#thoughts that should have stayed in the drafts probably

[wisteriagoesvroom]

now why would someone remind me that oscar is in fact a gym moaner

[problemnyatic]

Good and bad aren't something you are, they're something you do. If I stab one person, and mend the wounds of another, The person I stabbed is still bleeding regardless of what else I have done or who I am, and the fact that the ther person was tended too will still help them heal.

This is true regardless of why something is done. If I stab someone in self defense, the result is no different than if I stab them because I hate them. Their blood runs all the same. If I save someone's life fo no other reason than being regailed as a hero, their life is still saved, and that still matters.

I challenge you to ask yourself, what does it matter if someone is a "good person" or a "bad person"? Their actions will have the same impact either way, they have the same power over themselves and their environment no matter which they are.

Is someone a "bad person," or do they display a pattern of behaving in ways that hurt others? What use does labelling someone good or bad actually add?

It's a backwards way of thnking, quite literally. Those who hurt others don't do it because they're Bad™, they're bad because they hurt others. And by looking at it this way, you allow yourself to ask why they hurt people- a necessary step if you want to actually address the root of the problem.

This applies to "good people" too. Someone who largely benefits others around them does not do so because they're good, but rather, they're seen as good because they help people. By looking at it this way, you avoid blinding yourself to the possibility that they are also capable of harming others.

This is useful in both cases- when someone "being good" or "being bad" becomes this inherent thing to who they are, we stop ourselves from thinking about the reasoning behind their actions. It means we dn't question it when they behave how we expect, and doubt it when they do something we don't expect. This keeps us from thinking critically about them as full, nuanced people.

By reversing how good and bad are used, we gain far more insight into ourselves, others, and the world around us. Good and bad are not extant forces in the world, they are adjectives that describe whether a given thing is hurting or helping people. They simply become details, and thus leave room for us to examine the actual mechanisms behind something.

It leaves us as people room to simply exist, and for our actions to remain in their scope. If I stab someone, that's still bad. The consequences of that mean others will probably be wary of me in the future, which is reasonable. But if we want to be sure I don't do it again, you have to ask why I stabbed them, you need to know what caused that behavior, and then address it in specific. It's still bad, but that isn't nearly as important as, say, making sure the victim is tended to, and investigating the cause of the behavior.

Following this line of thought, it starts to become apparent that punishment as a whole is generally an ineffective response to people causing harm. It is a response to the fact that harm was caused, but it does not ask why, and is therefore unable to actually interrogate or address the cause of the harmful behavior.

The idea of punishment is to deter someone from repeating bad behaviors, but notably has a glaring hole in it as a form of harm prevention: it doesn't actually address the behavior itself- it is a response to the badness of what was done, rather than the act itself.

If punishment is the response to doing a bad thing, then removing goodness and badness from our worldview leaves us without it as a one-size-fits-all response to "bad behavior", and we are forced to reckon with the far more nuanced, but much more useful of the particular instance of harm done- why did this happen? What motivated it? How do we address the root cause so that something like this does not happen again in the future, either by the same person or with someone else?

It is also worth noting that "good" and "bad" are necessarily relative. If I stab someone in self defense, that is good for me, because I am no longer in danger. But it is still bad for the attacker, whether or not they "had it coming."

This relativity allows us to see situations with more nuance. Say, someone is coming onto me, and i feel threatened. I punch them in self defense, and get away. One might say "oh, they were a bad person for coming onto you like that and making you feel unsafe." But what if I was mistaken? What if I had unexamnined biases and, while I genuinely felt threatened, this person was simply trying to be friendly, and genuinely didn't know I was uncomfortable? In this case, one might peg me as the "bad person" and the other as a victim of unjust violence, due to my misunderstanding their intent.

But see how focusing so much on who is the good guy and who is the bad guy here takes away from our ability to critically analyze the situation? If our approach to things is to try to put them in a box, or on a spectrum of "good" or "bad", we become preoccupied with details that have nothing to do with either addressing the harm caused or preventing it from happening again; it's no more useful than trying to categorize the actions and people as red or blue, bouba or kiki, round or square. They still happened, and the consequenses are the same, and the realities of why they happened will still exist whether or not we aprove or dissaprove of anything involved.

