#this is completely off topic from the ask

[catboybiologist]

I absolutely agree that transmasculine people face different problems than transfeminine people, hmm I wonder if we could come up with a word to specifically describe the transphobic issues that transmasculine people have to deal with, perhaps something including the word trans and, like, a greek syllable meaning masculine, or something

surely such a word would be seen as a good thing to have at ones disposal to talk about one's own oppression

hmmm

This is a bad faith ask, but I guess it's as good a place as any for a ramble. I hope it's coherent.

First off, I feel like my blog is getting lumped into a lot of other blogs as a "trans woman who talks about transmisogyny" and points are being ascribed to me that I never really said. I respect them a lot, and I follow them. But I'm an individual person with my own nuanced opinions on the topic.

Also, yes, this will largely be a nitpicky terminology post. It's a a rambling societal analysis from someone with a STEM background. Don't call this "infighting". To be blunt, if you get riled up by this, that's on you.

Here's what you need to understand: transmisogyny is not called transmisogyny because it's transphobia affecting trans women. Transmisogyny is called transmisogyny because it's the manifestation of existing misogynist biases and talking points, applied to trans women. Creating the term "transandrophobia" as an equal foil to it is implying existing, pervasive androphobia against cis men.

Per the original use of the terminology (I'm literally just poorly summarizing Whipping Girl here, which is basically transfeminism for dummies), transmisogyny exists because of two related, but distinct deeply ingrained biases of misogyny:

One, the societal belief that male/man and female/woman are separate categories with a MASSIVE, uncrossable rift between them, and are intrinsically different as completely separate biological or theological categories (this is termed oppositional sexism)

Two, with respect to these two categories, men and masculinity are superior to women and femininity.

Transgender women assault both of these points to create a massive reflexive disgust reaction in a misogynist. One, they break down the barriers between men and women. And two, they provide examples of somebody "choosing" womanhood, and being uplifted and empowered by it. The first point is something we share with trans men, but let's hold on to that point for a moment.

As I've said before, transmisogyny then manifests as a property of this reaction. The second point leaves people scrambling to think of "alternate explanations" for a trans woman's transition- leading to false accusations about why trans women want access to women's spaces, that trans women are fetishists, and that trans women want to "cheat" in women's sports.

Does this mean that trans men don't have unique struggles, or that we shouldn't fight for transmasc's struggles? Of course not. However, these struggles are not an emergent property of a societal hatred of men.

Instead, a lot of what trans men face feels to me like repackaged misogyny. THIS IS NOT SAYING THAT TRANS MEN ARE NOT MEN, OR THAT ALL TRANSMASCS ARE ACTUALLY WOMEN. This is an acknowledgement that misogyny is a system of biases that aims to create a patriarchy. Those biases have the goal of male superiority, and oftentimes, hit trans men as well- because a system that needs to tell men that they're "biologically superior" is one that can never allow an "inferior" person to put themselves in that category.

Eg: trans men are often forced into positions where they're treated as women, often violently. This is to maintain the separation of men and women, and to assert men as superior. Trans men are affected by reproductive health regulations written to suppress women, sexual violence intended to suppress women, etc.

Some of these mechanisms often also affect trans women. Particularly sexual violence and sexualization.

And some don't. Some are genuinely unique to transmascs. And if you want to use the word "transandrophobia" to describe all of them in one go, then sure I guess. It's not a huge deal, but you have to acknowledge that we're talking about something almost entirely different at that point. But, if you're portraying trans androphobia as the genuine one-to-one equal of transmisogyny, with the same roots and same usage, you're also saying that societal androphobia exists. Which, to be frank, it does not- as a societal force. I'm sure you have a cousin or a great aunt that genuinely believes in some kind of matriarchal state, but c'mon. They're not mainstream in any political movement, no, not even TERFs.

Talking about transmisogyny isn't about erasing trans men's issues, it's about recognizing the misogynist roots of transphobia to more accurately hold fast against it, find solidarity with other feminists, and restructure communication to people outside of our movements.

And yeah, I am going to uplift trans men, and talk about issues affecting them. Saying I don't is ascribing a lot of things to me that I'm not saying.

This is the dignified part of my response. I'm typing my more irate, hysterical thoughts here, but I genuinely hope this opens some respectful discussion.

Part 2 of this post will be what I'm mad about, and what my frustration is.

[wobblingjello]

Shadows of His Past

Summary: Spencer had a routine he always did on Maeve’s death anniversary. Lost in his own grief, something, or rather, someone, completely slipped out of his mind. You. He was hyper-focused in his grief that he hurt you in the process.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5111 (This is now officially the longest fanfic I’ve ever written!!!)

Author Notes: This fanfic was born from one line that stuck in my head for days: “Do I have to compete with her for a place in your heart my entire life?” I’m clearly not an expert on the language of flowers. I simply read people’s blogs/articles about flowers and their meanings as I wrote this. Sorry for any inaccuracy.

In the last two months, you’ve noticed that Spencer has been acting a bit off. It became more noticeable every time you spent the night at his apartment. You’d find him standing in front of the bookshelf, simply staring at his collection, or maybe one certain book, you weren’t entirely sure. Yet he never actually took anything off of the bookshelf. He clenched his fists, as if he restrained himself from reaching out to that book. After a few moments, he’d usually go to a different part of the apartment; either it was the kitchen or the bedroom. You didn’t know if he was even aware of what he was doing, and you didn’t know the reason he did that either.

Knowing that something bothered him but didn’t know how to help him irritated you. One night, you’ve had enough of this behavior, so you pulled him to the couch, and confronted him. You could tell that he was taken aback by the question — proving your suspicion that he wasn’t aware of his actions. He didn’t answer immediately, but you knew his big brain was running its gears to form an answer for you.

“It’s almost Maeve’s death anniversary.” His voice was shaky, and it was barely audible.

That was the only response you got from him, before he buried his face in the palm of his hands. You didn’t know what kind of answer you expected from him, but that was entirely off the table. You weren’t sure what to do, but you offered him a hug. The moment you pulled him to your embrace, he immediately held you close. As if he was afraid he’d lose you.

One of the first things he had brought up when you two started dating was how his job could possibly be a danger to the people in his life. The people he loved. That was also the day he first ever mentioned a woman named Maeve, who tragically had been murdered by her stalker, right in front of him. Possibly the first woman he ever loved.

You didn’t think much of it when he told you about her. Didn’t even think she was still relevant to the relationship you had with him right now, because it’s been years since it happened anyway. Right?

A week after Spencer told you about Maeve however, when his female colleagues invited you for a girls night’s out, you instantly said yes — thinking it could be the perfect opportunity to ask them about her. After the second round of drinks, you mustered up the courage to ask them about her. Once the question left your mouth, you were greeted by an uncomfortable silence. You clearly had put them in the hot seat, and most likely ruined the night. They hesitated to tell you, afraid that it wasn’t their place to share the story. You encouraged them that it was alright, that Spencer had already told you, you just wanted to know the story from their perspectives.

So, they eventually told you everything they knew about Maeve, which was pretty much the same things Spencer had told you. However, they revealed that what happened to her greatly affected him mentally and emotionally. Which at some point also clouded his judgment in the field. It took him weeks to seek out help from the team, and another weeks to give himself a proper closure. The topic surrounding her and the relationship with Spencer seemed to be more sensitive than you let yourself to believe.

The sound of a muffled cry brought you back to the present. You were so lost in your own head you didn’t even realize that Spencer was crying. You tried to sooth him as best as you could; one hand rubbing his back in gentle motion and the other hand brushing his curls. At one point, you managed to convince him to call it a night. That night you slept with his hands tightly wrapped around you, like he needed proof that you were real.

The next day, you wanted to ask him when exactly her death anniversary was, but he didn’t even try to give you a further explanation, so you went along with him. Pretending that the conversation from the night before had never happened in the first place.

Days, weeks, passed by since that night, and things have returned to normal. At least, that was what you wanted to believe. Both of you still communicated like you two normally would. He still informed you when he was about to travel for a case or when he was about to go home. From time to time, you still spent the night at his place, or him at yours. It was just that both of you carefully avoided the subject altogether.

One day, the buzzing sound from your phone wouldn’t stop. There were dozens of texts in the group chat. The one group chat that consisted of you and Spencer’s female colleagues. You were overjoyed when they added you to the group chat — how they considered you as one of them. However, today, as you read through the texts, you felt… confused? They were talking about going to another state to catch yet another bad guy, guessing who they’d share the room with, etcetera.

You were confused because you received no text from Spencer that indicated those things. No, scratch that. You received no text from him at all. You thought he was busy juggling piles of case files, thus he hadn’t responded to your text, but apparently that wasn’t what was happening.

You tried to send him another text before putting your phone aside. Trying to ignore the unsettling feeling in your gut, and getting back to your work.

By lunch time, you still hadn’t heard anything from Spencer, and you began to worry. A bit desperate for an answer, you made a phone call to Penelope.

“Hey, sweetness. It’s always a great time when you call. A distraction that I need. Anyway, do you need anything?” She sounded like her usual cheerful self on the other side of the line.

“Hey, Penny. Um, it may sound weird, but I wonder if you happen to know where Spencer is? I haven’t heard from him all day.”

“Oh. I don’t think I’m the right person to tell you about it, hun.”

“Will you please tell me what’s going on? I won’t be mad at you. If he’s going to be mad at you for telling me, then it’s his problem with me. I promise.” Considering what’s been going on between you two, you didn’t like the implication that he hid something from you.

She went silent for a moment. Probably contemplating her choices. Then you heard her sighing. “Every year, on this day, Reid always takes a day off. Today’s Maeve’s death anniversary.”

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach. You vaguely heard Penelope’s worried voice through the phone, but you barely registered what she said after that. Her previous words echoed in your mind — played over and over, like a broken record.

Every year…

He takes a day off…

Today’s Maeve’s death anniversary…

You didn’t even remember how you ended that phone call. All you could remember was the pain that grew in your heart.

As reality started to kick in, a bitter laugh escaped your lips. Knowing how demanding his job was, you two rarely made a plan for dates. Your dates always revolved around his day off. Even on your birthday, you only received a phone call because he was miles away solving a crime. Meanwhile he willingly took a day off, to do God knew what, on his almost ex-girlfriend’s death anniversary?

What did he do that he needed an entire day off? Did he visit her grave? Where was he now?

You had so many questions, yet you didn’t have any idea how to communicate with Spencer, when he hadn’t responded to any of your previous texts.

The rest of your day went on a blur after that phone call with Penelope.

---

Even after years had passed, waking up on this day never got any easier. The moment Spencer opened his eyes, everything that happened that day flashed before his eyes as if it just occurred yesterday. Then the guilt would follow close after. As he laid on his bed, he constantly asked himself the same question; was there something he could’ve done differently in order to save her?

