanders were required to meet political necessity” is accurate but nonetheless misleading: making the propaganda Elizabeth faced out to be purely politically motivated utterly disregards the misogynistic and classist culture it reflects and taps into, which deliberately sought to shape her reputation as we know it. It also ignores that Elizabeth, due to her comparatively lower status, would be – and was – vulnerable to a very different kind of propaganda than any of her queenly predecessors. It also ignores the fact that while they may have had some similar slanders, the effect was drastically different and significantly worse in Elizabeth's case (eg: both were accused of adultery, but Margaret was accused through rumors while Elizabeth was formally declared an adulteress in Parliament, the first Queen of England to have been declared so. All ten of Elizabeth's children were also officially bastardized, something Margaret's son was decidedly not. It's not the same thing, y'all).

J.L. Laynesmith is comparatively better, but even she is very inconsistent and selective: she examines some aspects while attributing others to gossip, politicking or the assumptions of “later writers” rather than contemporary ones. In “The Last Medieval Queens”, she spends pages dissecting how negative perceptions of Margaret of Anjou’s foreign family impacted her image through the lens of xenophobia but does not afford Elizabeth the same analysis in terms of how her gentry family impacted her image through the lens of classism, instead highlighting their positive practical effects in court. It’s an entirely different line of analysis altogether that gives readers a very misleading impression. Similarly, in her chapter “Telling Tales of Adulterous Queens in Medieval England”, while she mentions the fact that Elizabeth was accused of bewitching Edward IV into bigamy/adultery, she only spends a few short paragraphs on this and ultimately even those centres around Edward IV (even though Elizabeth is clearly framed as the instigator by the Titulus Regius itself), a sharp contrast to her pages-long in-depth analysis on the defamations faced by Margaret of Anjou. For Margaret, Laynesmith’s analysis is focused on the social culture of the period and how it tied into her actions; for Elizabeth’s, it’s merely regarded as the political “rhetoric of dispositions” and is thus not analysed beyond that. It’s odd, and I wonder if it's because there was a legality to Elizabeth's situation that wasn't present with her predecessors? Edward of Lancaster and Edward IV were both rumoured to be bastards, but Elizabeth Woodville's children were legally bastardized. Several former queens and noblewomen (Margaret of Anjou, Cecily Neville, etc) were accused of adultery; but Elizabeth was legally relegated to the position of an adulteress and concubine by a statute from Parliament. The sexual accusations she faced were "officialized" in a way that they simply weren't for any English queen before her, and so I think that in the process of debating whether the legal accusations were true or not, the social accusations - namely, the misogyny and classism - are overlooked. I've noticed something similar for Eleanor Cobham: both women had similarly anomalous and comparatively lower statuses, and both were deposed in a manner that was unprecedented. Yet it's mostly the "political" angle that's emphasized in both their cases, when it should be the opposite - they were the ones who suffered the most extreme effects of contemporary slanders, when the law was used to turn the rumours against them into devastating realities. As far as queenship goes, Elizabeth's in particular needs to be emphasized more because it fundamentally broke the pattern of slanders uses to condemn queens and set a whole new horrifying precedent (ie: official accusations).

Katherine J. Lewis's epilogue in "Kingship and Masculinity in Late Medieval England" is by far the most ignorant and ridiculous of them all. Apart from the fact that her primary source is Commynes (who all historians agree is highly unreliable and caricatural when it comes to English affairs) and the fact that she spends a disturbing and frankly disgusting amount of time talking about Edward IV's weight, her analysis on Elizabeth Woodville is terrible. It's not the focus of her book - thankfully - and it's understandable that she wouldn't be analyzing her in depth, but what she does say is bizarre. She mentions the unconventional aspects of Elizabeth's origins, but completely divorces them from her queenship and how it was perceived, instead writing that she was merely "accepted" by the nobility and that she fulfilled "the role of the beautiful, submissive and fertile wife with distinction." (Not only is this a vague, gendered, dismissive and tasteless way to talk about any historical woman, it completely ignores the political and public aspects of queenship and the unusual governing authority Elizabeth was given - yes, even compared to Margaret. But what do I know?), and that "Edward could demonstrate that his rule comprised a restoration of the gendered norms which had been so damagingly inverted by Henry and Margaret." This is ... a very odd statement to make, imo. Apart from the fact that Edward IV's mother was literally described as being able to "rule him as she please(d)" in the early years of his reign, and the fact that he married a woman "whose origins broke all established conventions for English queenship" (which would have certainly NOT given anyone the impression of a restoration of gendered norms lmfao), Lewis's analyses completely ignores the gendered and classist criticism levelled at Elizabeth by her own enemies and detractors during her tenure as queen consort and dowager queen. Elizabeth was framed as a transgressive and aggressive woman; her and Edward's marriage was viewed as unconventional with her being accused of "controlling" and ruining both her husband and the kingdom; female authority was also criticized with her ("As for the government of the kingdom, he (Edward V) had complete confidence in the peers of the realm and the queen" / "It was not the business of women but of men to govern kingdoms ... let him place all his hopes in his barons"), etc. Lewis's examination primarily revolves around perception, so I fail to understand why she seems utterly ignorant of how Elizabeth was perceived? Both Margaret and Elizabeth's reputations were primarily shaped by propaganda + political circumstances rather than reality, after all. The differences were: the angles they were judged by that were interwoven with misogyny (classism & witchcraft/xenophobia), the fact that Elizabeth's Woodville family were slandered and destroyed right along with her, and the legality of the accusations against them (both were subject to rumours of sexual impropierty, but in Elizabeth's case, they were turned into legal realities, an unprecedented humiliation that none of her queenly predecessors had to endure) Similarly, Lewis focuses on how the Titulus Regius frames Edward and completely ignores how Elizabeth is the one framed as the instigator of sexual misconduct and tyranny: she bewitched him. Bigamy is the effect; Elizabeth and Jacquetta's witchcraft is the cause. It's odd that the propaganda, false accusations and misogynistic perceptions against Margaret are all thoughtfully analyzed; but the propaganda, false accusations and misogynistic perceptions against Elizabeth are ignored and disregarded entirely. Obviously, Lewis's book is not about the Yorkists, she is under no obligation to write a thesis on any of them. But then...why bring them up at all? Idk. Like I said, the propaganda used against Elizabeth tends to get dismissed entirely by some people which is extremely misleading when it comes to her actual life experiences. Idk.

[kavehayati]

I fear it is always the people who believe in communication and that it is their life motto who do not actually communicate …

[majestativa]

In contrast to the bacchant of Dionysos, whom the imagery associates with figures of Maenads along with their exuberant escort of Satyrs and Silenoi, we must distinguish what Euripides calls a “bacchant of Hades” (Haïdou bakchos) who is compelled by the rabies of a frenzied madness, Lussa, to dance while playing a tune of terror (Phobos) on the flute.

— Jean-Pierre Vernant, The Medusa Reader, transl by Thomas Curley & Froma I. Zeitlin, (2013)

[fozmeadows]

You write thorough analyses of concepts and events, so I thought I would ask for your take on Senator Booker's speech today. Some people say it was disrespectful. What do you think? Thank you in advance for your opinion.

I think what Booker did was extraordinary on several levels. First, the sheer physical endurance it takes to speak for that long, almost uninterrupted, while remaining cogent, is absolutely incredible. Second, the actual content of what he said, based on what I've seen, was fantastic; he was impassioned, engaging and incisive, and the extent to which he kept on topic over that many hours is staggering. Third, the fact that he broke the record for the longest speech on the Senate floor, which is not only an achievement in its own right, but doubly meaningful given his status as a Black man when the previous record was set by a segregationist, Strom Thurmond, protesting the Civil Rights Act in 1957. And last but not least, the moral clarity inherent in rebuking, loudly and at length, the myriad abuses of a historically corrupt, fascist government while working to delay their business.

All that being so, I think there are only three plausible reasons for someone finding Booker's speech disrespectful. The first is predicated on agreeing so completely with the Trump administration's policies that disrupting their operation via a lawful, established form of political protest is cast as inherently bad - which would be very much in keeping with the logic of those who, to take just one example, see nothing illegal or indeed remarkable about Trump's insistence that the executive branch should be able to unilaterally overrule both the Senate and the judiciary. The second is predicated on being such a spineless appeasenik milquetoast that some nebulous concept of "civility" is considered more important, and thus more urgent, than doing literally anything to protest an administration so nakedly corrupt that the president is publicly shilling for crypto and Tesla in order to line his own pockets. And the third is, simply, racism, whether subconscious or overt, which here translates to the reflexive assumption that a Black man being loud and disruptive must of course be inherently bad, and certainly a worse offense than whatever he might be protesting.