This is why I don't believe in "good people" and "bad people," anyone at any time can do something that is good for one party at the expense of another. Basing our morals around this ambiguous idea of "doing good" and avoiding or punishing "bad stuff" necessarily flattens the way we see the world. The idea of being a good or bad person is a preoccupation with how you are percieved, by yourself and/or others. Ask instead whether what you are doing is helping others express autonomy over there own lives and bodies, whether you're helping others live how they want to, whether you're hurting people and how best to heal that harm and avoid causing it in the future.

Look at actions. Look at material, tangible impact. Forget "good" and "bad." The world is so, so colorful. It'd be a shame to loose sight of that in favor of black and white.

[whysamwhy123]

So. Stripper!Hook AU anyone?

IDK the context but Hook starts at a male strip club and naturally, he quickly becomes one of the most popular dancers there because of course he does. The other strippers (I have a fairly extensive list of who else I'd want to be there, but it's not super relevant and no one probably cares so whatever) probably would be a little jealous, but it's fine, they're all stripper-bros so it's cool, it's cool. The owner of the club (Ricky, I will not take notes on this, he owns the club and used to strip himself and still does sometimes for the hell out of it because I said so, my mind will not be changed on this YOUCAN'TSTOPMEYOU'LLHAVETOKILLMEFIRST) sure is happy, with all the money and customers his new hire is bringing in, that's for sure. He's taken Hook under his wing, so to speak, mentoring the new kid.

And then maybe one night, for reasons, Hook needs to find someone in the club to ask him for a private dance, like right now. So he spots a shy, nervous fella on his own, Danhausen, and decides he looks like an easy target.

The guy's a little...odd, that's for sure. But whatever, Hook's encountered a lot of Stuff working here. At least this one seems genuinely nice and doesn't try to break the rules, not once, even though Hook can tell he's very, very tempted to during their time together. Hook finishes up the dance, leaves the mystery guy with the strange painted face a very happy customer and then goes about the rest of his night, thinking nothing of it.

But then, strangely, at the exact same time the next night, another man comes in with a painted face. And he looks a lot like the last guy but the face paint is slightly different? And he doesn't act like the other guy - no, this guy isn't nervous or shy, doesn't speak in the third person. This version is confident, forward, and much more eager to bend the rules as much as possible. He dodges Hook's questions, any attempt to figure out if this really is the same person or not. But maybe he can be persuaded to answer some of Hook's questions, provided Hook gives him something he wants in return...

(In case it ain't clear, it's Evilhausen and this would ultimately be a kind of Hook/D/Evilhausen type deal, I don't know, this is still kind of a vague idea in my head, I don't know what I'm doing *shrugs and then runs away*)

[jgnico]

xreader is so funny to me because Gojo has spent way too long thinking about rearranging his best friend's guts to want to get down with you in the back of an 04 toyota corolla

[xjulixred45x]

Imagine an adult Yuu who arrived at Twisted Wonderland PREGNANT.

This could be considered part of the Yuu! Parent variables (?). Perhaps the poor woman was returning from an early ultrasound (at 2 or 3 months old) when the black carriage hit her, scaring her to death upon her appearance in TWST. She must have thought she was about to be sacrificed to a cult.

I can definitely imagine the Squad characters being much more understanding/soft of this Yuu, especially Ace and Deuce. Ace wouldn't be so malicious at the beginning of the game (I'd like to believe that not even he would be capable of laughing in the face of a pregnant woman), and instead feels obvious guilt because Crowley has entrusted her with a mediocre job.

Deuce, my sweet boy, will set off all his alarm bells. He's the most outraged that the headmaster is forcing a pregnant woman to work ALONE, and if his dorm leader hadn't been so strict in the beginning, he definitely wouldn't let Yuu sleep in a dorm that's falling apart. Has Crowley gone crazy? Does he have no shred of decency?!

Grim probably thought at first that Yuu had eaten her baby, haha, and had to receive the wonderful "birds and the bees" lecture (much to Ace's amusement at Grim's horrified reactions). Let's just say Grim now insists on standing sentry in case Yuu decides to do anything too "dangerous for the baby" (humans are fragile even with magic; he has to take care of his minion!).

Jack, bless him, also tries to help make the ramshackle dorm safer alongside Epel, whether by removing the most rotten parts of the structure, helping clean, assisting with Yuu's errands, etc. Especially when she starts showing more of her bump.

GOD, IMAGINE THE DORM LEADERS!