Every year, today, he’d do the same routine. He’d start his day by reading “The Narrative of John Smith”, the book she gave him. At this point, he had completely memorized every word page by page. He didn’t really mind, because this was the only thing he had left of her. If he normally could read 20,000 words per minute, he took his time when reading this one. He wanted to completely immerse himself in the memory of her.

When he was done reading the book, he’d take a ride. His first stop was a florist, where he always bought 2 bouquets of flowers for different purposes. Beth, the lovely elderly woman who owned the place, would have the bouquets ready for him when he arrived. She knew Spencer would stop by to get the bouquets every year on this day.

Once the bouquets were secured, he drove to his next destination; the crime scene. He put the first bouquet at the entrance  of the loft. After the first year of Maeve’s death anniversary, he learned that her parents went to her grave around noon, hence he opted to go to this place first. Spencer would stay in his parked car, pull out the “The Narrative of John Smith” book from his messenger bag, then read it again for an hour or two, before finally driving to the cemetery.

There was a bouquet at her grave when he arrived, definitely from her parents. He put his bouquet next to it. He’d stay there, and simply talk to her. Over the years, he’d tell her the same things. To this day, aside from the fact he failed to save her, his other regret was he didn’t get the chance to tell her how he felt. He knew that Maeve was smart enough to realize that him saying he didn’t love her was part of the plan, but he wished he didn’t have to do that. He wished for the alternative outcome where she was alive, and he could tell her how he felt in person. He’d apologize for what happened to her, how he couldn’t save her, asked her if she had forgiven him, and asked if it was okay to forgive himself.

He felt lighter when he drove home. Usually he’d try to recall their phone call conversations. How Maeve laughed when he attempted to make terrible jokes, how she often made intellectual puns, or how she sounded like when she told him that she loved him. It scared him that someday he would forget the sound of her voice.

The sun had already set by the time he was back to his place. Spencer was exhausted and starving. The last time he had meals was before he left his apartment. He’d make himself a quick dinner, then get ready for bed. He was about to get a few ingredients from the fridge, when he saw it; a bottle of juice he usually didn’t drink. Odd. Then the realization hit him like a ton of bricks . That was your favorite juice that he stocked in his fridge for you.

Shit.

He quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it on. Once it was on, Spencer noticed tons of texts and calls from you and surprisingly Garcia too.

He had completely forgotten about you.

You [09:47 AM]: Hey, genius. Are you heading somewhere or stuck in Quantico doing paperwork today? You [11:29 AM]: Spence, are you okay? I haven’t heard anything from you. You miscalled (3) You [04:31 PM]: Can you at least tell me that you’re okay? You miscalled (2)

Garcia [01:15 PM]: Your girl found out through the ladies group chat that the team headed to San Francisco today. She asked me about you because she couldn’t reach you. I’m so sorry.

The last call from you was one and half hours ago. He grabbed his bag and car key, then in an instant went out of his apartment again. Before he started the car engine, he tried to call you once but it went straight to voicemail.

Garcia miscalled (2)

Garcia [04:26 PM]: Please call her back. She’s worried about you.

How could he be so ignorant?

The fact that you had called him out for his odd behaviors lately was bad enough, then you found out the significance of today from someone else. Not from him. That felt like a punch to his face. You were kind enough for not forcing him to explain everything to you immediately that night. No, you tolerated him enough to not bring up that topic again. He should’ve told you sooner.

On his way to your place, his brain ran a mile a minute; thinking of what would be the best explanation to give you. At this point he knew his explanation would probably sound like an excuse to you, but he’d still try. If you wouldn’t listen to him today, then he’d try again, and again, and again.

Once Spencer parked his car, he realized he didn’t know if you were even home. There was still a probability that you were somewhere else. He remembered how you once stayed the night at Garcia’s place when you weren’t feeling well, and he was unfortunately away for a case — you could be at her place again. Now that he was standing in front of your door, however, he could vaguely hear the sound from your TV. He released a sigh of relief. You were here. He could do this.

He knocked on your door twice — you didn’t answer. The sound from your TV was gone. He tried knocking again. Still no answer.

“Sweetheart. I know you’re in there. Can we please talk?” He pleaded as he rested his head on your door.

Silence.

The silence stretched too long for his liking. He tried knocking again. He didn’t want to give up on you. On this relationship.

Then he heard a shout from inside the apartment. “Just go away, Spencer! I don’t want to talk to you!”

Even through the door, he recognized the hurt in your voice. He hated that he caused that pain. You were alone inside your apartment, hurting, and it was because of him.

Determined, he simply had to try again. “You don’t have to talk, if you aren’t up for it. I just need you to listen to my explanation. Please.”

He heard footsteps coming his way, and he allowed a tiny hope blooming in his chest. You opened the door, and the sight of you made his heart shattered instantly. Your eyes were red and puffy, the unmistakable proof that you were crying. Spencer was furious at himself, looking at the undeniable evidence that he caused that. He wanted to caress your cheeks so badly, and to tell you that everything would be fine, that you both would be fine. But he restrained himself from doing so. How could he? When he was the source of your distress to begin with.

“Babe—”

“I’m tired, Spence.” Your voice was hoarse, definitely from the crying. “I don’t want to deal with any of this now. Just go home.”

You didn’t entirely turn down his effort to make it up to you, he’d take that. So he tried a different approach. “I’m helping the team from Quantico, so if you’re up to have the discussion tomorrow, or any day really, just let me know.” He eventually reached for your hand, and the tiny hope from earlier grew a bit bigger when you didn’t flinch at his touch. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.”

“Good night, Spence.” You let his hand go, and closed the door on his face.

---

When Spencer woke up the next day, he couldn’t shake the guilt that lingered within him. The look on your face kept replaying in his mind like a movie. You looked so broken and defeated — a far cry from your usual bubbly self. He felt sick to his stomach knowing he did that to you. If he had to spend the rest of his life making up to you, then he’d do exactly that.

As he walked out of his bedroom to get ready for work, he checked his phone, and no text from you. Understandable. After all, he ignored you all day yesterday, why would you text him today?

Before he left his apartment though, he texted you.

Spencer [07:18 AM]: Hey, sweetheart. I know that you’re still mad at me. Rightfully so. But let me know if we can meet up today. I want to properly explain everything to you. I love you.

As he stepped into the bullpen, he immediately walked to Garcia’s office. It’d be more efficient if they assisted the team together from her office. After he knocked on the door, he didn’t bother to wait for an answer, he just walked right in. He was hoping for the usual witty greetings from her, but the moment she saw him, her expression was a mix of sadness, worry, and perhaps pity.

“Oh, Reid.”

Knowing what she was probably about to say, he held his hand up to stop her. “Let’s not talk about that, yeah?”

Having his mind occupied with the case was the distraction that he needed. However, Spencer couldn’t help himself from checking his phone every now and then, in case you texted him. You didn’t. He could feel Garcia’s stare every time he checked his phone, but he didn’t really pay attention to it.

He appreciated her for granting his wish to not talk about his personal life, and they were strictly discussing anything work related. Although, he knew she was dying to say something; asking him how you were, had he apologized, or something.

Ever since Spencer introduced you to the team, they instantly adored you. Of course they were. How could they not? You were kind, funny, smart, and beautiful. They told him that the two of you were a perfect match, but also joked that you were too good for him. That wasn’t wrong, because for him, you were perfect. To this day, he couldn’t believe the fact that you two were dating. 

If the rest of the team easily welcomed you, then Garcia practically adopted you as her sister. He had lost count how many times you had lunch with her when the team was away. You once joked that you were actually in a relationship with her, and not him. He didn’t really mind, in fact, he was glad knowing you could share such a bond with one of the people he considered family.

Frankly, he wasn’t even surprised that Garcia told you the significance of yesterday for him. Spencer might know her longer, but you were her chosen sister. He also understood that she had no ill intention when she informed you. She simply helped someone she cared about.

As he packed his stuff, ready to go home, his phone buzzed. He immediately checked it. A text from you.

You [05:47 PM]: You can come to my place now if you want.

He hurriedly packed the rest of his stuff, not caring if the folders were folded in his messenger bag. In all the years he had worked in the BAU, he didn’t think he ever ran to the elevator that fast.

When he arrived at your apartment, he tentatively knocked on the door. This time though, it didn’t take long for you to open the door. As if you were waiting for him to be there.

You already changed your work outfit to your favorite pajama set, makeup had been washed, and you put your hair on a messy bun. Despite all of that, you still looked beautiful to him.

“Hey.” Spencer greeted you with hesitation.

You didn’t respond, simply step aside and let him in.

The two of you sat on the couch, but you kept him in an arm’s distance. He disliked how you even needed a space from him, as if being in any close proximity with him would hurt you.

You still hadn’t said a single word since he stepped into your place. The tension that filled the silence started feeling unbearable, so he began talking.

“I’d like to apologize to you first. For the way I behaved lately, but especially yesterday. I didn’t mean to hurt you, at least not intentionally. I’m so sorry.” You just shrugged it off, and he took it as permission to continue. “It’s like a habit at this point, something I do every year. It wasn’t my intention to ignore you. It’s just… I always have my phone off.”

“Because you don’t want anybody to disturb your time with Maeve.”

It felt like you mocked him, and perhaps he should be ashamed that he pitied himself for how you reacted.

“No, that’s—”

“Then what, Spencer? You forgot that I existed for the entire day.”

“I didn’t mean to.” It sounded like a pathetic excuse even to his own ears.

“I’m here, still breathing, and pretty much alive, while she’s 6 feet under! Yet, she’s still at the top of your priorities.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is it? You willingly take a day off to spend it with someone who’s dead, while I constantly got rescheduled dates. No, shit, Spence, that sounds like she’s more important to you.”

To some extent, it was perhaps true that there were other things at the top of his priorities, his job for example. However, he never put Maeve above you. No, never mind, she wasn’t even on the list of his priorities to begin with. He never thought he made you feel like that.

For someone who once saved both his and Hotch’s lives by talking, right now the gears in his brain stopped working, and he couldn’t form a proper response for you. Besides, he felt like no matter what he said to you at this moment, you wouldn’t believe him. He couldn’t even blame you for that. After all, it was him who put you both in this situation.

Big fat tears freely fell from your eyes. He ached to reach for you and hold you close.

“I feel like I’m living under her shadow. Do I have to compete with her for a place in your heart my entire life?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“What? No! I love you. I’m so sorry for making you feel that way, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making up to you.”

Spencer tentatively moved closer to you, and when you didn’t react, he tried reaching for your hand. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when you didn’t take your hand away from his.

“Sweetheart. I’m really sorry for what I did. Please give me a chance to make this right.”

“I don’t know, Spence.”

He panicked. “You… Do you no longer love me?” The question left his mouth before he even realized.

“I still love you, but I don’t know if I can forgive you yet.”