So, in conclusion, no, I do not think Booker's speech was disrespectful - but even if it could be fairly labelled as such, as I don't believe this current administration is remotely deserving of anyone's respect, I'd still be cheering him on.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

｡°✩ for academic purposes only .ᐟ.ᐟ

Every month Ford experiences the same cycle: scientific curiosity, self-restraint and complete obliteration. He should’ve known better

tags: nsfw, Ford Pines aka uterus researcher, established relationship, nerdy Ford, periods, cycle, journaling, mentions of sex, period sex, breeding kink if u squint, Ford's notes

i would like to personally thank the female reproductive system bc this is the only reason this fic exists

JOURNAL ENTRY — CYCLE ANALYSIS BY DR. STANFORD F. PINES, PH.D. (MULTIPLE FIELDS), AUTHOR OF JOURNALS 1, 2 AND 3, MAN OF SCIENCE, CURRENTLY IN AN INCREDIBLY GRATIFYING AND SCIENTIFICALLY ENLIGHTENING RELATIONSHIP.

SUBJECT: (your name), hereafter referred to as my darling, my sweetheart, my love, my starlight (edit later, leave for now), follows a standard 28-day cycle, but their body’s response to each stage is something i cannot help but study with rapt fascination

STUDY FOCUS: menstrual cycle behavioural & physiological analysis (personal, HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL!!!)

OBSERVATIONAL PERIOD: (start date - present)

FOR SCIENCE & DEFINITELY NOT BECAUSE I’M OBSESSED

INTRODUCTION:

oh, my starlight, if you ever find this... i am a dead man. but in the interest of science (and, let’s be honest, my own hopeless fascination with you), i must document this properly. perhaps i should hide it somewhere impenetrable, but then again, i do enjoy re-reading my notes and recalling particularly... captivating instances. must deliberate further.

the goal of this entry? to analyse, in the most thorough and detailed manner possible, the profound effects of your cycle, particularly your most intimate needs and behaviours!

(personal note: this is entirely scientific. definitely. well. mostly. fine, i just want to remember every last detail of you and the way you change through each phase, but can you blame me? you are the most enthralling subject i have ever studied.)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that i, Stanford Filbrick Pines, have been fortunate enough to conduct one of the most fascinating, perplexing and occasionally overwhelming studies of my entire academic career. This, of course, refers to the ongoing, deeply personal and intensively hands-on analysis of my partner's menstrual cycle and its profound effects on both their physiology and our shared... extracurricular activities.

(hands-on research is, naturally, a critical aspect of any thorough investigation. i am, above all, a diligent scientist.)

HYPOTHESIS: her cycle influences not only her physiological state but our shared activities in ways that, if charted correctly, could allow for optimal... performance calibration.

(note: i should really not phrase it like that. sounds terribly perverse. i am a scientist, not a deranged old man. though, considering my reaction to certain phases of this cycle i fear i may be both)

PHASE ONE: FOLLICULAR (DAYS 1-14, PRE-OVULATION)

The luteinizing hormone (lh) surge initiates ovulation and its effects on behaviour are undeniable.

PHYSIOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS INCLUDE:

• Estrogen levels increase, this means brighter eyes and faster speech. Energy levels rise noticeably, leading to an increase in spontaneous affectionate behavior as hand-holding, lap-sitting, casual nudity. I am holding myself together. barely

• Playful disposition increases, resulting in (very welcome) teasing remarks, touches, and moments of flirtation.

• My sweetheart is adorable, she moves so much. Paces while talking, gestures wildly, kisses me mid-sentence before running off to do something else.

(PERSONAL NOTE: My partner's thighs. have i ever properly documented my fascination with them? i should dedicate a separate entry. but her thighs during this phase are soft and firm, strong but yielding. When she wraps them around my waist, i momentarily lose my ability to process coherent thought.)

Arousal is present but manageable. My love enjoys teasing, initiating long, drawn-out foreplay, but not rushing into things. A preference for languid, exploratory touches, lazy morning sex where she can take her time riding me while still half-asleep.

PREFERRED POSITIONS & BEHAVIORAL NOTES:

• Tends to straddle me while talking, seemingly unaware of its effects. (This is a problem, i cannot concentrate.)

• Kisses are more playful than desperate.

• Lower cervix position = deeper penetration is easier, but subject’s own preference leans toward grinding rather than thrusting.

Overall: delightful Somewhat distracting, but so attractive.

PHASE TWO: OVULATORY PHASE (DAYS 14–17, PEAK FERTILITY)

PERSONAL NOTE: Oh. Oh no. Oh yes.

I am a mere man, defenseless against these biochemical weapons of seduction.

PHYSIOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS INCLUDE:

• touch frequency escalates, subject initiates physical contact at a staggering (and frankly overwhelming) rate, often in seemingly innocuous ways that, due to my unfortunate hypersensitivity to her presence, result in considerable mental derailment.

• spontaneous arousal occurrences, seemingly triggered by voice depth, prolonged eye contact or even minor dominance cues

• her behaviour changes entirely. she becomes insatiable. restless. demanding.

• physical responsiveness is heightened, tactile stimulation along the spine, lower abdomen or inner thighs elicits a near-instantaneous shivering reaction.

• specific positional preferences emerge:

deep, cervix-targeting angles become more desirable, despite previous sensitivities.

• my darling climbs onto my lap, straddles me, kisses me until i can no longer form coherent thoughts. (note: i have, on three separate occasions, nearly dropped whatever i was holding due to this. once, it was coffee. another time, a priceless extraterrestrial artefact. the third time, my own dignity.)

PERSONAL NOTE: i find myself gravitating toward her like a man under some primitive compulsion.

PERSONAL NOTE: she told me, quite bluntly, that she “needs to feel me ruin her“ and then proceeded to climb into my lap and grind against me until i blacked out momentarily. truly, i have never been more in love.

OBSERVABLE SIGNS OF OVULATION:

• skin luminescence enhancement (note: skin is glowing. literally. did i hallucinate that? no. confirmed under direct lighting. biologically unfair!)

• heightened blood circulation leads to noticeably rosier cheeks, increased nipple sensitivity and a subtle but consistent warmth in the lower abdominal region.

• cervix sits higher, softens significantly; vaginal walls remain in a persistent state of involuntary contraction. arousal response time is astoundingly low, mere seconds of stimulation elicit immediate lubrication. (note: nearly passed out the first time i confirmed this.)

• body appears primed for contact; she leans into touch more, presses against me absentmindedly, makes these little “ah” whimpering noises if i pull away. (note: this is devastatingly effective at reducing my cognitive function to near-zero.)

MORE BEHAVIOURAL OBSERVATIONS:

• heightened assertiveness (dear god.)

• sustained eye contact (i am sweating.)

• subconscious body language cues, what means increased proximity-seeking, enhanced hip sway while walking (i am so normal about this. so incredibly normal.)

• direct verbal cues. e.g. "Ford, come here. sit down. let me straddle you." (???????)

• tactile seeking: my darling cannot stop touching me. fingers constantly curled into my clothes, tracing my chest, sliding under my coat. at one point, she pressed her face against my neck, inhaled deeply and whined. (note: i lost the ability to speak for a full minute.)

• vocabulary exhibits a marked increase in expletives and breathier, higher-pitched intonations. (example: during an encounter last night, she gripped my wrist, dragged my hand between her legs, and in a very insistent tone, said: “Ford, please, please, i need you, i need your mouth, your fingers, fuck, do something“ )

MORE DIRECT QUOTES FROM SUBJECT:

"Ford, if you don’t fuck me right now, i am going to lose my goddamn mind."

"I need you inside me. Now. No, i said now, why are you taking notes, oh my god—“

Unintelligible noises followed by what i can only describe as a feral growl.

PERSONAL NOTE TO SELF:

• do not attempt to maintain professional detachment. it is already lost.

• i swear, my starlight could ask me to hand over my life's work in exchange for kissing her ankle and i would do it without hesitation.

Most devastatingly, she becomes particularly receptive to deeper penetration and—

(note: pause. breathe. do not combust while writing this.)

The increased cervical softening allows for an absolutely devastating depth. She can take every inch of me, every grind against her cervix without discomfort. In fact, she moans for it! Begs for it, pulls me closer, gasping into my mouth, her nails biting into my back, telling m—

(note: take a cold shower.)