Riddle was probably the only one who didn't realize Yuu was pregnant until the events of the Savanaclaw episode. And when he found out he almost seriously hurt a PREGNANT WOMAN? Trey and Cater practically had to keep him from banging his head against a wall for half an hour out of embarrassment and shame. He also drafted a LONG apology for Yuu, which was delivered with a giant strawberry cake (and one of those exaggerated bows I KNOW Riddle would do).

Thanks to his mom (for once in his life), Riddle is the most knowledgeable about useful pregnancy stuff! Whenever Yuu goes to Heartslabyul, she has access to calcium- and iron-rich meals (prepared by Trey), and teas that boost her immune system and combat morning sickness. Riddle is careful not to give her things like black tea or rosemary tea, knowing they could have negative effects (if it were up to Riddle, Yuu probably wouldn't walk unaided).

Leona is much more respectful to a female Yuu, we know that, but I don't think he has the energy to be rude, or be especially , well, Leona, to a PREGNANT woman. This ends up bringing out a side of Leona no one thought existed: an almost delicate side. Sure, he's still lazy and sarcastic, but he doesn't say no to Yuu when she asks for help with something, whether it's bringing something to her dorm or dealing with a difficult situation. he dosent even COMPLAIN. what did he do to the real Leona??

We all know Crowley doesn't give Yuu and Grim enough money to live comfortably, let alone considering they could soon have a new member on ramshakle. Yuu is now surprised to find extra money in the dorm after certain visits. Not that he'll admit it, but it makes everyone feel more at ease.

Again, I want to believe Azul wouldn't be capable of leaving a pregnant woman homeless, at the very least he offered her a place to stay in Octavinelle. It turns out the twins (especially Floyd) quickly took a liking to Yuu.

A cute scenario I came up with, when Yuu already has a prominent baby bump, is that she tries to joke with the Leechs that the nickname "shrimpy" doesn't suit her anymore, and that maybe they should change it to "whaley."

AND FLOYD IS LIKE, "Why are you saying that, Koebi-chan? :( Is someone calling you that? Come on, tell me :)"

I think the Octavinelle folks genuinely don't know how human pregnancy works, so they're surprisingly gentle and caring with Yuu (even when the baby is born, I can see Monster Lounge having a kids' menu for them).

Kalim, my god, Jamil is going to have to stop him from giving Yuu a completely equipped nursery for both her and the baby. Ironically, the one who's the most normal about pregnancy (the guy has 30 younger siblings, so he KNOWS about these things) and genuinely knows some home tricks that helped his mother when she was pregnant.

offers to organize a baby shower/gender reveal party! The bad thing is that it ends up being a whole festival with all of Scarabia participating. But hey, it's the thought that counts.

There's no way Yuu, who's already 6-7 months along, will wear the school uniform simply for comfort, so if you need help finding comfortable AND cute clothes, Vil will gladly help! Obviously, he's not as strict or harsh with Yuu due to the circumstances, but he still wants the best for her. Who knows, maybe they can pick out some clothes for the baby in advance.

Idia is afraid to get close to Yuu, not only because of social anxiety, but because of the thought that he might "ruin" the baby in some way. He needs a lot of support from Ortho and Yuu to even allow himself to have normal physical contact with Yuu, and just as he does, the baby kicks. Idia's heart is gone (everyone wants to feel the kicks now, especially Ace, Floyd, and Malleus).

They probably use some STYX or Ortho equipment for some of the baby checks, and he even gives an approximate due date, which feels bittersweet. Even if everyone does their best, Yuu still hoped to have his baby at home, but he doesn't complain when the boys do all this for them. It feels like Home.

Malleus is another who doesn't fully understand human pregnancy and is incredibly intrigued. It doesn't help that Lilia's answers to his questions are even more confusing, so he ends up going straight to the source of his intrigue, Yuu. Malleus is completely mesmerized the first time he hears the baby's heartbeat, completely fascinated by what human life is like compared to fairies/dragons.

That said, he proceeds to "scold" the baby when it kicks Yuu for "hurting its mother," not quite understanding the concept, but he has the spirit. Malleus is very scared of the idea of childbirth once he's educated on it (WHERE will the baby come out? HOW!?) and will probably try to improve his healing magic SOLELY because of that.