He’d gladly take that answer. At least he knew that he still had the chance to right his wrong. He could plan what to do in order for you to forgive him. He would grovel if he had to. He didn’t really care, as long as he could obtain your forgiveness.

“What can I do to make this right?”

“Give both of us time and space to thoroughly think about what we want.”

“No, but… I don’t need those to know what I want.”

“I do, Spence.”

That night, Spencer reluctantly left your apartment, but not before promising you one more time that he’d do whatever it took to right his wrong.

---

It’s been two weeks since Spencer came to your apartment. True to his words, he continuously made amends while still respecting your wish for time and space. You didn’t contact him as often as you usually did, but he would still tell you about his whereabouts throughout the day. You knew from Penelope that he would ask about you through her, because of course he knew you would talk to her. You apologized to her that he kept bothering her, but she only shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal for her.

While he was away for a case, every other day, he sent bouquets of flowers to your apartment. He had sent 3 bouquets so far. Knowing Spencer, each of the flowers must’ve been chosen with intention, and not random at all. Therefore, you looked up the meanings for each flower.

The first bouquet he sent was a mix of Lily of the Valley; the classic apology flower, Red Tulip; for one’s true love, and one that represented your birth month. The second one was a mix of Statice; for remembrance, Dahlia; the symbol of commitment, and one that represented the month you both started dating. The last bouquet you received yesterday was a mix of roses in different shades. Red Rose; the ultimate symbol of eternal love, Peach Rose; for gratitude, White Rose; represented a new beginning, and Yellow Rose; for lasting happiness.

As you were about to make yourself dinner, you heard your phone buzzing. A text from him.

Spencer [06:29 PM]: The case is closed. We’re going home tonight.

You reread his text a few times, then glanced at the flowers he gave you — now neatly put in a vase and placed in your kitchen counter. Maybe it was time to have another talk with him?

You [06:34 PM]: Can I come to your place tomorrow?

The response came immediately, like he was waiting for you to reply.

Spencer [06:35 PM]: Of course. Just let me know when you’re on your way.

Truthfully, you weren’t even sure what you wanted to talk about, but one thing you knew for sure was how you missed Spencer. You just hoped you made the right decision.

The next day, after informing your boyfriend, you went to his apartment around noon. Aside from your rapid heartbeat, the commute to his place was uneventful. The last time you felt this nervous at the prospect of meeting Spencer was probably on your first date with him, which was funny considering the current situation you both were in.

It only took two knocks before he opened his apartment door. The corner of your mouth drew downwards at the sight of him. Penelope had told you that Spencer looked like a mess ever since he left your apartment two weeks ago, but you didn’t know he looked this awful. His hair was in disarray, as if he’s been running his fingers through his curls in the last hours. The dark circles under his eyes were more noticeable, perhaps he had trouble sleeping. It wasn’t like yours were any better, but at least you managed to conceal them with your makeup.

“Hey.”

“Hey, please come in.” He stepped aside to let you in.

You immediately went to the living room, and tried to make yourself comfortable. From the couch, you could see Spencer in the kitchen, probably making tea for both of you. Your guess was correct when he walked to the living room with two cups in his hands. A tiny smile adorned your face when you noticed one of the cups — doodles all over it. You insisted on buying it when you two went to the local market close to his apartment a few months ago. You wanted to have something that was yours in his place. He always made your drink of choice in that cup. Spencer put the cups on the coffee table, then sat on the other corner of the couch.

You could tell that he was nervous. Probably more nervous than you were. He was most likely afraid he’d say something wrong that’d jeopardize the relationship further. You put an end to the silence by striking up a conversation — something easy.

“Thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I also did my own research on the language of the flowers.”

“You did?” 

You noticed the way his eyes lit up from your confession. “Of course. I didn’t even know there’s a flower that represents my birth month.”

You missed this, having a laid-back conversation with him. However, you knew the heavy conversation was also inevitable, so you told him that he could start his explanation if he wanted to.

He told you everything, from the beginning down to every tiny detail, like the book “The Narrative of John Smith” and the bouquets of flowers. He even mentioned how Beth, the florist, had remembered him and his order after the second year. 

The knots in your stomach felt more and more undeniable as his story went on. It hurt knowing how the guilt still consumed him, and the fact that to some extent Spencer still cared about Maeve.

By the time he was done with his explanation, his eyes were looking anywhere but you, and his hands were fidgeting the hems of his cardigan. The guilt you saw in his eyes wasn’t the reflection of how he felt towards her. It was the regret for causing you pain.

“Spence. Honestly, I’m still hurting, and I don’t know if I can fully forgive you just yet.” You saw the moment the light in his eyes dimmed even more, and maybe your heart cracked a little. “But I’m willing to try again. You have to be patient with me though.”

He looked directly into your eyes, probably searching for any hint of doubt in them. “Anything. I’ll do anything to gain your forgiveness.” He slowly moved closer to you on the couch, but still maintained some distance, afraid he might startle you. “I love you. I’ll do everything in my power to correct my wrongdoings. I promise.”

You offered him your hand, which he immediately took. You smiled at him as he squeezed your hand. For the first time in a while, you knew it’d be alright. It might take some time, but you knew that the two of you would survive this one.

[cherrygarcia-07]

all of my fics have been a little wordy and a little hefty lately so here’s something light and fluffy and funny for a little breather :3

Baby Burglar // Spencer Reid🧸

Synopsis: Spencer Reid is absolutely wrapped around his baby girl’s little finger, but he learns he really needs to loosen up when she comes home from a shopping trip with a surprise hidden in her stroller.

Pairing: girl dad! spencer reid x wife! reader

Genre: pure fluff!!

Word Count: 2.7k

Notes/Tags: nothing really! baby is under 1 yrs old, also unnamed for your benefit :3 theft (not serious), brief brief talk of pregnancy. I think that’s it. Spencer is just a big old silly who loves his baby girl more than anything in the world- and he infodumps like crazy to her :3

masterlist // if you enjoy pls reblog!! it helps so much!!

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“Is she almost ready, Spence?” You called from the hallway as you pulled on your shoes.

“Almost! Just give us two seconds!” He shouted back as he put a tiny pair of mismatched socks on your daughter for the hundredth time that she was sure to kick off again the second he turned his back.

“It’s a little chilly out, make sure she has a cardigan.”

“Already picked out.” Spencer smiled as he picked up the little cardigan laid out on his lap. It was a baby blue sweater with flower shaped buttons and two cute cartoon cows embroidered on its pockets.

“Do you know what animal this is?” He asked your baby girl who was currently preoccupied pulling at loose threads on the rug on the floor. It didn’t matter that she was far too young to answer, Spencer just loved talking to her about anything and everything. He loved how she babbled in response, how her wide eyes stared up at him and a gummy smile grew on her face at the sound of his voice. “That’s right it’s a cow. And what sound does a cow make?”

You heard a low ‘moo’ in the cadence of your husband’s voice rumble through the house, something between a sigh and a laugh tumbling out of you as you packed your daughter’s stroller. Figuring he was going to be a little while longer you made your way up to her bedroom, hovering just out of eyesight so you could listen in.

“Did you know that cows have best friends?” He said as he began gently pulling her little arms through the sleeves. “They’re very social animals and studies show they’re a lot happier and under far less stress when they’re with specific members of their herd. That’s kind of how I feel when I’m with you and Mommy.” He added as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

A smile pinched at your lips as you heard her chatter something in response, her airy voice spilling out of the room.

“And you know what else? Cows love music, too.” Spencer continued as he fastened her buttons. “They hear a higher range of frequencies than we do so farm noise can be overwhelming for them. Studies show they don’t really have a preferred genre but they seem to be quite fond of classical music. A bit like Daddy, huh?”

You loved how much he loved spending time with her. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t talk back, nothing made him happier than to sit and ramble about his day or tell his daughter fun facts about every topic under the sun. He’d been doing it ever since you were pregnant, laying down next to you with one hand laid carefully over your stomach while he recited children’s stories to her, complete with silly voices and facts about the authors. He’d read countless articles and books about the benefits of communication and developing their language skills and that was the reason he always gave you for it, but you knew it was simply that before she was even born she was his best friend in the whole world.

“You two ready?” You asked softly as you stepped into the room.

Spencer gasped dramatically as your daughter’s eyes widened in excitement at the sight of you. It was something that never failed to make your heart melt.

“Look who it is!” He mused, standing up with your baby in his arms as she squealed and clumsily reached her arms out to you.

“Well if it isn’t my two favourite people in the world!” You beamed as you took her in your hold and kissed her chubby cheeks. Beside you, Spencer cleared his throat, not-so-nonchalantly turning his head to the side and displaying his own cheek to you. You rolled your eyes at his theatrics but kissed him all the same, much to his delight as his face warmed immediately.

Not long after, the three of you were out and headed to the supermarket, although your daughter hadn’t stayed in her stroller for long. Her father was seemingly allergic to not having her in his arms at any given moment and so he walked with one hand holding her safely on his hip and the other lazily pushing the pram in front of you. You trailed slightly behind, watching as the two of them babbled back and forth like a daddy-daughter talk show, Spencer bouncing her on his hip every once in a while to make her giggle.

“You know butterflies taste with their feet?” He’d said at one point after one had fluttered past. “They have what’s called chemoreceptors on their feet that help them tell if the plant they’ve landed on is good to eat or not. Can you imagine that?”

The walk to the supermarket continued exactly like that, a picture of bliss as Spencer talked her little ears off about anything he set his eyes on as you chuckled happily behind them (and took a thousand pictures of the two of them to send to Penelope). Eventually when you reached the store, he pouted as you sat her back in her stroller.

“Can I at least push her around the store?” He grumbled.

“Would it kill you if you didn’t?” You teased, cocking a brow at him- although secretly it was far easier to have him distracted while you shopped as he was always surprisingly indecisive about what he wanted.

“I think it might.” He sighed sarcastically, one hand alright curling around the handle before you gave in.

The three of you made your way around the store, you pushing the shopping cart and Spencer pushing your daughter in her stroller as she kicked her little legs. There was a slight chaos that came with grocery shopping with a baby; stopping every couple of aisles to pull on the socks that she kept peeling off as if she had a personal vendetta against them; crouching in front of her to soothe her uncomfortable crying when you passed through the frozen aisles; chasing after the trail of toys and random objects being tossed over the side of her seat in boredom- but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It was noisy, it was messy, but it was yours.

However at one point as you browsed the produce section you realised it was significantly quieter- too quiet. Suspicion rising, you looked around only to find that your husband and daughter were no longer there. Humming to yourself you made your way to where you knew they’d snuck off to, the aisle Spencer seemed to have a magnet built into him that drew him in now that he had a baby to spoil: the toy aisle.

“What are you doing?”

Spencer’s hand froze where it hovered above a stuffed animal, red and blue lights seemingly flashing all around as he slowly turned to look up at you watching with your hands on your hips.