Scientifically speaking, her body is in peak condition for conception... and im fully aware of this fact, because every time she tightens around me, i—

(note: for god’s sake, Stanford, edit this later.)

EXPERIMENTAL OBSERVATION: INTERCOURSE DURING OVULATION

PERSONAL NOTE: i am not a young man but good lord.

SECONDARY PERSONAL NOTE: i need to start doing cardiovascular training if this is going to continue.

By compellingly, sexual appetite during this phase escalates significantly. Vocalisations become more uninhibited, involuntary muscle contractions increase, lubrication levels heighten and orgasmic response is intensified.

additional note: psychological implications are equally profound. subject’s confidence peaks, decision-making speed increases, and overall emotional resilience is heightened.

my sweetheart looked in the mirror today and said she looks beautiful. so proud of my love!:)

TEST ENVIRONMENT: my bedroom

SUBJECT STATE: ovulatory phase, heightened sensory sensitivitу

FORD PINES STATE: near-critical (hypothesis: excessive arousal may cause cognitive collapse. further testing required.)

POSING & ANGLES ANALYSIS: 

BACK-ARCHED, HIPS LIFTED (MISSIONARY VARIANT)

• her legs wrap around my waist immediately, locking me in place. (potential psychological factor: subconscious desire for security??? note: must investigate further. once i regain coherent thought post-orgasm)

• verbal responses increase by 63%. (examples: "oh my god, oh my god, Ford—“ , “please, please, deeper—“,  ”you feel so fucking good—“ etc.)

• cervical pressure is heightened (noted increase in breathy whimpers + desperate fingernail digging into my back)

• direct quote: “Ford, oh my god, deeper, i can feel you in my stomach—” (instant system failure on my end.)

• notable reaction when wrists are pinned above her head triggers rapid pulse, dilated pupils, small, breathy "oh—oh, god—" sounds. (note: physically difficult to maintain composure. potential solution: don’t maintain composure at all.)

• deep penetration, cervix stimulation. position: legs over shoulders. mating press, I think it’s called? anyways. EFFECT: immediate physiological surrender. my darling trembles, clutches at my arms, lets out a breathless, high-pitched little whines and, frankly, i nearly black out from how tight she gets. (note: jesus Ford.)

FACESITTING (I am a ruined man.)

• her hands in my hair, breathy little moans every time my tongue moves. (note: muscle control significantly reduced. fascinating!!)

• grip on my hair tightens when i lap at her clit. (involuntary response: bucking forward. possibly subconscious attempt at deeper pressure?)

• when i grab her waist and press her down harder, she makes this high and loud moan. (note: if i were a weaker man, i would be dead now)

STRADDLING, HIPS ROLLED FORWARD (COWGIRL VARIANT)

• optimal clitoral stimulation (highly enjoyable for both parties)

• direct quote: “Just—just let me use you, okay?”

ON HER SIDE, LEG HOOKED OVER MY SHOULDER 

• deep angle, excessive wetness and overwhelming intimacy

• one of our favourite 

• direct quote: “mmh, feels so good like this—so full.” (i nearly perished.)

BACKSHOT POSITION (EXTENDED DEEP-PENETRATION STUDY):

• initial hypothesis: deeper angle = greater cervical stimulation = heightened pleasure response

• confirmed within seconds. (note: DEAR GOD)

• subject reaction was immediate, sharp gasp upon first thrust. “f—fuck, Ford—ahh, god, right there—” (approx. 5 seconds in.)

“harder—please, please, deeper—“ (approx. 10 seconds in.)

loss of verbal coherence entirely (approx. 20 seconds in.)

• secondary observation: gripping her hips tighter makes her whimper. lifting her slightly higher makes her sob. both are important scientific findings!!

CERVICAL & WOMB-BASED RESPONSES:

• during ovulation, cervix sits higher and softens.

hypothesis: so subject can take deeper penetration with heightened pleasure rather than discomfort!

• confirmed within minutes. (note: will require many, many additional tests.)

• increased suction effect!! vaginal walls clench rhythmically, pulling me deeper. (note: brain ceased function entirely.)

• post-orgasm aftershocks. body remains hypersensitive, resulting in continued involuntary clenching even after climax

ADDITIONAL PHENOMENA:

• reduced patience for direct verbal requests for “breeding,” “filling,” “stuffing,” and other absolutely ruinous terminology.

• noteworthy psychological change. my darling displays an urgent need for full mating contact, requesting (or rather, insisting) that i “stay inside her” for extended periods following climax.

• direct cervical stimulation leads to involuntary whimpering, eye rolling, toe-curling and full-body tremors.

• personal weakness: gasping "right there, right there, right there" when i find the precise angle.

• frequent biting. of me. everywhere. lip marks on my neck, my lips, collarbone. teeth sinking into my shoulder while she’s clenching around me. (i am barely holding myself together.)

• if whispered praise is added (e.g., "you’re so good for me, sweetheart. taking me so perfectly."), subject exhibits full-body shudder and involuntary clenching.

DAY 15. ovulatory window confirmed. direct quote: “Ford, darling, put a baby in me.”........

oh. oh no. at that moment, i momentarily lost all ability to form rational thought. my cognitive processes flatlined. my only active function was a reaction i cannot, in good conscience, document further.

DIRECT RESPONSE (APPROXIMATE, AS MEMORY WAS COMPROMISED): incoherent groan and desperate, feral sort of growl.

PSYCHOLOGICAL IMPACT AFTER INTIMATE INTERCOURSE

• my sweetheart exhibits increased need for physical closeness, wrapping arms around me, nuzzling against my chest, making small, satisfied sounds

• ..... notably, i appear to be suffering the same symptoms

CLIMAX ANALYSIS (Stanford its 4 am, go to slee-)

• observable full-body tremors. internal muscular spasms. impossible to quantify pleasure levels. scale is inadequate.

• immediate cognitive dysfunction:

post-ejaculation speech delay (~12 seconds).

• loss of motor function (i collapse.)

• mild dissociation... ("did that happen in real life or was that an interdimensional hallucination?")

my partner's response: laughter and lots of kisses to my jaw and cheeks

PHASE THREE: LUTEAL PHASE (DAYS 17–28, PRE MENSTRUAL)

my darling gets so sensitive, becomes more prone to snuggling, less prone to teasing. libido fluctuates, but when it spikes, it is sudden and intense.

PERSONAL NOTE: there is nothing more arousing than her needy little whines when she pulls my hands to her chest and begs me to touch her...

NOTABLE BEHAVIOURAL PATTERNS:

• my love's body craves touch, warmth and closeness. she nuzzles into me, sighs when i wrap my arms around her. she likes to lay against my chest, my hand on her stomach, whispering soft praises

• partner exhibits heightened emotional sensitivity, cravings for both physical closeness and specific foods (namely chocolate, pickles, and, perplexingly, peanut butter straight from the jar.)

PERSONAL NOTE: she wrapped herself around me like a koala for two hours yesterday. i had work to do. i did none of it! none!

• sexual behaviour, as mentioned earlier, changes too. desire remains, but preference for gentler stimulation, extended foreplay, full-body contact. intimacy rather than urgency

• preference for slow, deep sex love making. (lengthy sessions. multiple orgasms. excessive praise.) strong desire for full-body contact. (chest to chest, fingers tangled, whispered affirmations.)

• occasional bursts of frustration where she demands to be "fucked properly" (????)

PROGESTERONE RISES, INCLUDING:

• metabolic increase when subject’s caloric intake rises; a preference for carbohydrate-dense, sodium-rich foods emerges, possibly due to fluctuating serotonin levels! (personal note: adorable little thing)

PET NAMES INTRODUCED DURING THIS PERIOD:

“sweetheart” (first observed: day 19, after she clung to my arm for 45 minutes and refused to let go while I was attempting to type.)

“honey” (first observed: day 22, when she started nesting in my sweater like a small irritated woodland creature)

“my love” (first observed: day 25, whispered against her hair while she buried herself under the covers and only emerged when I bribed her with hot chocolate)

"my poor, sweet, overdramatic thing" (day 26, when she claimed she was “literally dying” because I made her get out of bed for two minutes)

MORE OBSERVATIONS:

• subject requires constant touch, if no direct contact is made, pouting will occur.

• breasts become unbearably sensitive. (this has led to certain.... incidents. in which i was scolded for touching when i was explicitly given permission. this is unfair!)