All I can say is that if the baby is born in Twisted Wonderland, they'll have a wide array of adoptive siblings, father figures, babysitters, and weird and eccentric uncles who will take very good care of them and its mother. So you can rest easy.

__________

(ESPAÑOL)

Imagínate una Yuu adulta que llego a Twisted Wonderland estando EMBARAZADA

Esto podría considerarse parte de las variables de Yuu! Parent(?)Talvez la pobre mujer estaba regresando de un ultrasonido de los primeros meses (2 o 3 meses) cuando el carruaje negro le paso por encima, dándole un susto de muerte cuando apareció en TWST. La pobre mujer debio pensar que estaba a punto de ser sacrificada a un culto.

Definitivamente puedo ver a los personajes del Squad mucho mas suaves con esta Yuu, especialmente Ace y Deuce. Ace no sería tan malicioso al principio del juego (digo, quiero creer que incluso el no seria capaz de reírse en la cara de una mujer embarazada) y más bien siente una obvia lastima de que Crowley le haya metido en un trabajo mediocre.

Deuce, mi dulce niño, le disparan todas las alarmas. Es el más obviamente indignado de que el director haga trabajar a una mujer embarazada SOLA, y definitivamente si su líder de dormitorio no fuera tan estricto al principio, no dejaría que Yuu durmiera en un dormitorio que se cae a pedazos ¿¡que acaso Crowley perdió la cabeza, no tiene el mínimo de decencia?!

Grim probablemente al principio pensó que Yuu se había comido a su bebe lol, y le tuvieron que dar la maravillosa charla de las “aves y las abejas” (para diversión de Ace por las reacciones horrorizadas de Grim). Solo digamos que ahora Grim insiste en actuar como centinela en caso de que Yuu se le ocurra hacer algo demasiado “peligroso para él bebe” (los humanos son frágiles aun si magia ¡tiene que cuidar a su secuaz!).

Jack, bendito sea, también trata de ayudar en hacer el dormitorio destartalado mas seguro junto a Epel, ya sea quitando las partes mas podridas de la estructura, ayudando a limpiar, ayudar con los mandados de Yuu, etc. Especialmente cuando empieza a mostrar mas la panza de embarazada.

DIOS, IMAGINENSE LOS LIDERES DE DORMITORIO.

Riddle probablemente fue el único que no llego a darse cuenta que Yuu estaba embarazada hasta los eventos del capítulo de Savanaclaw ¿y cuando se enteró que casi lastimo gravemente a una MUJER EMBARAZADA? Trey y Cater tuvieron que físicamente detenerlo de que se golpeara la cabeza contra la pared por media hora por la vergüenza, también redacto un documento LARGUISIMO de disculpa a Yuu, que fue entregado con una gran tarta de fresa (y una de esas reverencias exageradas que SE que Riddle haría).

¡Gracias a su madre (por una vez en la vida), Riddle es el que sabe más de cosas útiles para el embarazo! Cada vez que Yuu va Heartslabyul, tienen acceso a comidas nutritivas en calcio y hierro (hechas por Trey), Tés beneficiosos para el sistema inmune y para combatir las náuseas matutinas, aparte de que Riddle es cuidadoso de no dar cosas como Te negro o romero, sabiendo que podrían tener malos efectos (si fuera por Riddle, Yuu probablemente no caminaría sin ayuda).

Leona es bastante más respetuoso con una Yuu mujer, eso lo sabemos, pero no creo que tenga la energía para ser grosero o especialmente, bueno, Leona, con una mujer EMBARAZADA. Esto termina sacando un lado que nadie creía que existía de Leona, un lado casi delicado. Claro, sigue siendo perezoso y sarcástico, pero no le dice que no a Yuu cuando le pide ayuda en algo, ya sea llevar algo a su dormitorio o con una situación difícil.

Todos sabemos que Crowley no da ni de lejos el dinero suficiente para que Yuu y Grim vivan bien, mucho menos pensando que PODRIAN TENER UN NUEVO INTEGRANTE PRONTO, por lo que Yuu ahora se sorprende después de ciertas visitas, aparece algo de dinero extra en el dormitorio. No es como que lo vaya a admitir, pero todos están más tranquilos de esa forma.

De nuevo, quiero creer que Azul no sería capaz de dejar sin hogar a una mujer embarazada, aunque sea le ofrecería una estancia en Octaville, ya que, además, resulta que los gemelos (especialmente Floyd) se encariñaron con Yuu muy rápido.