“N-nothing.” He stumbled, clearing his throat and straightening up where he stood, very clearly not doing nothing.

“Really?” Your eyes darted between the toy and his nervous expression. “Because it looks like you’re trying to buy her her millionth toy this week alone.”

Spencer gulped, the bright light of the imaginary interrogation room bulb pulsing down on him. “I think ‘millionth’ is a vast exaggeration,” he stuttered, “if we’re counting accurately it’s actually been-“

“Spencer.”

“Yes?” He squeaked.

“Walk away.” You stifled a chuckle at the puppy dog eyes he flashed you immediately, his bottom lip threatening that child-like pout you found so endearing. You weren’t trying to be the strict parent- really you weren’t. In fact you were prone to spoiling your little girl rotten yourself, it’s just that Spencer went overboard like his life depended on it and quite frankly you weren’t sure a thousand variations of stuffed animals was exactly what she needed at this stage in her life.

“She’d love it.” He sulked.

“She’s half asleep.” You smirked as he followed your gaze to your daughter’s half closed eyes, her head bouncing slightly against the side of her stroller as she dozed off, clearly unable to care less about the toy.

“But you didn’t see the way she looked at it earlier!” God, he is relentless.

“Honey, I love how enthusiastic you are about giving her everything she wants, really I do, but she’s a baby. She looks at the ceiling fan in our bedroom the exact same way.” You tilted your head sympathetically, though you were thoroughly amused on the inside.

“Fine, fine. I guess you’re right.” Spencer sighed, defeated. He surrendered, backing away from the shelf and picking up the blanket which had at some point fell to the floor like a white flag. “But next time I’m buying her something.”

“Oh I’m sure you will.” You said, planting a light kiss on his cheek and pulling him away to continue your shopping trip.

A little while later and the three of you were back at home, shopping bags dumped rather haphazardly by the front door as you took a breather. You’d fought to keep your daughter awake so she could nap at home, but it just wasn’t happening. Her little socks were hanging off of her feet again as her legs slung out over the front of the stroller, her head tucked against her shoulder as she snored softly into her cardigan. She looked so angelic you found yourself not even caring about the impending chaos that would come when she woke up. You crouched down in front of the stroller ready to unbuckle her when something caught your eye, tucked behind her back like it was hiding. Something brown and fluffy with a little bow tie.

“Spencer?” You called, instantly dubious.

“Yeah?” He called back cheerily from where he’d begun carrying your bags into the kitchen.

“Did you buy this behind my back?” You pulled the teddy bear out from behind her, careful not to wake her up.

“What are you talking about?” He materialised in the doorway suddenly, brows pinched in confusion.

With an incredulous look on your face you held the teddy bear up in the air for him to see, tentatively holding it by its paw between your thumb and pointer finger as if it were evidence.

“What is-“ he began spluttering, “I did not buy her that. I put it back like you said, I swear.”

“Then where did it come from?” You questioned, equally confused at the magic presence of this odd bear. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“I think she stole it.” You declared, eyes falling back on the deceptive little sleeping angel still curled up in her seat, blanket in hand.

“What?” Spencer echoed, voice several octaves higher and eyes widened beyond belief. “How? When?”

“She must’ve swiped it from the shelf when you weren’t looking.” You laughed, picturing her innocently grabbing at the little bear and tucking it under her arm. Spencer wasn’t so thrilled, in fact he looked white as a ghost. “Spence?”

“We have to give it back.” He croaked. “Or go back and pay for it.”

“What are you talking about, Spence, it’s a stupid teddy bear.” You stood as he began pacing the room, hand tucked under his chin like he did when he was overthinking.

“It’s theft is what it is!” He choked, brows shooting up so high you thought they’d fly off of his head entirely.

Biting back a smile you planted your hands firmly on his shoulders, stopping his pacing and forcing him to look at you. “It’s a stupid little teddy bear. She swiped it accidentally. No one’s going to miss it especially not at a huge supermarket.”

“I can’t believe my daughter stole something.” He muttered, ignoring you completely. “I’m an FBI agent and my daughter stole something.”

“Okay well they’re hardly going to come breaking down our door, are they?” You teased, setting the bear back down in her lap.

“We have to go back and pay for it at least.” He met your eyes, completely serious.

“You want to go all the way back to the store to pay-“ you paused to crouch down and check the tag on its fuzzy ear, “five dollars and ninety nine cents?”

“Yes!” He yelped. “We’re setting a bad example to her if we don’t. Not to mention it’s theft which I’m sure I don’t need to remind you is completely illegal!”

“I don’t think she’s going to grow up to become a bank robber or a car thief over this, honey.”

“Well let’s hope not.” He scoffed.

“She’s not going to remember this at all. She doesn’t even know what happened.”

“You’re underestimating just how much passive information our brains store. Especially for a child her age- what seems insignificant to us can actually be the building blocks of-“

“Spence.” You sighed, exasperated, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm to steady him. “You’re catastrophising.”

“I can’t help it.” He swallowed, calming down a little. “It’s the principle. It makes me feel… icky.” He muttered, making you huff a breathy laugh at his childish choice of words.

“But look at her,” you cooed, turning back to look at your daughter still in her stroller. At some point in the panic she’d looped an arm around the teddy bear’s neck, holding it against her face and cuddling it in her sleep. It’s bow tie was a similar shade of blue to the cardigan she wore, it’s brown fur wild and adorably messy just like Spencer’s- honestly it seemed like it fit right in with the family. “You wanted to spoil her, right? Look how much she loves it already. And when she wakes up you can play with it together and tell her everything you know about teddy bears and whatever else you two want to babble about, yeah?”

He sighed again, taking in the peaceful sight before him. He couldn’t deny the warm feeling blooming in his chest as he watched the way she tucked the bear under her chin and absentmindedly nestled into it, her tiny fingers disappearing into its curly fur.

“Alright.” He whispered eventually, eyes still fixed on the cherubic girl. “But I’m still going back tomorrow to pay. Maybe they won’t be so harsh if I show them my badge and- what, what are you laughing it?” He turned to you, brows furrowed again as his mouth hang agape.

You giggled behind your hand, shaking your head at the image of your husband, your nerdy little Spencer Reid, flashing his FBI badge at the supermarket cashiers, teddy bear in hand and a look of complete seriousness in his big doe eyes. God, you adored him and his dear, dorky brain.

“Nothing, nothing. I just love you.” You grinned up at him, laughter threatening to spill again as the confusion still lingered on his face.

“I love you too?” He answered, still unsure what part of his super serious plan had broken you.

At that moment, your baby girl began stirring, stretching and yawning in her stroller as big as her small limbs would let her. Instantly, Spencer’s whole mood shifted as his face lit up and he sprang into action, unbuckling her and lifting her into his arms as he peppered her with soft kisses. You watched as you had that morning at the way he doted on her, completely and utterly wrapped around her finger. You saw it in the dopey smile he wore without realising whenever he looked at her, the way he made everything he possibly could into a conversation topic just so he had an excuse to spend time with her even though she couldn’t talk back yet, how he already cared so much about her future and who she would become that he let it make a loving little fool out of him sometimes.

As hectic as the days with the two of them could be, whether it was something as small as trying to leave the house on time or something as silly as a meltdown over her hypothetical petty theft career, you wouldn’t change it for the world. And you knew as you watched him sway her in his arms as he prattled about nothing in particular that he felt exactly the same way.

-

[secretlysamcro]

Part 3: The lost Boy | Series Masterlist.

Female reader x Jax Teller MAJOR SPOILERS!, & explicit language If you're under the age of 18, haven't finished the show or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Its been nearly three months since you saw or spoke to Jax.

Nearly three months since the night he showed up at your door looking like the world had finally swallowed him whole. "Opie's dead" he had told you, his voice hoarse as if speaking the words out loud made is so much more real. You pulled him in, let him fall apart quietly in your arms and held him long after his breathing had finally steadied, and his fists were no longer clenched. You stayed like that all night, his head resting on your thigh as your fingers moved gently through his hair, the silence between you louder than anything you'd ever known.

That night, it wasn't about the affair. It was about pain, about grief. It was about the parts of him that no one else got to see. And finally, when he got up to leave just before dawn, You didn't kiss, didn't touch like you usually would. He just looked at you for a moment too long, like he wanted to say something but didn't trust himself to say it.

And after that? nothing. No calls, no texts, no midnight visits. Nothing.

At first, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Grief can make people act strange. You told yourself he'd reach out when he could breathe again. So that's what you did. You gave him space, time to navigate through his chaos. But when weeks passed, then months, you started calling, messaging, you even drove past TM sometimes, desperate and ashamed, only to see him strolling across the lot, alive and fine acting as if nothing had changed. It took everything in your god damn soul not to blow this whole thing up. To stop yourself from pulling up into TM and letting everyone know exactly who the fuck you were. But Miss Petty? she'd gone into hiding. Because this, this was torture, this was your heart breaking into tiny pieces, with nothing and no one around to help you pick them up.

So you broke, not all at once, but slowly. You started drinking more, going out with people you didn't care about. Letting yourself get touched, kissed, taken, just to feel something that might pull you out of the ache. The men were forgettable. The sex was hollow and the mornings after were even worse. You should've learned from the last time you tried to get over Jax, letting another man touch you, hoping he'd feel something like he did. It didn't work then, and it sure as fuck isn't working now. So after a while, you stopped. Cut back on the drinking, cut the sex out completely. You were broken before and after your so called remedy, still fucking broken.

"Mornin' darlin" Jax murmurs as he steps into the kitchen, his voice smooth. He leans down and presses a kiss to Tara's cheek. "You sleep okay?" he asks, moving towards the counter, grabbing the coffee pot and filling his mug.

"I did" she replies lightly, slinging her ID badge around her neck, adjusting it just a little. "I've got to get going...early surgery"

Jax nods, setting his mug down "You want a coffee before you head out?" his fingers lingering over the second cup.

"No I'm good" she walks over, slow and composed, looking up at him with her soft eyes. "I love you Jackson" she says, with a hand over his heart.

"You too" he says, tucking a strand of her brown hair behind her ear his hands then trailing downwards until he's holding her by the arms then kisses her slowly. When he pulls away, he nods to the hallway "boys still asleep?"

"They had a late night last night, They'll be down for a while" she laughs, grabbing her keys off the hook and sliding out of the house in habit.

Jax stood in the kitchen long after the front door closed behind her. The sound of her heels fading towards her car, followed by the soft clink of it unlocking. He didn't move, just stood there, his coffee back in hand. When the engine finally rumbled to life and pulled down the street, he let out a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. A full bodied, desperate drag of oxygen like he'd been underwater for days and had finally broken the surface.

He braced his hands on the side, bowing his head. The boys were still sound asleep down the hall, the hum of the fridge the only other sound in the room. His ringed fingers now flexing over the ceramic, white knuckled like it gave him a lifeline.