PREFERRED POSITIONS & BEHAVIOURAL NOTES:

• will climb onto me at any given opportunity. (even while i am working.)

• slow, deep wnd intimate contact. heavy emphasis on cervical stimulation, warmth, closeness.

• soft praise required. frequent affirmations, reassurances. (she is particularly receptive to hearing how “beautiful” she is. which is, frankly, an objective truth.)

PERSONAL NOTE: her emotional state during this time, I ADORE IT. my darling needs comfort, touch and reassurance, and, well, i am only human. if she asks me to hold her, i will. if she asks me to lay on top of her and just be warm, i will. if she tells me she wants to feel full, wants to feel every inch of me keeping her safe wants me to tell her how much she is loved... well.

SECONDARY PERSONAL NOTE: she really, really likes when i call her “smart girl”

PERSONAL NOTE: i have no complaints. zero. none. absolutely none :)

MENSTRUAL PHASE (DAYS 1–5, ACTIVE BLEEDING)

initially, i had hypothesized that sexual activity during this phase would be uncomfortable or at the very least, unappealing to the subject. i was incorrect.

shedding of the endometrial lining initiates vascular dilation, heightened temperature and uterine contractions.

PRIMARY OBSERVATIONS INCLUDE:

• temperature regulation is disrupted, subject experiences fluctuations between feverish warmth and sudden chills. skin remains notably softer during this phase

• muscular fatigue, increased joint tension, my darling often seeks massage therapy, sustained compression (weighted blankets, my own body weight), and slow movement assistance.

• experiences waves of pain and discomfort, interspersed with unexpected surges of desire.

• blood viscosity is fascinating!!!!! color shifts from bright red (early days) to a deeper hue with occasional clotting (mid-phase). i have documented firsthand how the consistency changes during... se- various activities.

My sweetheart currently suffering the full physiological impact of uterine lining detachment, fluctuating between lethargy, irritability and an insatiable craving for attention, pressure, and snacks.

SCIENTIST’S DUTIES DURING THIS TIME:

• food preparation (nutrient-rich, iron-replenishing meals)

• pressure application (via full-body weight or strategic abdominal massages)

• endless patience (tested frequently)

EXPERIMENTAL CULINARY TRIALS

Partners nutritional intake fluctuates wildly during this phase. one moment, she craves salt; the next, sugar. she has, at times, demanded both simultaneously (a truly confounding biological mystery).

DAY 2 OF MENSTRUATION. my partner appeared lethargic, burrowed into blankets, making small, distressed noises whenever she moved

direct quote: “Ford, if i don’t get mac & cheese in the next ten minutes, i will die.”

counterargument: “you literally just ate an entire chocolate bar, honey”

Partner’s rebuttal: long, drawn-out groan followed by burrowing deeper and a tragic little sigh of suffering.

conclusion: i made the mac & cheese. i am weak

PERSONAL NOTE: my darling told me, quite shamelessly, that orgasms help her cramps. i told her, quite honestly, that i would be happy to conduct further research in this area ;)

DIRECT QUOTES FROM SUBJECT:

“Ford, it helps the cramps, please, this is literally medical.”

“Mmm, you’re so warm. No! don’t move, just stay inside me like that.”

SECONDARY PERSONAL NOTE: the psychological aspect of this is fascinating! the hormonal interplay of pain relief, emotional vulnerability, and deep, physical intimacy is something i should, theoretically, analyse further.

QUATERNARY PERSONAL NOTE: if i am not careful, i am going to end up proposing to this person during a study session.

of course reblogs/comments are always highly appreciated, but yeah, no pressure

[nousrose]

If we are gripped by a strong attraction to a person or a thing, we must reflect on it. As Jung says: Unless we prefer to be made fools of by our illusions, we shall, by carefully analysing every fascination, extract from it a portion of our own personality, like a quintessence, and slowly come to recognize that we meet ourselves time and again in a thousand disguises on the path of life. The same applies to our passionate antipathies. They also must be subjected to thorough analytic scrutiny. Whom do I hate? What groups or factions do I fight against? Whoever and whatever they are, they are a part of me; I'm bound to that which I hate as surely as I am to that which I love. The important thing, psychologically, is where one's libido is lodged, not whether one is for or against a particular thing. If we follow such reflections diligently, very gradually we will collect our scattered psyche from the outer world, as Isis gathered the dismembered body of Osiris.

The Mystery of the Coniunctio

Edward F. Edinger

[ssweetleaf]

doll parts.

summary: you agree to let dr crane experiment on you for ‘scientific purposes’.

jonathan crane x fem!reader

includes: SMUT 18+, based on this ask here <3, dub-con, clit play, fingering, overstimulation, kinda innocent!reader, doctor kink, jon being a condescending ass, unprotected p in v

˖ ࣪⭑

When you agreed to let Dr Crane experiment on you, you certainly hadn’t had anything remotely crude on your mind. A few tests, you thought, maybe he’d take your bloods— anything to help his scientific studies along and you agreed to be his little guinea pig for the day.

So, when he had you undress and get upon his silver operating table, it was quite the shock.

“Push your knees up to your chest,” he hummed, having you hold them in place while he analysed your pussy, “gotta make sure these tests are thorough, don’t wanna miss a thing.”

Jonathan ran a knuckle through your folds watching them flutter around his digit and coat it in your sweet slick, clit throbbing in anticipation just waiting for his touch.

“D-Dr Crane,” you stuttered out, finding it hard to keep your mewls choked down when he used a thumb and forefinger to spread you open, inspecting you even deeper. “I don’t think this is appropriate.”

You didn’t notice the flicker of a smirk that lifted his mouth before he pouted at you, mocking you, though you had no idea.

“But you said you’d let me experiment on you, sweetheart,” he cooed, using his other hand to pat at your thigh, attempting to somewhat calm your heavy breaths and wide eyes. “It’s for scientific purposes, you know that.”

You bit your lip, unsure.

“For science?” You repeated hopefully, staring at him with glistening eyes, eager to help the young scientist in any way, even if it did mean touching your most private parts.

“For science.” He nodded, “now be a good little patient and let the doctor carry on with his tests.”

Your cheeks burned, but you nodded anyway.

“O-of course, doctor.”

You resumed your position, chest already heaving from the tense atmosphere, peering down at his trailing hands when they squeezed at the fat of your thighs.

Jonathan’s thumb and forefinger parted your pussy lips, opening you up for him and exposing the pretty little pearl of your clit. With his other hand, he pressed his thumb to it, rubbing in figure eights, watching your facial expressions and how they changed with such simple touches, soft whines escaping the confines of your throat.

His eyes flitted back to your cunt, watching your arousal seep with each circle of his thumb, your hole clenching, desperate to be filled.

So he did just that and slipped a finger inside you, curling the digit upwards as it hit the base of his knuckle, and he smirked when you gasped at the sudden intrusion, your wetness just letting him slip right in, having him easily add another finger on his outward thrust.

“Oh, doctor,” you breathed, clenching hard around his fingers, the crude squelching causing your cheeks to burn.

“How do you feel, dear?” He asked, the tips of his fingers prodding at the spongy wall of your g-spot.

“F-feels good,” you managed to choke out, bashfully meeting his smug gaze. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

A virgin, he thought. Of course you were, pathetic little lamb— with the way you shivered from just his words alone he should’ve known. Hell, it made him harder, cock growing and forming a tent underneath his slacks, throbbing hotly and just begging to be released.

“I’m so glad to hear it, dear,” he cooed, reaching up to pat at your cheek with his palm, a little too hard, though you were sure he didn’t mean a thing by it.

With each passing moment, your belly started to tighten, growing warm and tingly, butterflies were flapping around and you felt like you needed to pee.

“Dr Crane, I feel strange,” you pouted, tears threatening to ebb over your waterline, it felt so good, but so unfamiliar.

“Just let go, darling,” he said, “this is what I was hoping for— my tests are going absolutely splendidly.”

Before you knew it, your orgasm rushed over you, your slick gushing along his fingers and down his wrist, your pussy clenching and spasming around his still prodding digits and you heaved out sobs. The feeling was so intense, so good, you hadn’t realised anything could feel as good as what Jonathan had made you feel.

“Say thank you, dear, it’s only polite.” He was smirking, though you somehow mistook it for a smile.

You nodded your head, staring at him with big, glassy eyes.

“Of course,” you breathed, “thank you, doctor.”

You had started to settle, your breathing and heartbeat evening out, until Jonathan’s thumb pressed to your clit once again, rolling and playing with the sensitive nub.