Un escenario lindo que se me ocurrió, ya cuando Yuu tiene una panza de embarazada prominente, es que ella trata de bromear con los Leech de que el apodo “camarón” ya no le queda bien, y que a lo mejor tendrían que cambiarlo a “ballena”

Y FLOYD ESTA COMO “¿Por qué dices eso Koebi-chan?  ¿alguien te está diciendo asi? Vaaaamos, dímelo ”

Creo que genuinamente los de Octaville no saben muy bien cómo funciona el embarazo terrestre, por lo que son sorprendentemente gentiles y cuidadosos con Yuu (incluso cuando nace el bebe, puedo ver el Monstre Louge teniendo un menú infantil para ellos).

Kalim, dios mio, Jamil tendrá que detenerlo de regalarle a Yuu absolutamente toda una guardería completamente equipada tanto para ella como para el bebe. Irónicamente el que es el mas normal al respecto del embarazo (el man tiene 30 hermanos menores, el SABE de estas cosas) y genuinamente sabe algunos trucos caseros que le sirvieron a su madre cuando ella estaba embarazada.

¡ofrece organizar un baby shower/ fiesta de revelación de genero! Lo malo es que termina siendo todo un festival en el que participa todo Scarabia. Pero hey, la intención es lo que cuenta.

No hay forma en la que estando ya en los 6-7 meses Yuu use el uniforme de la escuela por simple cuestión de comodidad, por lo que si necesitan ayuda en encontrar ropa cómoda Y bonita ¡Vil le ayudara con gusto! Obviamente no es tan estricto ni duro con Yuu debido a las circunstancias, pero sigue queriendo lo mejor para ella. Quien sabe, talvez puedan elegir algo de ropa para él bebe de adelantado.

Idia tiene miedo de acercarse a Yuu, no solo por la ansiedad social, sino por la idea de que podría “arruinar” al bebe de alguna forma. Necesita mucho apoyo de Ortho y Yuu para siquiera permitirse tener contacto físico con Yuu de forma normal, y justo cuando lo hace, el bebe patea. A Iidia se le salió el alma del cuerpo (ahora todos quieren sentir las pataditas, sobretodo Ace, Floyd y Malleus).

Probablemente usan algo de equipo de STYX o Ortho para algunos controles del bebe, incluso el da una fecha aproximada de nacimiento, lo cual da una sensación agridulce. Aun si todos hacen su mejor esfuerzo, Yuu esperaba poder tener a su bebe en casa, pero no se queja cuando los chicos hacen todo esto por ellos.

Malleus es otro que no entiende el embarazo humano completamente y esta increíblemente intrigado, no ayuda que as respuestas de Lilia a sus preguntas son aún más confusas, por lo que termina lleno a la fuente de su intriga, Yuu. Malleus se queda completamente hipnotizado la primera vez que escucha los latidos del bebe, totalmente fascinado por cómo es la vida humana en comparación a las hadas/dragones.

Eso sí, procede a “reprender” al bebe cuando patea a Yuu por “lastimar a su madre”, no entendiendo bien el concepto, pero tiene el espíritu. A Malleus le asusta mucho la idea del parto una vez que se educa al respecto (¿Qué el bebe saldrá DE DONDE? ¡¿COMO!?) y probablemente trate de mejorar en magia curativa UNICAMENTE por eso.

Solo puedo decir que si el bebe nace en Twisted Wonderland, tendrá un vasto abanico de hermanos adoptivos, figuras paternas, niñeros, tíos raros y extravagantes que lo cuidaran muy bien a él y su madre. Así que pueden estar tranquilos.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[arrenjo]

Summary: Your apartment floods and you do your best to make it on your own, but when Robby finds out he takes matters into his own hands.

Notes: I’m a slut for a one bed trope, whoopsie. These can probably be stand alone but I like having somewhat of a series going. Obviously inspired by Whitaker’s whole living-inside-the-hospital deal. Also omfg I’ve looked at this draft for so long I might die.

Back | Next

“Shit shit shit!!” You jumped at your alarm from a dead sleep and threw on your scrubs. Resting in this hospital was fucking impossible and you had finally gone to sleep— and subsequently overslept.