It had been almost three months since he last saw you. He hadn't spoken to you since the night he showed up at your place, shattered over Opie. You'd opened the door without hesitation, no judgment. You let him cry. You let him breathe, and that was the last time.

Your calls? went unanswered.

Your texts? Deleted the second they lit up his phone.

Your voice notes? Sometimes he'd swiped them away without listening. Other times, if he had the chance to, he would play them just long enough to hear your voice tremble before he had to shut it off, unable to stand the sound of your pain coming through his speaker.

"Give me that fucking thing" your best friend Romy practically screeches as she yanks your phone out your hands. "No Jax, not tonight" she sighs, taking in the mess of your heartache. Her hands rub over the denim covering her thighs, a habit that always shows up when she's thinking too hard. Probably about the affair she once had with a handsome as fuck man called Colt. It ended badly, and that's exactly why she sympathises with you. She knows what this kind of pain feels like. And watching you beg a man just for a text back, whilst he acts as if you never even existed? That shit isn't just sad, its insulting.

"I wasn't gonna..." you start, trying to lie but cutting your words off with a half hearted laugh "Okay, I was" you admit, flopping your head back against the headrest. The takeout bag in your lap already growing cold. "I just don't get it" you mumble, confusion thick in your voice "I'm starting to think maybe she knows"

"Who knows what?" Romy asks, peering at you over the Cola cup, sucking on the straw as if her life depended on it.

"His wife" you say, spitting the word out like it tastes wrong. "I dont know how I just..."

"You think she saw you guys?" she asks, shifting in the drivers seat, both brows raised.

"No" you say quickly, assertive "We weren't stupid. We never did anything in public...unless you count the first time behind the diner. Or dangerous amount of times we gave eachother head in his van" you add with a dry laugh, your eyes drifting as if you were reliving the memories, but then your smile fades "I did go to the garage once, but..."

"The garage?" Romy cuts in, "As in the garage that's next door to the clubhouse?" Her expression sharpens, even she was surprised by your recklessness.

"Yeah..." you groan, rubbing your face, one of your individual lashes coming away with your hand. "But she wasn't there. And I was there for an oil change. I swear" you say, mentally retracing every step "Nah there's no way"

"Look y/n" she turns towards you. Pulling the pickle out of her burger and tossing it into your fries "I know this is the last thing you wanna hear, but I'm saying it anyway, because I love you. And because I've been exactly where you are"

She watches as you rest your elbow against the window, your fist digging into your chin, rolling your eyes like you've heard it all before, but she doesn't stop. "This was never gonna work out for you. He's a married man. With kids. You knew he wasn't gonna leave her. He told you that, you told me that's what he said...right?" she asks, making sure she's not rewriting anything in her head "Before he came to you about Opie, the time before that, after you had that big ass argument...he told you about the ties she has, how he was scared she'd take his boys away from him"

"His boys..." you echo, something shifting behind your eyes, your brain kicking into overdrive. "That's it. it has to be"

You reach between Romy's thighs, grabbing your phone back frantically "He wouldn't just cut me off like this. Not without saying it was over, not without something...This has to be about them, its the only thing that makes sense" you say, shaking your head as you begin typing again, another message, another shot in the dark.

Your bestie watches you, "So fucking stubborn you are" she sighs under her breath. When you don’t respond she adds softly "Why can't you just take this for what it is? the end...you're only gonna make it worse for yourself, please believe me when I say that" Her voice trembles just slightly, because she remembers what it felt like. The man she loved, the one who swore he needed her, ghosting like it was nothing and going back to his girlfriend like none of it ever happened.

“I’ll take it as the end” you mutter in defeat, eyes still staring at your phone screen “I just…I want to hear it from him”

Romy exhales beside you and the silence that follows is loud, so fucking loud. You can feel her stare, the way she’s biting her tongue to stop from saying what she’s already told you a hundred times.

“I’m not stupid” you speak “I’m not walking around blinded by the love I have for him…”

She doesn’t say anything just arches a brow, her glossed lips still around the nearly flat straw.

“…maybe just a little” you admit, forcing a half laugh that immediately dies in your throat. Tipping your head back against the seat, staring at the roof of the car like maybe the answers are written up there.

“How’d you do it?” You ask, quieter now “With Colt…How’d you get over him?”

She blinks, caught off guard before laughing, short and sharp, more breath than sound.

“Not sure if you’ve noticed babe but…” you finally look over to her “…I haven’t, not really” she sniffs nervously.

“I still think about him” she continues “Not every day, not anymore but sometimes I’ll see a car like his, or hear that dumb song he always played. And for a second, just a tiny fucking second, I’m right back there. Stupid and in love with someone who was never gonna be mine”

You don’t interrupt, but you know the feeling so fucking well.

“He promised me all the usual shit…” she says, brushing her thumb against her drink. “Said we’d get a place, maybe a dog, maybe a kid whatever version of forever he was selling. And I fucking bought it” her eyes begin to glass over, but she doesn’t let the tears fall, not this time.

“And then one day, he just vanished. Cut me off completely, just how Jax is doing now. Wouldn’t answer a single call or text. So I went to his place…” you already know the story, you heard it as soon as it happened. “…She opened the door. Pregnant, like big as shit pregnant. Made up some stupid excuse, said I’d got the wrong house or whatever it was. He’d still been telling me how much he loved me. How he was planning the breakup just had to figure out how and when to do it.”

She takes her eyes off you, staring ahead “whole time he was going back to his very pregnant girlfriend, who was none the fucking wiser. And that was the moment” her voice gets lower now, like she’s finally admitting something out loud “the first fucking time during that whole thing that I actually felt bad for her” she rolls her lips between her teeth “It made me question everything. Everything he ever said about her. About how cold she was, how they barely spoke. How she was just some controlling bitch who made him miserable” she shakes her head slowly “I don’t know if any of it was true, or if it was just easier to believe when I wanted to feel like the chosen one…drove by his house maybe a month or two later, she was outside holding their baby. He was walking to his car, with one of those baby seat chair things. He saw me, looked me dead in the eye, he didn’t even react…not even a flinch. It was like I was a stranger to him”

The car falls quiet again. Brushing crumbs from her fingers and reaching for the keys. You go to say something, but what the fuck could you even say? You lived through that heartbreak with her. You knew how badly It fucked her up, and still, you went and did the same fucking thing with Jax, who actually, was in an even more complicated situation.

“I just…” she exhales, almost a whisper “You don’t deserve this”

You don’t respond. You just look back down to your phone. The message you’d begun to type staring back at you. You read it once, then twice your thumb hovering over the screen. And then, slowly, word by word, you delete it all.

It was intimate, not rushed but not rough either. There was intention in every kiss, every breath and every deep grind of his hips. He kissed slowly, the kind that left no space between bodies or any doubt at all. And when he was close, when his breathing started to stutter, and his thighs started to shake, he moved to pull back, but hands trailed down to his waist, pulling him in closer, holding him there.

"Don't"

He doesn't answer. Not with words, just a flicker of something across his face, before he leans down again, kissing hard. Breaths begin to

tangle. Moans echoing into skin as fingers dug in, gripping tightly, like nothing had changed. Like this was right. Like this was home. The rhythm steady and unspoken, a language their bodies still knew. As if this was where he was meant to be.

Right here in this moment.

"I want another baby Jax" she whispers sweetly, the words a breath against his ear. Her hands sliding back down to the curve of his back, anchoring him in place holding him steady. She didn't let him move, she didn't want him to.

His eyes meet hers, just for a second. Then, without a word, he gave Tara exactly what she asked for.

The days and weeks that followed were heavy with mayhem. Between Pope's grip tightening around the clubs throat and the constant pressure of retaliations, business deals and figuring out alliances, Jax and his brothers had been in survival mode. Gun runs, cash drops and blood soaked stand offs. Everyone was running on adrenaline, short tempers and Jameson.

But Jax? he kept it moving. Always moving. Every plan, every decision fell on him. And he took it, carried it like he had to, like a man with no choice. To everyone looking in on the outside, he was steady, focused. A leader doing what needed to be done. But to his brothers and most of all his Mother, even if they didn't say much, the way he'd light cigarette after cigarette without touching his beer. How he would stare at nothing for too long, like he was trying to silence his thoughts. He wasn't sleeping much, that was obvious and when he was around, he wasn't really. And some of the decisions he was making? irrational, fuelled by rage. Most of them put it down to grief. Losing Opie, the last stable piece of his foundation. And maybe they were right but whatever else was eating away at him, that stayed buried, just as deep as his best friend.

"You okay baby?" Gemmas voice cuts through the air, casual but laced with suspicion. she's leant against the office doorway, arms crossed with that knowing gleam in her eyes.

Jax offers a quick shrug, playing it cool like he always does "Im good...just tired"

Gemma steps in a little further, her gaze drifting past him towards the lot. "You and Tara good?" she asks, her eyes doing all the talking.

"Yeah" he offers quickly "What made you ask that?" his chin tilts slightly.

"Just wonderin" she lifts a hand in the air waving to someone behind him. Jax turns just as Unser shuffles into view, giving them both that tired familiar smile

"Morning" he grunts. Gemma locking into conversation with him almost immediatly. She laughs at someting he says, swatting his arm playfully. Jax watching them both carefully, like he always did. Something in the way Wayne kept glancing his way made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. When Gemma took a step into the office to answer a call, Unser shifts his full attention to Jax.

"How's Tara?" he says casually, too casual.

His jaw swings side to side before answering, short and clipped. "She's fine"

Unser pauses then nods slowly before trailing in behind Gemma, like he was giving Jax a chance to elaborate, and when he didn't he gave Jax another look, not judgment or concern just...different. Jax stood there silent, wondering just how much the old man really knew.

It had been ages since he stepped foot up here. Not since the night of Opie’s wake. He remembered standing in this exact spot, looking down at the lot below, at the people gathered, their grief soaking between them. His head jolts, a fraction of movement with the memory creeping in like smoke. Tara, passing some kind of paperwork to Unser, then him slipping it into the inside pocket of his coat. Chibs had interrupted before jax could make sense of it. Before he found an excuse to disappear. Ending up at your door instead.

The air was always cooler on the roof. His shoes kicking at an old beer can that hadn’t moved since the last time he’d come up here, back when everything still felt fixable. He doesn’t sit right away, he just stands there, journal in one hand and his pen in the other.

The rooftop used to bring Jax a sense of clarity. A place to think, to breathe. But not tonight. Tonight, all it brought was ghosts. Memories of Ope came rushing in. Riding their first bikes down the street together, side by side without a care in the world. Getting patched in, running their first job. The dumb shit they used to get up to, laughing so hard they couldn’t even see straight. Bleeding for the club before they even understood what loyalty truly meant.