You whined out, you didn’t think you had it in you to go again. You grabbed onto his wrist, clawing at his skin and gasping into the stuffy air.

“In our agreement you said you’d take whatever I gave you, correct?” He spoke, an unoccupied hand grabbing at your cheeks, your lips jutting out into a pout.

You nodded, eyes wide like saucers and you shifted from all the fondling to your poor clit.

“Am I correct?” He repeated, much more stern that time, his jaw clenching and eyes narrowing from underneath his lenses.

“Y-yes, doctor.” You nodded.

“Well then,” he muttered, letting go of your face, directing his attention to your quivering cunt. “You’ll be a good girl and do just that.”

Quickly, another orgasm approached, simply by him playing with your abused little clit, urging you to cum for him and watch your hole quiver around nothing.

One after the other, over and over again, you came around his fingers and on his hand, your body heaving and jolting from the constant painful pleasure, he had to restrain you with a hand to your stomach, pinning you to the table and forcing you to ride out each orgasm.

Jonathan’s cock was painfully hard, and he reached down to palm at himself, smirking when he caught you staring, pussy fluttering at the sight.

“Now for my last experiment,” he pulled at his belt, tugging it from the loops and unzipping his fly, grasping at his cock, he pulled it from his briefs, pumping himself a few times, little beads of pearlescent pre-cum dripping from his tip.

You were babbling, completely inebriated from his touch— he was so long, and just the right amount of thickness, veins protruding along either side and underneath, his tip a pretty shade of red that had your mouth watering.

“Let’s see if you can take this, hm?” He mocked you, pouting down at your pathetic form, tears streaming down your cheeks, long lines of mascara staining your skin all the way down your neck. “M’sure you can— been so greedy for everything I’ve given you so far.”

He tapped his cock against your pussy, the wetness splashing up against your thighs, the obscene sounds of your sopping cunt had you blushing.

He pushed into you without a warning, to the hilt with no resistance, your creamy pussy letting him slip right inside, the mushroomed head of his pretty cock nudging at your spot so deep inside, even his fingers couldn’t reach.

Oh, you felt so full.

“Such a good little patient.” He groaned. “On second thoughts, I might need you to stay overnight— get a much more thorough examination.”

[queeleronwheels]

As someone who has been in many, many fandoms on this site since the dawn of 2010, I just have to say: bylers are incredibly perceptive and media literate people. Like the insight into characterization and narrative and queer theory and TV production and just the general attention to detail...y'all are scary. My mind has been blown over and over again by some of the most thorough, clever, and well thought out theories and analyses I've seen on this thing. I genuinely hope I am never psychoanalyzed by any of you ever.

[thewitchblue]

"You have to stop DOING this."

Tim whined, rubbing the side of his head as an indecipherable wall of thought slammed into his brain. You entered his mind accidentally, and now you can't get out. It was incredibly distracting to both of you.

All his thoughts are mixed with yours as you struggle to gatekeep your thoughts from his own in your panicked state. It's giving him a migraine. You sighed, trying to separate your minds into two once more. It is beneficial during patrol, but it's not beneficial when you may be stuck with him forever.

"It's SO not my fault. You were the one who thought it was a good idea to scare me. You had a knife to my throat! It was self-preservation to slam into your mind and hijack it."

Tim groaned as you slammed another wall of thought at him out of spite. He found your powers insanely cool, yet indescribably terrifying. He didn't want the psychological warfare turned on him!

Crime has been down since word of you moving to the city had spread. Criminals are terrified to commit crimes because of the chance that you might hijack their minds instead of just beat them up. Their memories aren't safe, and it makes information gathering significantly easier for everybody that is on your side. It was terrifying to everybody involved, actually, but you were very, very efficient in your job as a vigilante.

Tim winced. The veil between his thoughts and yours was uncomfortably thin and basically see-through. What if he thought about something too hard? His brain is constantly thinking about new things and analysing everything.

You groaned quietly. It was so annoying to use your powers outside of vigilante work. A small part of you was happy to see him suffer for scaring you, but the majority of you was busy guarding your mind against his own. He can't know what you think about him, and you refuse to see what he thinks of you.

"Stop thinking so hard."

You grumbled when his racing thoughts slammed into your mind. He's making it impossible to focus on separating him from you. He tried to keep his mind blank, but you made it impossible. His mind was so fuzzy with you so close to him, and he can't tell if it's the magic or just his general feelings for you.

You stilled and looked at him with a stunned expression. Did he think about it too hard? He was about to apologise until you trickled in your own feelings for him. He tensed and stared at you, equally surprised and downright baffled about how both of you missed it. It was obvious now that he was looking back on all of his previous interactions with you, but he was too wrapped up in other thoughts to consider how closely you watched him or how obvious you were being. Did you start believing he was ignoring the signs, or were you equally oblivious? You seemed to have been monitoring him closely for a very long time.

Slowly and tentatively, you merged your mind fully with his own, giving him plenty of time to say no to the merging. You had never been this vulnerable before, but you felt it was necessary to get on the same page. His memories blended into yours until it was all one.

The others watched in confusion as several conversations seemed to be taking place between you both. You had approached Tim like he's a wild animal and rested your forehead against his own. Both of you had your eyes closed, seeming to simply be connecting.

"What do you think kid genius is thinking about?"

Jason asked. He was intrigued but tried to appear like he didn't care as much as he did. If he was going to lose his brother, at least say something! Stop with this creepy behaviour!

"They are trying to become two again, Jay. Don't forget that this is your fault."

Dick said with clear amusement. He's used to his younger brother's false indifference. He wanted to know what was racing between you two equally as badly, and Dick was going to have a long and thorough conversation with you both when you finally separate.

"It is not. Einstein over there didn't have to accept the dare."

Jason tried to defend himself. You gave Jason a baleful glare that left him grumbling. That was his cue to shut up for you to concentrate. Dick gave him an amused smile that made Jason want to hit him. He shot a lethal glare but remained silent. He doesn't need to join the mix of minds.

Dick was monitoring you closely. It was worrisome to see you disconnect from someone so slowly, and there was something terrifying about being unable to see it physically happening. What did you see in there that you needed to talk about privately? He felt clueless, and it made him anxious.

He should be used to this. He sees it every night. He knows you are phenomenal at keeping everybody's thoughts private while allowing them to speak freely between their minds. You were almost flawless in keeping everybody held together, yet keep their autonomy from each other.

Every embarrassing moment, every secret, every fear, it was all protected by one filter. You. It was horrifying, but it felt safe because you were reliable, and you had complete control over your powers. This is the first time you have ever lost control while around them.

Yours and Tim's eyes opened at the same time. Both of you slid your hands together in unison. Upon seeing the confused look the others gave you both, you explained softly,

"Tim wanted to keep our minds joined."

Tim nodded to confirm his decision. Nobody knew what to say as a loud silence echoed through the BatCave. The couple had decided together that they are better merged, and this way, nobody is going to get in the way of your relationship. Bruce spoke first. He stared Tim down and asked firmly,

"Are you certain, Tim?"

Tim lightly squeezed your hand and nodded. He wanted this, and nothing would change his mind. Bruce knew as much, so he nodded his approval and let it be. Tim had likely thought about every possible negative consequence already and talked about it with you. The pros seemed to outweigh the cons he had come up, so Bruce approved. Bruce found peace in knowing that you would separate from his mind whenever he wanted.

You lightly kissed Tim's hand before dropping it in favour of wrapping an arm around him. He was content in your arms, and that was enough for you. He would let you know otherwise. His thoughts were loud, but you both were already getting used to the noise. His thoughts freely floated through your head like a singing harmony.

You didn't even have to voice what you want from him anymore. You gave him a teasing smile while thinking towards him,

"We could kiss and give them a heart attack."

Tim shook his head with a smile. Oh, so it's going to be like that then. Tim can be evil, too. You gave him a confused look until Tim dragged you into a kiss that was monumental throughout everybody's lives.

You have Tim in every way now, and he seemed perfectly content with it. The brothers all turned their eyes to Bruce for any guidance on how to handle this new information, but Bruce was smiling with a clear adoration on his face. His beautiful children are finding their love. Tim was closer than married now, and Bruce was a softie for them all. Alfred spoke first, formally and warmly,

"Welcome to the family, my dear."

You turned your gaze to the quiet butler and smiled softly. He was smiling, as warm and welcoming as the day you first showed up in their lives.

Well, this was a lovely afternoon. You may not be married, but you didn't have to be. No other couple will ever achieve this level of intimacy. You found your home within the walls of Wayne manor.