You ran a brush through your hair and brushed your teeth in the bathroom in a matter of about a minute before you threw on your shoes, slung your backpack over your shoulder, and raced out the door. Thankfully you only had a couple of flights of stairs to go down.

Your apartment had flooded earlier in the week and everything was a total loss. You had the things you had in your work bag and a bag you kept in your car, and that was it. You weren’t really sure how your apartment complex got away with not offering you another place to stay that wasn’t triple your rent, but you were fucked. You went to Gloria in a desperate time of need and she was kind enough to let you use a spare hospital room for the week and promise her discretion, but you were running out of time to find something else and there were no options.

Dana, Donnie, and the rest of the ED nurses would absolutely have your ass if they knew you refused to ask them for help, but it wasn’t their problem. You ran into the nurses station, out of breath, and got report on your patients. After a bit of running around to play catch up, Dana caught you at your workstation charting.

“Hey kid, you alright?” She asked, placing a cup of coffee in front of you.

“My angel,” you said, taking a sip and giving her a grateful smile. “Yeah, you know how I struggle with being on time for dayshift sometimes. Your girl is not a morning person.” You lied with just a little too much enthusiasm. It was partially true, dayshift really did turn your world upside down. You and mornings did not particularly get along.

“Yeah, uh-huh, okay,” Dana said and rolled her eyes. She patted you on the shoulder and walked away. You’ve got to find a place. Your exhaustion was starting to show and people were starting to notice.

__

“Hey,” Dana’s voice snapped Robby’s attention to her face as she pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. Oh shit, he thought, whatever Dana was about to talk to him about, she was serious.

“What do you think’s going on with our girl?” She nodded in your direction. Your back was to them, your head in your hands. It was clear that something was up, but Robby hadn’t put his finger on exactly what yet. He had been watching you, observing your every move. The casual touches had stayed casual, but he could feel the increased tension in your body when he first made contact. When the touch lingered for more than a second, he could feel you relax into his touch. He didn’t say anything to you. To tell the truth, he liked it, but he didn’t like that you were so tense to begin with.

“I don’t know,” He muttered, his eyes still on you, looking over the rim of his glasses. He paused for a moment to wonder if he should play it cool or lay his cards on the table for Dana.

“Abbot’s got a big mouth you know. Heard he and Princess had a bet going on and that Princess won.” Dana interrupted his thought process with a knowing smirk. Robby sighed and took his glasses off, reaching to rub the side of his head in the same motion, his eyes searching to find you across the nurses station again. You ran your hands through your hair and got up, starting towards the med room.

“Abbot doesn’t know half of what he thinks he does,” Robby countered, glancing at Dana after the med room door had closed behind you.

“I’m just sayin’, you watch her every move. I’ve seen how you look at her when you think no one’s paying attention.” Dana said with a shrug.

“Dana!” Whitaker appeared out of a room, beckoning the charge nurse to him. He looked bewildered and a little scared, but Robby had come to realize that was his normal facial expression.

“Saved by the bell,” Robby said with a chuckle.

“This conversation isn’t over, but check in with her, will ya?” Dana said, already starting towards Dennis, mentally preparing herself for whatever was behind the curtain that he had just popped out of.

__

An exhausting twelve and a half hours later, you feel disgusting. You had blood, sweat, and bodily fluids— none of which were yours— what felt like everywhere. After you gave report to the night shift nurse, you slung your backpack over your shoulder and headed for the stairwell. All you wanted was a long, hot shower and the one good thing about the hospital was that the hot water never ran out. You had one more pair of clean scrubs for the week and then you had to figure out what the hell to do about laundry. Your thoughts preoccupied you as you walked, never noticing Robby several paces behind you. He had called your name once, but when you started up the stairs instead of outside, he made the decision to follow you.

You entered the hallway on the 4th floor and ducked into the first room to the left. The hallway was empty except for you, no nurses working upstairs meant that there were no patients and the entire 4th floor was shut down. You pushed the door closed behind you with your foot, leaving the door just slightly ajar. The tunnel vision had really set in on that shower. The small crack between the door and door frame spilled just enough light into the dark hallway for Robby to find where you had gone. He pushed the door open and opted to stand in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. It only took him seconds to assess the scene and figure out what was happening. There were half dried out pictures laying on a few surfaces, your duffel bag sat on the chair with a towel draped over the back on the opposite side of the room. You had dropped your backpack just inside the door with your shoes. The cot in the middle of the room looked tiny and uncomfortable, no wonder you were exhausted.