Jax huffs out a bitter laugh, running a hand down his face as he remembers more of their past. Splitting a bottle of whiskey and waking up with the same croweater, which at the time for them was a rite of passage. Being held at gunpoint together, but still fucking smiling. It was reckless, it was stupid, but it was theirs. Their youth. Their bond.

Then, without warning his memories ran to you. It started with the first time you met, that eerie time of midnight. He’d walked in by chance, still pissed from yet another argument with Tara. Over what? He couldn’t even remember now. He’d gone for a ride to clear his head, like he always did and ended up there. No plans, no expectations. So he didn’t plan for some stranger sliding into the booth across from him with that bold fucking smile and warm eyes. And what he really didn’t expect, was how that same stranger would be the reason he kept coming back. Night after night, drawn in like gravity. Until it wasn’t just coffee and conversation anymore.

Eventually, he sinks down slow, like his body carried weight it wasn’t built for anymore. The pen hovers over the empty page, unmoving as if even trying to write his thoughts demanded more attention he was capable of. When he finally touched the pen to the paper, it was sluggish.

He stopped writing after a short moment, his fingers tense around the pen as he looks up to scan the skyline of charming. The place he grew up, the streets he and his club bleed for. But today, it didn’t feel like home. His bottom lip begins to quiver, not dramatically, not at all, just enough for only him to notice.

Something about the way Romy spoke to you that night finally fucking clicked. It wasn’t like she was saying anything she hadn’t said before, but this time, it landed. Because as much as you loved him, and as much as he claimed he loved you. You didn’t deserve this.

So you stopped. You stopped the late night texts, the calls that forever went unanswered. You chucked out anything that reminded you of him. The bottle of Jameson he liked? Poured down the sink. Your favourite bedsheets, the ones that still smelt like him, ripped off your bed and shoved in the bin. And right of top of them? One of his hoodies he left behind, the one you used to wear practically every night. Gone. The lot of it.

You finally stepped back and started figuring out who the fuck you were again. Without him, without the half truths and empty promises. Of course you weren’t over him. Not even close, but doing those little things, it helped. And for the first time in a long time…you were starting to feel like maybe, you could live without him.

Romy had done whatever she could to be there for you. Just like you had always done for her. She wasn't mad that you were still up on Jax, she understood it more than anyone. She just wanted to shield you from that kind of pain. And now, you were finally starting to seem okay again.

"Alright are we thinking, calm collective girls night?" she asks with that usual sarcasm "Or one of our infamous karaoke disasters where we end up singing TLC at 2am, crying over our life choices"

You laugh on the other end, and it warms her chest. A sound she's missed. "I'm just pulling into the gas station, gonna grab a few bits" she adds, one hand on the wheel as she slides into an empty space. The bluetooth disconnecting as the car powers down. She mumbles her shopping list to herself as she climbs out, completely missing the row of bikes lined up neatly out front.

"And a pack of smokes darlin"

She froze at the entrance, her pulse quickening. He had his back towards her, but she didn't need to see his face. The voice was enough, and then their was his fucking emblem spread across his back. She wanted to let loose on him, give him what he fucking deserved, but she composed herself, manoeuvring strategically around the place. There were two other guys in the back by the slushie machines, both of them too, wearing their pride on their backs. She grabbed what she needed, forgetting most things, before rushing to the counter, fumbling with her card and muttering a sharp "thanks" before storming out.

Jax had already stepped out of the shop, leaving the other two to screw around inside. He stood by his bike, hands casually dipping into the pack of smokes he'd just bought. The afternoon sun casting a long shadow across the concrete, and for a second everything felt still. Until he looked up.

He never noticed her when she walked in, but he sure as hell saw her now. The flicker of recognition flared in his eyes. He'd only met her once, if that's what you could call it, ages ago, eating cereal in your kitchen when he used the spare key, walking in like he lived there. She clocked him instantly, his face unreadable, but the eye contact between the two, fucking loud. Romy tried, she really tried to keep walking, but the weight of everything you'd been through, everything he'd put you through, the restraint she had? yeah, out the fucking window.

"You're a fucking asshole" she hisses at him, shaking with fury. His shoulders shift but he doesn't say anything.

"I mean it...You're a fucking coward. Disappearing on her like that" she continues, stepping towards him barely able to hold the things in her hand along with her composure. "You should have been man enough to fucking say something. Anything. Instead you’re being fucking selfish. Ghosting her like some high school dipshit" she pauses, waiting for him to respond, and when he just takes a slow deliberate breath, she keeps going. "She still fucking cries for you, you know? stares at her phone like maybe someday you'll come crawling back like the cunt you are"

That last insult, that hit a nerve. Jax could take being called a dipshit. Could even swallow down the coward shit, the selfish shit because deep down, he knew he deserved it. But the second the word 'cunt' left Romy's mouth, something in his jaw switched. His mouth twisted into something harsher, teeth clenched and his lips curled back like he was ready to bite. It pissed him off. Not because she was wrong, because she wasn't but because the part of him that still cared hated hearing the truth in someone else's voice.

He doesn't lash out though, doesn't raise his voice, just internally calms himself down, pushing the image of you crying alone at home, waiting by the phone out of his head. Then, he walks closer to Romy and in that same cold, calm voice "Tell her to forget about me. Tell her none of it meant anything."

She blinks, the words hanging heavy in the small space between them. She looks him up and down before scoffing "You don't mean that"

"Yes I do" he lies, so smoothly it almost sounds real. But his fists were clenched in his pocket, tight enough to leave marks in his palms. And it took everything not to scream. Not to cave and tell her how much he missed you, how much he needs you. But he didn't. Because he couldn’t.

Romy stared at him, stunned into silence for the first time in months. Not because she believed him, but because she couldn't believe how far gone he really was. Heat began to creep up her neck, her throat burning with rage she had no energy to spit out. And then, she continued walking, shaking her head in the process. Promising herself right then and there, she'd tell you exactly what he said, and exactly how he said it. Because no matter how much it hurt, you deserved the truth.

The house was quiet when he stepped inside, it was later than it should’ve been, but he couldn’t give a shit. His head was a mess, his shoulders heavy and the taste of Romys truth still lingering in his thoughts.

The kitchen light was still on, and he had eyes on Tara before she even looked up, standing by the counter, half a glass of red wine cradled between her fingers.

“You’re drinking?” He asks, stepping in and hanging his kutte of a chair. “Thought you wanted…”

“I took a test” she says, before he could finish his sentence “was negative” she didn’t sound too upset, just resigned. As she took another sip of her wine, not making eye contact with him.

As she said the words, he paused. Eyes flicking down to her glass, then to her, his jaw clenching for just a second. Relief blooming in his chest so suddenly he had to steady himself. He masks it well but inside, he couldn’t be more content. He moves around the kitchen calm and focused, typing something quickly on his phone before placing it face down on the counter beside her. “Gonna go shower” he spoke the words quietly.

She watches him go, silence trailing behind him. Then with a sigh, she downs the rest of her wine in one slow gulp. Just as she was heading towards the living room, Jax’s phone buzzed against the counter. She turned her head fast, eyes narrowing on the unknown number in bold white across the screen. She stares for a second too long, without thinking she grabs the phone.

“Hello?” She says sharply, moving towards the back door the phone pressed tightly against her ear.

“You’re seriously calling him now? When he’s just got home to his wife and kids” she lets out a disbelieving laugh, venom slipping between each word. “He doesn’t belong to you, he never has”

*photos & gifs do not belong to me. Only the texts, divider & journal entry.

Ok so first of all, HUGE fucking thanks to my girlie @puffins-muffins who put up with my excessive messages, rambling, blablabla’s & jumbled screenshots. For listening to my forever changing ideas & actually giving me the motivation to write these next additions 😉 love uuuuuuuu 🫶🏽🖤

JAX TELLER MASTERLIST

xoxo secretly samcro

[gojosphantomprincess]

MDNI 18+

bimbo cheerleader reader x computer nerd gojo ₊‧ ୨୧

i wanna elaborate more w these two cause i think i can have lots of fun w their dynamic :3 this is just a little preview i suppose hehe

cw: public sex, fingering (f) receiving , not proofread ׄ⠀.

school was never your strong suit. not since elementary school that is, when the only thing you had to worry about was what gift your daddy was gonna bring home that evening and the color by number worksheets you took fondness of. you were always a bit behind the other kids in school. only education wise—the social aspect you thrived in. sure, you would have benefited from some sort of after school program, but you had more important things to focus on. the cheerleading squad. and it’s not like your parents gave a shit about your education. growing up on soft green plains of golf courses, pink lemonade, and private jets to vacation destinations, you really had nothing to worry about. with your father’s high status, you were welcomed to basically any college of your choice. they didn’t care or didn’t seem to process your lack of knowledge and ditziness.

unfortunately, you were left to pick out the courses for your college experience, by yourself. it probably wasn’t the best idea, since you really didn’t even know what you wanted to major in. you could have done without the whole college degree and whatnot. your parents wealth was more than enough to pay your way through life. but you liked the idea of getting hammered at parties and possibly hooking up with a frat bro on the weekends.

you picked a computer science class. you already picked everything that sounded somewhat fun and/or didn’t seem difficult to pass. much to your surprise, the class was a literal nightmare to any bimbo girl, as yourself. it was full of weirdo discord perverts that knew way too much about technology in your personal opinion.

every time you walked into that godforsaken room, you were hit with the stench of old take out food and bodies radiating green waves combined with the occasional buzzing fly. it wasn’t pleasant. and the difficulty of the class didn’t help the situation.

the class was boring. the teacher half asleep and going on and on with terms that didn’t even register in your vocabulary. you sat in the back, away from the video game mods that always sat right in front of the board, painting your nails or applying your make up before cheer practices. it was a free period, but boring nonetheless. no frat boys in sight, which made you a bit upset.

satoru thought it was cute. one of the few girls in the class and it seemed like you had no business being in there. he enjoyed watching the way your nose scrunched up in confusion when the professor explained a new assignment or project, which he knew you would fail to complete like all the others. unlike you, he paid attention to the lessons. he wanted as much as he could out of his college education.

you distracted him. with your little quirks and side comments that made people turn their heads at you with amusement. how dumb you sounded. he almost felt bad. was it possible for one human being to be so incapable of learning a singular topic? yes, it was possible. you were living proof.

satoru had to build up some courage and dig for confidence he had been searching for what seemed his whole life in order to approach you.

you looked repulsed when he first spoke to you. stuttering over his speech like some idiot that just learned to find his voice—which he kinda did. he was such a dork. books clutched to his chest and glasses askew on the tip of his nose. he mentioned something about if you needed help just to ask him. he didn’t quite specify what he meant by “help” so you just shrugged and waved him off, insisting you were fine.

but, with having no classes with any good looking frat boy, it was hard to find a guy who you were willing to actually give yourself to. and your fingers just weren’t cutting it anymore. satoru did mention that if you ever needed help, he’s just a few seats away. so you decided to take up on the kind offer.

you lean your head back in ecstasy, throat squirming as you swallow down the moans of pleasure that were choking you. freshly manicured nails wrap around the seat in attempt to ground yourself. the professors voice drowned out in the background. all you could focus on was satoru’s fingers slowly dip in and out of the warm insides of your pussy.

satoru agreed to your request. how could he not? you looked so sweet and deserving for a little relief, and you had come to him to give you that. the thought made his cock swell in his freshly ironed pants. his only rule was to stay quiet. you promised you would.

but it was harder than you expected. the soft pads of his fingertips grazed that spongy spot deep in you, making your breath quicken with anticipation. he wasn’t even looking. his free hand still taking notes as he curls his pointer and middle upwards, tearing a strained cry from your lips. satoru drops his pen and silences you with his palm.

you shake your head in protest when he pulls out his fingers, covered in your slick arousal. “quiet. or i stop, remember?” his words are hushed, making eye contact to let you know he’s serious, before slowly removing his palm from your lips, swollen from your teeth digging into them.