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act II, Scene I: The Suspicious Scheme)

The three times you sense something strange when everyone pairs you with Spencer, and the one time you understand why.

Part warning: Definitely inaccuracy in autopsy procedures and Spencer’s educational background, it’s hard writing a genius Words: 5.6k (not proofread, I’ll do it when I have the time so please excuse me if you see any mistakes) A/n: I tried to make this part shorter but I gave up. I hope you don’t mind reading more😌

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

I. The Forced Partner

There was usually a system when Hotch paired the team up, a method to his leadership that balanced skills and personalities to get the job done efficiently. But as Spencer and you were directed to the autopsy room together, you couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch was pushing his luck—or preferably yours.

It was weird. Two weeks had gone by since the last case where he had to witness you both sparring, and you would’ve thought he’d keep you apart. Yet here you were, together again, stepping into the cold, sterile room. 

The faint smell of antiseptic filled the air as you pulled on your gloves, the latex snapping against your wrists. A woman in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, turned to greet you and Spencer. She extended a hand. 

“I’m Dr. Nina Patel, I’ll be overseeing the autopsy today. You must be from the BAU.”

You nodded, shaking her hand firmly. 

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you introduced, gesturing towards Spencer, who offered a brief nod and a tight lip smile in greeting. Dr. Patel returned the gesture and motioned for you both to approach the table. 

“Our Jane Doe was found early this morning in an alleyway downtown," she explained, pulling back the sheet to reveal a woman appearing in her late thirties. "There are no apparent injuries, and no ID was found with her.”

Spencer stepped closer. "Any indication of the time of death?" 

"Preliminary estimates put the time of death at approximately eight hours before she was found."

You watched as she started pointing to various parts of the body. 

"She was also found with her clothes in perfect condition. It’s possible she was placed there post-mortem."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Could suggest transportation from another location.”

You moved to the head of the table, examining Jane Doe's hands and nails. "No defensive wounds," you added. "She didn't fight back, or more likely, wasn't conscious during her final moments."

Dr. Patel nodded as she considered your observations. “It’s plausible that a strong sedative was used, which would leave minimal to no struggle marks. We’re running some tests as we speak.”

Spencer chimed in quickly after that. “The Unsub might have used succinylcholine, or even benzodiazepines,” he suggested. Then, turning toward you with a condescending tone as if simplifying it for your benefit, he added, “They’d metabolize quickly and would require a toxicology screen to detect definitively.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s impressive, Dr. Reid,” Dr. Patel remarked, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer than seemed strictly professional. You narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you study pharmacology formally, or is this a passion of yours?”

“I actually did a bit of formal study during my Ph.D. programs.”

“Oh, really? What did you study?”

“Chemistry and Engineering. Pharmacology intersects quite a bit with those fields, especially when looking at biochemical reactions.”

Dr. Patel seemed genuinely impressed. “That’s quite a formidable educational background. No wonder you’re so thorough with your analyses.”

You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Her admiration was professional, sure, but the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her voice dipped just so—it was a tone you recognized all too well.

She was flirting with him.

You watched them, your gaze sharp and assessing. Although it wasn’t like Spencer to notice her advances; he was smart, yes, but his brilliance often left him oblivious to the layers of personal interaction that didn’t involve textbooks or theories. And Dr. Patel, with her easy smile and obvious interest, seemed to have her focus on him rather than the body lying between you.

You cleared your throat, louder than necessary.

“Can we continue?” 

Dr. Patel seemed to catch your eye, her expression shifting back to professional as she nodded. “Of course.”

She resumed her explanation, detailing the various findings and pointing out subtle indicators on the body that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. Spencer listened intently, his gaze shifting between Dr. Patel and you, noticing the subtle tension in the room, but didn’t comment.

It wasn’t until you had all the information you needed—and after you caught one last flirtatious look from Dr. Patel directed at him—that Spencer finally spoke up.

“She seems nice,” he remarked as you both stepped outside the building, heading toward the parking lot.

You shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”

Spencer glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Am I missing something?” 

You looked over at him, debating whether to explain, before you finally sighed. 

“It’s just... she seemed a bit more interested in you than the case,” you said, trying to keep your tone light but failing to hide your slight irritation.

And then he noticed it. The subtle tension in your voice, the way you avoided his gaze, the underlying frustration—it clicked. “Wait, are you... jealous?”

“No, I’m not!” You replied quickly, then softer, “I’m not.”

“You sound like it.”

You scoffed. “No, I sound like a friend trying to remind you that we have a case to focus on.”

“Oh, so now we’re friends?”

“I meant that in the broadest, most professional sense of the word.”

“Right,” Spencer replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realize jealousy was part of professional behavior.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you snapped. “Stop making it into something it’s not.”

“Sure.”

“Reid.”

“Y/L/N,” he shot back in the same flat tone.

Dear God, why was he so infuriating? How he had this ability, this perfectly annoying talent to get under your skin without seeming to try was beyond you. You both stared at each other for a while, until finally, you broke the silence with an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s just go,” you muttered, brushing past him.

You walked a few steps ahead, trying to shake off his words. It was absurd. The very idea was ridiculous when you were focused on the case, on solving the mystery—nothing more.

You were not jealous.

II. The Unavoidable Flight

“I’m telling you, she was definitely flirting with him,” you said, your voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance as you and Penelope made your way toward the plane. “It was so obvious, the way she kept looking at him, the tone of her voice. I mean, does professional decorum mean nothing anymore?”

“Why are you acting so surprised? Wonder Boy is actually quite the catch,” Penelope responded. “He’s not my type, but he clearly has admirers.”

Your eyes involuntarily drifted toward the man in question, who was walking a few paces behind, engaged in conversation with JJ. He was casually gripping the strap of his satchel bag, laughing at something JJ had just said. You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, I don’t understand what they see in him.”

“It might be that genius brain of his—totally irresistible to some.”

“It’s annoying, is what it is,” you grumbled, quickening your pace as the plane came into view.

Penelope responded with a sly grin. “You know what you sound like?”

“What?”

“Like someone who’s maybe a little jealous.”

You frowned, hating how she was the second person to conclude your irritation with something else. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. You seem unusually focused on how others interact with him.”

“I’m focused on maintaining a professional work environment,” you defended, trying to keep your voice even as you approached the steps of the plane. “Not about… whatever you’re implying.”

“Fine. If Dr. Patel makes her move and actually calls him, what would you do?”

Your eyes widened. “What? Who did you hear that from? Did he tell you? When did she call him?”

“Hypothetically, oh my god,” Penelope laughed, stepping onto the plane as you followed, slightly flustered. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if it happened, what would you do? How would you react?”

You paused at the entrance, processing her question. “I’d do nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?”

“Yes, I’d do nothing because I’m not jealous.”

“That’s what any jealous person would say.”

You narrowed your eyes at her as you walked past the entrance, and when you caught her making herself comfortable on the long couch by the front, you quickly made your way to the back of the plane.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To find a spot where my supposed jealousy isn’t your inflight entertainment,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I knew you were jealous!”

“Supposed jealousy!”

Her laughter trailed after you, ringing down the narrow aisle as you navigated through the plane, bypassing Rossi, who was typing away on his phone, and Hotch, who sat across from him with his eyes closed, leaning back against his seat. You walked further down the aisle until you spotted an empty spot at the very back of the plane, looking very isolated and inviting.

It was perfect.

“Garcia! That’s my usual spot,” Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed through the plane as you made yourself comfortable in your chair.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him standing over Penelope, a hand gesturing toward the seat while his other hand clutched his bag.

“But it’s so comfortable,” Penelope responded, settling deeper into the plush seat. “Come on, Reid, I don’t travel as much as you do. Let me have it.”

Spencer paused, his initial protest fading as he took in Penelope’s exaggerated comfort. “Where would I sit?”

“You can sit…”

You quickly closed your eyes. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t–

“Over there! There’s an empty spot in front of Y/N.”

You were going to kill her.

You sank deeper into your chair, hoping to avoid any forced small talk or, worse, awkward silence with him. Maybe if you were lucky enough, he’d pick another chair—perhaps next to Hotch, or Rossi, or—

A cough interrupted your thoughts.

“I know you’re pretending to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you opened one eye, peeking at him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

For a moment, you considered ignoring him, but the look on his face told you he wasn’t going to let it go. You rolled your shoulders, giving up the pretense, and sat up straighter.

“Actually, yes, I do mind.”