“spit.” what happened to the shy mess of a boy who was fumbling over his words just a few days back? he wasn’t here. no, not now. not when he had you at his fingertips, giving you the pleasure you so desperately needed. you obediently do as he says, spitting out a nice wet glob of saliva into his palm. a string of it hangs from your lips and drips down your chin, making the chub of his cock twitch and throb.

his fingers, now coated with your saliva, slip easily into your cunt. squelching and gurgling, just tempting him. how snug and wet you’d feel around his cock. he groans with a look of adoration. your slick just sucking him up, slurping his fingers, like they belonged inside of you and no where else.

“like that? my fingers inside you.”

“needy fucking whore.”

“pussy just taking my fingers so well.”

“such a dumb girl, letting me touch you like this.”

his murmurs hit your core, belly all achy from his fingers sliding in and out your sopping wet cunt.

your cleavage rises up and down with shallow breaths, trying to contain the screams you wanted to bless his ears with. you look over to him. his pen back in his hand, writing down the notes that were written on the board, everyone in the room oblivious to the fact that his hand was up your skirt. satoru gets your attention off the size of the pen in his large hand when he adds a third finger. in surprise you yelp, and his hand slaps over your mouth. you cry into his hand as your lower body quivers with your orgasm.

the heads in the front of the class turn to see why you were making noise this time. the professor raises a brow.

“just shut her finger in a textbook, sir.”

your teacher shakes his head and goes back to the lesson after satoru’s seemingly believable explanation to your high pitched cry. your classmates giggled, whispering about how stupid you were, making you flush with embarrassment.

satoru gives you a look of disapproval, and you know you’re in for it when he unzips his pants.

[ethosiab]

Anything slabtek? 👉👈 Would be super interested to see them from your sci-fi au!!

hi jammmm <3 you get 3 scifi au slabteks because i got really in the groove. and some related facts below so they're not completely contextless bc i want to ramble

(Img 1) theyre actually room-mates in the au because im a sucker for that lol. After etho had recovered from the injuries that erm. Made pause and Beef think he was dead, he stayed in a room provided by the foundation for a few weeks while he sorted himself out a little. That... wasn't working completely, he was kind of a mess since his memory was all fucked up and his entire support system had fallen from underneath him. Tango, who knew etho a little from some work they'd done together in the past, and who took over for ethos duties quite a bit while he was getting back on his feet, offered him a place in his apartment so etho would have a stable place to stay and not have the foundation on his back about finding a home all the time.

Etho only intended for it to be a short arrangement, he didnt know tango that well and he doesnt know all of what tango knows about him because he can't remember the past few months of his life. It just became easy, is all, because tango spends a lot of time away from home while on work trips, and needs someone to mind the house. So it became a little more permanent, and they settled into a routine with each other.

God knows they both have horrible self care when it comes to sleep schedules and overworking and forgetting to eat, so they tend to be able to keep each other accountable when they're both home.

Etho sleeps on tangos couch still, but its one of those ones that pulls out into a bed, so its really fine.

I don't know how long it takes Joel to figure out that these guys live together but its gotta be a slightly comically long time

(img 2) The Citadel is Tango's ship that he maintains, and while it's not technically his, he's worked for the company long enough and is such a good pilot/mechanic that he's kind of got that guarantee that he'll be the one flying and in charge of maintaining it on jobs

which also means he can get away with some modifications that he wouldn't otherwise be able to, given he's trusted. some of them are straight up illegal, some of them are simply in breach of contracts that state he's meant to get approval before making modifications

He doesn't intend to tell Etho about these at first (because duh step 1 to not getting caught is not telling anyone), but when he gives Etho a proper tour of the ship, Etho notices. Instead of telling tango off or accusing him of sabotaging the foundation, however, Etho's just mostly curious about the modifications themselves. I would consider this the stage at which their friendship really starts to blossom, where tangos been more vulnerable with etho as well.

(Img 3) closer to immediately pre-canon theyre very comfortable around each other :] its not just tangos apartment anymore, its their apartment, and its ethos home too.

Doesnt stop them from always making jokes about tango coming back from a trip to find the place upside down (etho probably has played a few pranks on him before where he'll shift around some of tangos carefully organised chaos and time how long it takes him to realise when he gets back)

So uh. Theyre room-mates. Housemates. Not solely friends, not labelled a QPR. And if you ask them if they're dating they'll both get really uncomfortable and ungracefully switch the topic <3

[myungsverse]

꩜ More than friends, Less than lovers !

ft. Myung Jaehyun, fem!reader

What happens to two friends who act like they’re more than friends? Nothing. They continue being friends, with the only twist—the lingering question in their minds: what has to come in their relationship?

genre fluff, maybe angst if you squint, best friends to lovers

warnings kissing, skinship

People say Myung Jaehyun is like a golden retriever. He’s that friendly, extroverted, social-butterfly type of person. Almost everyone in the school knows him. There's never a time or place you go where he doesn’t run into someone he’s acquainted with. You're convinced he could run for mayor in your city and he’d win—with the number of people he knows, it’s most likely he will win.

However, the way he acts when it comes to you—that’s another topic. He’d always have a hand or two on you. It’s impossible not to think there’s something going on between the two of you: the way he’d greet you every time and every day with a hug, how he’d walk with you with a hand on your waist, or how he’d pick the olives off your plate because he knows how much you dread the taste of them.

You didn’t want to assume, though. No, not even when your other friends from your shared friend group kept telling you how he definitely has feelings for you—you’d always brush it aside. You’d always convince yourself that he's just being compassionate and genuine with you—a little more comfortable, since the two of you have been best friends ever since kindergarten—nothing more, nothing less.

“Finally, you're here!” Jaehyun greeted you as soon as he saw you walking in the halls, pulling you into a hug and dragging out a few y’s when he said ‘finally’.

“Good morning to you too, Jae,” you chuckled. “You're quite early,” you commented as you returned his embrace.

“Couldn't wait to see you,” he said, his index finger gently booping your nose.

It’s moments like these that always make you question your relationship with him. Is this how friends usually act with each other? you asked yourself.

You brushed the thought off as you heard Leehan call out both of your names.

“(Y/N)! Jaehyun!” the blonde waved as he caught up to the two of you. “You guys seen Taesan anywhere? He took my notes yesterday. I need to study for tomorrow...” he fake-sobbed.

“Didn’t know you studied,” Jaehyun chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“Sorry, haven’t seen him this morning yet,” you said apologetically. “I hope you get your notes back, though.”

“Anyways, we’re off. See you at lunch, Leehan,” Jaehyun said, bidding goodbye before grabbing your wrist and dragging you towards your class—not giving you much time to bid your own farewell to the blonde boy.

Class wasn’t that interesting, nor boring. Most of it was filled with the sound of pages turning or the voice of your professor lecturing at the front. Aside from the usual exchange of paper notes with Jaehyun, nothing particularly eventful happened.

The notes contained complaints like how Mr. Lee’s slow speech made him sleepy, or how Ms. Kim kept telling life stories instead of discussing the actual subject. All of that was normal between friends—but what made it different, however, was how he’d always add something like, “I wish I could lay my head on your shoulder right now,” complete with a sad puppy drawing beside the message.

Is that a normal thing to say as friends? Or are you actually going insane?

At last, the final bell rang—signaling dismissal. You immediately packed your things, and just as you were about to sling your backpack over your shoulder, Jaehyun swiftly grabbed it from your hands and swung it onto his free shoulder.

“Let's go?”

You didn’t protest. You nodded and followed his lead.

The walk back home was unexpectedly silent. You wanted to say something, but with everything you’d realized—how his actions might mean more than just kindness, how your friends often said he treated you differently—you couldn’t help but want to ask him about it.

You tried to gather the courage to say something, anything, but every time you opened your mouth, the words just wouldn’t come out. Eventually, you slowed your pace. Jaehyun was vigilant and of course, he noticed—he always did.

“A penny for your thoughts?” he asked, stopping right in front of you.

“Oh—huh? Uhm,” you stuttered. “It’s nothing,” you brushed him off and continued walking.

Jaehyun, however, wasn’t oblivious. He studied your expressions and movements. He knew something was bothering you, and he wasn’t about to let it slide.

“Seriously, though. You know you can tell me anything,” he persisted.

“I don't know, Jae,” you sighed. “It's just… something.”

He stopped in his tracks. “Tell me. You're clearly distracted,” he said as he held onto your shoulders, locking eyes with you—his gaze full of sincerity.

“No, seriously. You—you wouldn't understand,” you said, breaking eye contact. You looked to the side, your eyes landing on the familiar scenery you always passed walking home with Jaehyun.

Only now did you notice the golden hues of sunset painting the sky, casting the world around you in soft yellow and orange light. You were lost in yet another thought before Jaehyun gently cupped your cheek, tilting your face back toward his.

“When did I ever not understand you, hm?” he said seriously, yet with a soft and gentle voice.

“You're unfair, Myung Jaehyun,” you finally said. “How can you go around holding me, making my heart beat as fast as The Flash, telling me those sweet words… and yet you—” you choked on your sentence. “You're unfair. Is this how friends are supposed to act with each other?” You looked down, unable to meet his eyes, a mix of embarrassment and fear washing over you.

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he pulled you into a hug. His arms wrapped around you, his hand patting your back gently. It took a few moments before he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear. It’s just… we’ve known each other for a long time, and you're my best friend. I’ve told myself, over and over, that this wasn't worth the risk—the risk of losing you. But I just…” he paused, taking a good look at you one more time before continuing. “Actually—screw it.”

He stepped back slightly, then lifted his hand to your jaw. His touch was gentle, yet firm. He tilted your face up so your gaze met his. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking—but he looked at you softly, as if you were the most precious thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

“(Y/N), I like you. A lot. Actually—no. I think I’m in love with you. And it hasn’t been for a short while. I’ve had these feelings for a long time now. I don't think I could’ve—”

You didn’t know what came over you, but at that moment, you already heard everything you’d ever wanted to hear from him. Without hesitation, you closed the gap between your lips and his.