He raised an eyebrow but lowered himself onto the seat anyway, clearly unfazed by your objection.

"Reid,” you warned him. “I’m serious.”

"I know you are.” His eyes briefly swept around the cabin as he settled into the seat across from you, placing his satchel bag on his lap. "But every other seat is taken. Unless you want me to stand in the aisle for the next few hours?"

You rolled your eyes, letting out a resigned sigh as you crossed your arms. "Fine, but I'm reserving the right to nap, and you're reserving the right to not disturb that nap."

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know that you snore when you sleep?”

You gasped. “I do not!”

“You do. You sound like a little chainsaw.”

You gaped at him. The idea of a rough, grating noise being associated with you was almost laughable, and yet here he was, completely serious. You were unsure whether to be amused or offended.

“A chainsaw? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well, considering the average chainsaw operates at around 90 decibels, I'd say it's an appropriate comparison."

“Don’t make me throw you off the plane.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Just so you know, certain sleep positions can actually help reduce snoring. Maybe you should try—ouch!”

You nudged him with your foot, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your point clear. He rubbed his leg and glanced up at you with a wry expression.

“Consider that your first and only warning,” you stated firmly before closing your eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.

“See, your position is all wrong, if you slightly elevate your—”

“Good night, Reid.”

There was suddenly a moment of silence, the kind that feels almost tangible, stretching out in the small space between you. Then, you heard it—a slight, barely audible chuckle.

You wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you, the sound so faint that it seemed it could easily be a figment of your imagination. But no, there it was again, a soft, amused sound that had you frowning even with your eyes closed.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Maybe you were already dreaming.

III. The Lock-in Incident

“Y/N,” JJ’s voice chimed from behind you while you were gathering a stack of folders on your desk. “Can you take these down to the filing room? Spencer’s already down there reorganizing some of the older case files.”

You eyed the thick folder in JJ’s hands. When there wasn’t an active case, the team often spent time organizing and maintaining the archives. As tedious as it was, it was a necessary task, and normally, you wouldn’t mind lending a hand.

But the sound of his name made you pause because working with him in a confined space seemed very much unappealing.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Aren’t you going there?” She asked, her gaze shifting to the folders in your hands.

Internally, you groaned. Yes, you were headed there, that had been the plan. But now that you knew Spencer was there, every step towards that cramped, paper-stuffed room felt like walking into a minefield.

“Maybe you should go down there instead.”

“I can’t,” she responded, already adding her folders to your pile. “I’ve got to finish my other reports before the end of the day.”

Your eyes glanced over to Derek’s desk across from you. “Morgan?”

He turned over a page in the file he was reading, not even looking up. “Sorry, Pretty Girl, I got my hands full with this case report.”

“Oh, come on.” You stormed over to him, desperation edging into your voice. “I’ll do you a favor—anything you want.”

Derek glanced up, finally giving you his attention, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, but I really can’t. This report’s due in an hour.”

Frustrated, you glanced over towards Emily’s desk, hoping for a backup, but groaned when you saw it was empty.

You finally sighed, feeling the weight of your options—or lack thereof—settle on your shoulders. You gathered the heavy folders in your arms, the paper edges digging slightly into your skin. It was just a few hours, you reasoned; you could manage Spencer. He could be insufferable, but you had your own ways of being equally annoying.

With a deep breath, you headed toward the filing room, mentally preparing yourself. He was already busy sorting through a pile of disorganized paperwork when you got there, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I have more work for you,” you announced in a sing-song voice.

Spencer looked up, his eyes scanning the sight of the hefty folders in your arms. “Nope. They’re yours, not mine.”

You paused, leaning on the table filled with sorted files. “Are you sure you want me to do this by myself? Because, you know, I might just rearrange what you’ve already organized here. It would be a shame if all your hard work got… scrambled.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he quickly warned. “Hand them over. I’ll do it myself.”

You moved closer and placed the folders next to his neatly arranged stacks, deliberately nudging them just enough to seem accidental.

“Really?” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he carefully realigned the folders you had nudged. “You know, we could actually get this done much faster if you’re not acting like a child.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re the mature one.”

“At least I’m trying to get the job done, not make it harder.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight about every little detail, it wouldn’t be so hard,” you shot back, grabbing another stack of files to sort.

“I’m not uptight. I’m precise. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

Spencer opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get the words out, the sudden sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the cramped room. Both of you turned around simultaneously.

“Did that just…?” He began, stepping towards the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He jiggled it again, more forcefully this time. “Great, it’s locked.”

“What?” You walked over, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Who the hell locked it?”

“I don’t think anyone did. These old doors… they stick. It’s probably just jammed,” Spencer explained, though his voice carried a hint of doubt.

Yeah, right, you thought, your skepticism growing. Despite his logical explanation, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a coincidence. The timing was just too perfect, and you had a sneaking suspicion that someone might have been behind this.

But then the reality of the situation sank in. Your immediate concern shifted to the fact that you were trapped here, with him, until someone realized you were missing. The prospect was both frustrating and daunting.

“Look, let’s just keep working,” he suggested. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can figure out how to get out of here.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to argue. “Fine. But if we’re still stuck here by the time we’re done, you’re explaining this to Hotch.”

“We’ll get out, don’t worry.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” You picked up a folder from the pile, flipping it open to look over its contents. “How do I do this?”

“Sort them by case type first, then by date within each type.”

“So, this one would go under…?”

“Unsolved homicides,” Spencer replied, taking a quick peek at the document you held open. “And make sure it’s in chronological order with the others.”

You moved to the designated shelf, sliding the folder into its appropriate spot before returning to grab another. “Wait,” you opened the file, your eyes scanning the page. “I think this was my first case.”

You read through the document and nodded.

“Yes, look, it’s the one where the Unsub was targeting families with children,” you reminisced, your mind going back to the time when you were still new to the job. “That was such a hard case. Remember how I couldn’t stop crying? And how Hotch had to debrief me because I was still shaking even after we made the arrest?”

When you were met with silence, you looked up to see his back facing you, seeming too busy as he organized his files. You closed the document in your hands and walked back toward the shelf.

“Of course, you don’t remember,” you muttered under your breath. “Why would you even remember?”

A twinge of disappointment settled in your chest, even though you hated to admit it. It was stupid, really, to expect him to recall every little detail from the past, especially when it had to do with you. But just as you turned to grab another file, Spencer’s voice stopped you.

“October 19, 2011.”

You paused, turning slowly to face him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“The date you started working here,” Spencer said, still focused on his task. “You wore a black blouse and the brightest shade of red on your lips.”

You blinked, trying to understand what he was getting at.

“The case was in St. Louis,” Spencer continued, now looking up to meet your gaze directly. “Your first field assignment. You told Hotch you were ready, but the case really got to your head.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, realizing what he was trying to do.

“You cried when you came back from talking with the victim’s family. You cried when the second victim was found. You cried when we finally caught the Unsub.”

You continued to stare at him, not knowing how to process his words.

“You also cried when I sat beside you on the plane.”

He remembered.

The realization struck you hard, almost like a physical blow. A part of you had convinced yourself that he barely noticed you, that any memory involving you was erased from his mind. But here he was, recalling not just any memory, but your first week when you joined the team, right down to the color of your lips.

“You…” The frown on your face deepened. “You remembered.”

There was a pause as he looked at you, his eyes carefully assessing your reaction. “It’s hard not to."

You held his gaze. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you were still on good terms. Would you smile at him now? Would you tell him that, yes, you also remembered how he allowed you to lean on his shoulder during that flight back home, despite the awkwardness of your first meeting when it seemed he’d rather keep his distance?

You shook your head, looking away from him. It was wishful thinking. Letting yourself dwell on what could have been would only lead to another heartbreak. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep your distance, because hoping for a return to those days would only make the present hurt more.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your composure as you gripped the folder in your hand. “I forgot you have an eidetic memory.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, a quiet, lingering gaze that you felt more than saw. The room suddenly felt incredibly small, the walls seeming to close in around you as your fingers fumbled slightly with the papers, grabbing another file.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to regain control. The faster you finish your work, the sooner you can escape him.

IV. The Table For Two

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” You pressed, arms linked with JJ as you both walked down the sidewalk, your stride matching the quick tempo of your rising irritation. The accusation in your voice was clear, but JJ just offered a casual shrug, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe it was an accident?” Your skepticism was palpable, and you watched as a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. “That the door coincidentally locked itself when we were both inside?”