Jaehyun was shocked—but he kissed you back. His hands wrapped around waist as yours hooked around his neck. In that moment, the world around you fell silent. The only thing you could hear was the faint sound of your heartbeats, the breeze whispering between rustling leaves as if the universe itself leaned in to witness what was unfolding.

It didn’t feel rushed or uncertain. It felt comforting and right, as if it was the only thing the two of you ever needed.

You both finally pulled back, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “You don't know how long I’ve been aching to do that.” He buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“Is it safe to finally call you my girlfriend?” he asked.

“Of course, silly.”

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ Hiii!! This is the very FIRST oneshot I've actually managed to complete >< I have like so much prompts waiting to be turned into stories and whatnot... But yey! I hope you enjoyed this one!! It honestly felt super rushed but yeah :( I ran out of inspiration midway T_T

[innocentcurse]

Aviva laughed at Nova's comment about the washing machine, absolutely sure that neither of them would forget about the debacle with the faulty machine any time soon. "Thank you - but really, I'll be one shake of a lamb's tail," she told them, assuming that no one would even have the time to show up to the store while she was gone. True to her word, Aviva quickly scurried off to the back room, where she stored many things, including the clean laundry of her own that she had washed at the beginning of her shift. It took not long at all for her to change into a dry, clean outfit, and once the task was completed, she returned to talk all things book lover with the customer.

"See, now that's the attitude I wish more people had," she began, shaking her head in disbelief, wishing more people shared the same mindset as Nova. "Hopefully these books will always be available, so what's the rush? And if I'm considered late to it, I'd hate for that ideal to stop people in generations to come from picking it up." Clearly, with the way that Aviva so quickly shared her thoughts in that very passionate tone of voice, it was a topic that Aviva had thought about before.

"It's real wordy so far, but I'm enjoying it," she nodded. "I usually follow up with any sequels - unless the first one I read was beyond awful," she chuckled. "So I'd say so, unless the end of it goes real south." Aviva couldn't imagine any unpleasant surprises to the extent of her no longer wanting to read the second book coming up, however, not from the things that she'd been hearing about Dune so far. "Oh yeah? You enjoying it?" She asked, genuinely interested. "I haven't picked up anything beyond the original trilogy yet."

“Sure, yeah, I don’t mind.” They admitted. “I’m used to holding down the fort like this. My parents run a bakery back in Florida.” However long it took, they genuinely didn’t mind standing by. “I know for sure not to let anyone near this one–” they pointed to the malfunctioning washing machine. 

 Nova nods enthusiastically at the question. They have indeed read Dune, and similar science-fiction novels. “Late? Never! Honestly, I believe that literature never expires.” That’s one of the best things about books. That information is written, and will forever become part of the literature landscape forever. “Whenever you get to it, you get to it.” They shrug. Nova loads more clothes into the washing machine while they interact. “The world within those pages will still be there for you to immerse yourself in, even if you picked it up on release day, or years later.” Pausing, they retrieve their coin purse to load up the machine with the required change. 

“Dune is a pretty heavy read. Are you planning on getting book two?” Nova asks as they place the purse into their backpack. “I started the Foundation series late too,” they say in reference to Isaac Asimov’s work. “I was gifted the trilogy box set, and the rest was history.” Nova explained. “I’m on the fifth book now, I think,” on their fingers they started to count the titles off the top of their head, but was getting nowhere.

[herenvibing]

cr3 is gonna end and the pc’s still feel like the same people to me :|

(crcritical content in the tags feel free to skip)

[reds-skull]

Love love LOVEEE your depiction / modifications of Al-Qatala. I’d never noticed before how weird their actions in the game are until you pointed it out. Why the fuck Would a agitating liberation organization fuck with anything in Piccadilly???? I really love the differences and dynamics you highlighted between the ULF and Al Mudahiyn!

Hi, Thank you so much!

I kinda understand why they did this from the dev's POV, bc for them, a way to show an organization is "extremely dangerous" and "ruthless", is for them to come to the 141's home turf in the UK (because showing them harming people in Urzikstan or Russia wouldn't be "scary enough").

I'm glad you like Al Mudahiyn. They're definitely gonna show up in part 2, so I'll be interested to explore their motivations more in the future!

[thesilverlady]

Judging by how Ryan love to show his feminist ideals by making female characters go through unspeakable amount of non-canon abuse and violence. And the only way for Rhaenyra's story to be a progressive/feminist tale is by making her get abused by the men around her. I am going to assume it's wouldn't be that far for Ryan to change Rhae's death and makes her gets raped in 4k scene by aegon (who should be disabled but we know Ryan loves to ignore source material) like show Rhaenyra's got zero respect from the writers. Like even her relationship with Daemon which wasn't healthy in the book to begin with , is now not really about her but because Daemon got the hots for Viserys (some leaks implies it for Aemma) he started projecting into her and entered a relationship with her bc it's the closest he can get to Visussy 🤓 f&b was already bad for me personally but Ryan is such a talented mf he managed to come up with much worse

*sorry for the rant I don't really ship daemrya but I really hate watching a female character get non-canon abuse just for the writers to prove a point about a male character *

Edit: My answer became very negative so for the pookies who want to avoid discourse and negativity pls scroll past ♥

it's alright! no need to apologize! 🫶

tbh with you I do enjoy daemyra very much in the book but I fully acknowledge their dynamic has its toxicity (tbf it's super rare to find a wholesome, sweet, "healthy" asoiaf couple and I probably wouldn't even get that hooked compared to how I get with the dark ones)

That being said, the couple lost me already by s1 ep4, so it terms of shipping I've given up waiting anything from them

Now about the writing, hotd has been misogynistic from the start so I'm not exactly waiting for a transformation to happen in s2.

in s1 Alicent’s character was rewritten - in such a way that the new version of her doesn't even experience a moment of happiness or a second of having autonomy or power. She's always someone's punching bag while also her being hypocritical and nasty to Rhaenyra

Laena's way of death was completely unnecessary and brutal, similiar to Aemma's. And the fact they made getting burnt alive being "a dragon rider's death" already gave a hint about how Rhaenyra's death will be seen if it follows canon.

asoiaf established how brutal dragon fire is when Rhaegal bathed Quentyn after he tried to tame Viserion. It's not "honorable" as hotd tries to make it be, it's torturous. And my concern with Rhaenyra's death is that it won't be seen for its brutality.

To continue Baela & Rhaena were barely given any lines, their role as kids was getting dismissed but their dad and as adults they were just standing silently - you'd think they were background characters.

Mysaria's character was brushed off by erasing the child loss she went through due to Viserys - which debatably worked as a trigger for the events she also did in the plot.

Rhaenys was downright written as an idiot who was envious of Rhaenyra and instead of supporting her, she was trying to "humble" her by being an asshole. When she got the opportunity to destroy the greens during the coronation she walked away because.... *check notes" she made eye contact with alicent and the power of motherhood won? her granddaughters being engaged wasn't enough for her to act I guess.

Then there's Helaena, who while she did have an extremely tiny role in the book, it doesn't justify making her extra passive. I've talked about this before but making her having "dragon dreams" is useless and a waste of time and it's also a great excuse to have her be dismissed and ignored.

Helaena in the book was said to be pleasant, motherly, patient and calm. I won't mention the leaks I've read about b&c but if they're true they paint her in a very weird light.

Rhaenyra deserves an entire post of her own. If alicent was the punching bad Rhaenyra is the bing bong boll being tosses from one person to another each second.

So yeah, the issue isn't about shipping or even which teams anyone sides with. The writing is atrocious to all the female characters, and what's the cherry on top is the showrunners constantly patting themselves in the back for being "feminist" and GA falls for it!

I'm so burnt out 😩 This is why I've decided to attempt turn off the media analysis for the show 'cause it's like kicking a dead horse. My goal for this season is to try to vent less and enjoy whatever I can put of context without thinking too hard about it.

[cuteniarose]

Is this anything

[musical-chick-13]

Trying to determine whether I'm brave enough to post this chapter update in the character tags.

[wereh0gz]

Started replaying sonic frontiers and have been having a blast but also why is the switch version so fucked

[toasteaa]

Dash forgive me, I'm thinking about them tonight 😔

[alchemiclee]

as a fellow introvert; we are social creatures. introverts who purposefully see no one for months on end are usually just in a cycle where its been so long since they’ve hung out that it’s too intimidating for them to do anymore. i 100% feel tired after hanging out with my friends but i DO also feel happy and refreshed! tl;dr - you’re super normal lol. try to reach out to a couple people just to chat this week <3

thanks for reaching out I really appreciate it❤️ but I have to rant a bit. I allow you to ignore it!

I wish to not be a social creature because going too long without having a friend to talk to or not having someone to talk with almost daily feels bad and it's so hard to have a friend when I need one D:

i've been reaching out to people for the last few weeks or so but they don't reach back. try playing games with people but they play with their other friends or dont feel like playing. invite people to hang out but they say maybe and never give an answer or don't respond.

I don't want to bother my closest friends in our group chat too much in our group chat but the chat is mostly me sending messages with no response and even couple times saying I need a friend when I was having bad days but they didn't want to chat and I dont want to force anyone to entertain my lonely depressed ass. (especially when all I really needed was to talk about the new star rail stuff to distract me but I don't think they've finished it yet so I don't want to spoil) they live together so they always have to socialize and probably make each other tired without needing to add me to it.

so i've also been trying to reach out to new people, like joining twitch chats again for the first time in years. but that never goes well and doesn't satisfy my social needs. too many people talking at once and being the new person no one cares about and all....getting to know a new is very exhausting. but it's so hard to just be able to skip all that getting to know each other stuff jump straight into talking about a thing we both like (in this case it's star rail and cosplay and maybe art) I don't have enough already-known people to reach out to and i'm too tired to do the small talk dance until it's appropriate to jump into special interest territory. being autistic is so exhausting. I with to be one of those rare autistics I sometimes hear about that have 0 interest in social interaction at all

so as you can see, i'm trying. so hard. to the point I'm exhausting myself. it's been too much work for no payoff and makes things feel worse when the outcome isn't what I need and its constant reaching with no one grabbing my hand back. so I keep making annoying tumblr posts about it. i'm so sorry to anyone that reads my nonsense 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 this is a normal thing with me but it's usually kept to my other blog that's reserved for more serious posts like this but I tried posting here as a way to "reach out" and see if it invites any friendly friends or something but I don't think i'm doing it right...

(but I am going to a con tomorrow with someone I haven't talked to in like 2 years. but we don't have anything in common anymore so theres not much to talk about. he's the only person who responded to me after trying to reach out for like a month but I fear it will only exhaust me being around too many people and not help this gross need to have a deeper connecting socialization D:)