“The doors are old,” she said, keeping her gaze forward, her steps even and unhurried. “You know how it is, sometimes if you even just shut them too hard, they jam. Could happen to anyone.”

Her tone was too nonchalant, too practiced, and you tugged on her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Right, and I suppose it was also just chance that the door closed by itself?”

JJ paused, finally facing you with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t do it.”

“Then somebody did.”

“Y/N,” she replied, her smile broadening in a way that only heightened your irritation. “Nobody did.”

You groaned, resuming your walk as you pulled her along. “You guys are so annoying.”

JJ laughed. “How did you get out of there anyway?”

You sighed, the memory of the escape bringing a frown to your face. The entire time you were locked in that room, you had done everything possible to avoid talking to him, focusing on shuffling through files and pretending to be absorbed in the work.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence and strained small talk, you both gave up trying to ignore the situation and started moving around the cramped space, phones held high, desperately trying to find a signal. When you finally managed to get a single bar, you quickly dialed Penelope, who answered with her usual upbeat tone, clearly amused by your predicament.

"We had to call Garcia to let us out,” you said, your tone dry. “She found the whole thing hilarious."

JJ's laughter grew as she imagined the scene. "She would have loved that. Probably made her day to rescue the two of you."

“She’s already teasing us about it.”

Her laughter slowly died down as she gave your arm a light tug. “Did anything happen while you two were in there?”

You hesitated, recalling the awkward silence, the shuffling of papers, and that brief, tensed exchange. “Not really,” you admitted. “We just tried to organize the files without screaming at each other.”

“But did you talk at all? I mean, really talk?”

“Jennifer,” you warned, the tone of your voice hinting that she was treading on uncomfortable territory. The thought of delving deeper into what had—or hadn’t—happened in that room was not something you were eager to talk about.

“I know, I know, it’s complicated,” she conceded. “Just thought it seemed like a good opportunity to maybe clear the air between you two.”

“Well, you thought wrong. There’s nothing to talk about.”

JJ looked at you skeptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through your defenses. She seemed on the verge of pushing further, but then her phone rang, interrupting the moment. She glanced at the screen and sighed, giving you an apologetic look. "Hold on, I need to take this. It's Will."

You nodded and watched as she stepped a few feet away to answer the call. You waited and tried to give her privacy, but it was hard when her words were clear as you listened to her talk, and the more she spoke, the more you narrowed your eyes at her.

“…right now… sure… no, it’s fine… I can be there in ten… of course, honey...”

You crossed your arms when JJ finally ended the call and turned back towards you.

"I need to head home,” she said, a bit too casually. “Will got called into work unexpectedly.”

Suspicion started to creep in as you processed her words. The timing was impeccable—a little too perfect. You both were supposed to meet up with Penelope and Derek for dinner, and it was almost guaranteed that Spencer would be there too, considering Derek had taken it upon himself to drag him along at any given chance under the pretense that ‘the kid needs to go out more’.

But the thought of JJ bailing on you on such short notice seemed out of pocket, even for her.

"Really, right now?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. She shifted on her feet, her smile a bit forced. “Is everything okay?”

JJ nodded, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that looked more like amusement than guilt. "Yeah, I just need to get home to the kids. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

The more she spoke, the more your suspicion grew. Her demeanor seemed too casual, almost rehearsed, as if she was trying to assure you while simultaneously eager to leave. It felt like she was in on some inside joke that you weren't aware of.

“Well, if you really have to go…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” JJ flashed a quick, almost relieved smile and gave you a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good time tonight, and fill me in on all the details later.”

“Details? What details?” You called after her but she was already walking away. “JJ! Why do I have to fill you in the details?”

She simply waved a hand without turning back, leaving you standing there with a growing sense of unease. You slowly resumed your walk, taking out your phone to call Penelope but stopped in your tracks when you saw a message from her, sent five minutes ago.

Hey, Sweetie, so sorry I can’t make it to dinner tonight! Something urgent came up. Have fun without me :)

Your stomach dropped as you read the message. First JJ, and now Garcia? It was starting to feel like you were being abandoned, or worse, you were being set up. You glanced around, half expecting to see Derek lurking in the shadows with a mischievous grin, orchestrating this whole fiasco.

It wasn’t until you arrived at the restaurant and spotted Spencer alone at the entrance, trying to avoid any immediate contact with the other patrons, that you realized your suspicion was confirmed. The pieces clicked together almost too neatly, and the man seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

His discomfort was evident as he adjusted his stance, gripping the strap of his bag, eyes darting to you as you approached him.

“Morgan’s late,” he announced as a greeting.

“He’s not coming,” you said, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “And neither is JJ or Penny.”

“He told you that?”

“No,” you replied with a sigh. “But it’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?”

"What is?"

“That we’ve been set up,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “They’re not coming, and I’m willing to bet they never planned to.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “You think they did this on purpose? Why would they—”

“Come on, Reid,” you interrupted. “They’ve been nudging us to talk for weeks. What better way than to leave us no choice?”

Spencer’s gaze hardened slightly. “I don’t need to be manipulated into having a conversation,” he said sharply.

“And you think I do?” You retorted. “I’m not exactly thrilled about being tricked into a dinner date either, if that’s what this is supposed to be.”

“It’s not a date,” Spencer replied quickly, almost defensively.

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on,” you snapped, then sighed, trying to rein in your temper. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Let’s just forget this ever happened and go home.”

There was a pause as Spencer looked around, his eyes settling back on you. “You want to go home?”

“You don’t?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, we’re already here. Might as well stay and eat. It’s not like I have any better plans.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. A part of you had expected him to jump at the chance to escape, but here he was, suggesting you to stay.

It seemed like a bad idea. The tension, the potential for awkward silences, the possibility of yet another argument—it all pointed to leaving being the better option. But against our better judgment, you found yourself considering his suggestion more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at your stomach, or perhaps it was the realization that leaving now would only make things more awkward the next time you saw each other. Dinner with Spencer was the last option you’d choose, but it was better than coming home to an empty fridge.

“Fine,” you finally said, brushing past him. “But you’re paying.”

Spencer looked momentarily surprised but then nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked into the restaurant, but immediately stopped in your tracks when you took in the setting. This wasn’t just a restaurant, it was a place designed for dates. The realization made you pause as you looked around the room in horror.

The dim lighting cast a soft glow on polished wood and fine china, while a gentle melody played subtly in the background, setting an unmistakable romantic mood. Just as you were taking in the scene, a hostess approached with a warm, inviting smile. 

"A table for two?" 

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you realized how the evening was poised to look. Turning slightly to gauge Spencer's reaction, you found him even more flustered, his face turning a shade redder as he stammered a response. "Uh, yes, that's—um, that will be fine."

The hostess nodded and led you to a small, intimate table near the window. Spencer fidgeted with the strap of his bag as you both sat down, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on you. "This is... not exactly what I expected.”

You took the menu from the hostess before she left you both alone. “I’m going to kill them,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit extreme.”

You sighed, flipping through the menu without really seeing it. “They’re always meddling. They don’t know when to stop. I'm also convinced that being locked earlier was also part of their plan. And this—this is just so...” 

“Annoying?” He offered.

“Infuriating,” you emphasized, throwing your hands up. “It’s infuriating. And embarrassing. And—”

“And yet, here we are,” he cut in, feeling the same way. Spencer paused for a moment, then leaned in slightly, sending you a pointed look. “You know, maybe we should just give them what they want.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a fact that humans are generally satisfied when they get what they want. And since what our friends want is for the two of us to get along, maybe we should just... pretend that we do.”

“Reid,” you pressed, mirroring his posture as you leaned forward. “They don’t want us to just get along. Look around us. They want us to really get along.” 

Spencer paused, considering your words, his gaze lingering on the candlelit table and the other couples around, deep in conversation. He seemed to realize the full extent of the setup, the romantic undertone that wasn't simply incidental but intentional.

“You’re right,” he finally responded, leaning back in his seat. “Forget what I said. It was stupid.”

You studied him as he opened the menu, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his face. He was right. Not only was it stupid, it was crazy. Pretending to be civil with him was one thing, pretending that you shared some kind of unspoken, lingering feelings was another thing. The mere thought of it made your heart race, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anxiety or nervousness.

You quickly shook your head. It was ridiculous. How could you even begin to pretend to have feelings for someone with whom you shared such a complicated past? How could you act like there was something more between you when the reality was so different?

The whole idea was far-fetched, almost laughable. You couldn’t imagine yourself romantically involved with him, even if it was just for pretend.