In the bathroom, you had just taken your hair down and were just about to start the water for your shower when you realized you had left your towel draped over the chair in the next room.

“Shit,” You muttered and stepped out of the bathroom, looking down to untie the waistband of your scrubs as you did. The stupid fucking knot wouldn’t come out and-

“Ahem,” Your head snapped up to the sound of someone clearing their throat. Robby stood in the doorway, arms crossed across his chest, leaning cooly on the doorframe. Oh fuck. You pressed your lips into a tight line and closed your eyes for a brief second.

“Robby,” You breathed, opening your eyes to look at him. He was silent as he took you in, his eyes catching for just a split second at your exposed skin. Your cheeks immediately heated and you knew your face was red.

Fuck, how do I explain this?

“My apartment flooded,” You began as you grew uncomfortable in the silence. He had been staring at you for a solid ten seconds, never offering a word. “The only places they offered me were triple my rent and I can’t afford that,” You met his eyes from across the room.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” He asked, taking a step towards you. His hands moved from across his chest to inside the pockets of his hoodie again.

“I’m not your problem,” You said with a snort, shaking your head.

Robby groaned your name and ran a hand through his hair, resting his hand at the back of his neck before he dropped it to his side.

“Let me help you. You tell me that I have to take care of myself, but you have to take care of yourself too.” Robby’s eyes were set, determined.

“Let me spot you the cash and-“

“No, Robby, I can’t-“ You stopped short, feeling the hot tears threatening to spill. The embarrassment made your chest tight.

“Okay no, bad suggestion, I’m sorry,” He immediately apologized. You took a steadying breath, opting to come clean.

“I can’t afford it, and I don’t want to be a burden or a freeloader. It makes me feel weak when I can’t just do everything myself, y’know?,” You told him, avoiding eye contact, desperately trying to regain your composure. The tears were threatening to spill again. Robby gingerly walked towards you and stopped just in front of you. He took your face in his hands and tilted your chin up to him.

“You are not a burden. You could never be a burden. Sometimes you gotta have help.” He said, you felt your muscles relax into his touch.

“I have an apartment,” He started slowly.

“No, Robby. They said it could take months,” You said softly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do but I can’t ask you to do that.” You put your hands on top of his, he searched your eyes for a moment before continuing.

“You’re not asking, I am, please stay with me. I won’t be able to sleep knowing that you’re here, and then both of us will be exhausted and cranky.” He gave you a small smile, his thumb gently stroking your chin. Your cheeks burned at the contact, your gaze dropped to his mouth. It seemed like he was having the same thought, because when your eyes found his again, he was staring at your mouth. His eyes snapped back up to yours, waiting for an answer.

“Why do you care where I sleep?” You asked softly. He grinned and shook his head

“You want to stay with me or not?” He asked rhetorically.

“Okay,” You started “-But just until I figure something else out.” You said. You already had feelings for him and this was about to get a hell of a lot more complicated if you acted on them. You dropped your hands to your sides with a small sigh. His hands lingered on your cheeks for another second, then he ran his hands down either side of your neck and across your shoulders, he stopped at your biceps and gave your arms a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on, we gotta be back early tomorrow.” He said casually, dipping his head to look at you. The trail that his hands had made felt like your skin was on fire, and him using the word ‘We’ made your stomach turn flips. Your eyes widened. He was asking you to come home with him now.

“You mean… tonight?”

“Yeah, you have to sleep, and just looking at you being so exhausted makes me tired.” He feigned a yawn and a stretch that made the corners of your mouth twitch.

“And just how hard have you been looking, Doctor Robinavitch?” You teased, turning back towards the bathroom. He rolled his eyes at you and pulled a box from the closet.

“You coming or not?”

“So impatient,” you shot back, but then quickly started gathering your things. Fuck it, might as well go all in. Robby snorted and started helping you gather your clothes and the few personal belongings you had left into the box. You worked together in silence until Robby picked up the box and slung your bag across his frame. You reached for the box and he shook his head.

“I got it, it’s a little bit of a walk.” He said, you held your hands out for it again, making a ‘gimme’ motion. “I said I got it.” He insisted, pulling the box out of your reach to the other side of him.

Most of your walk with him was quiet, you were deep in thought about how in the hell you were going to live in the same house as this man and not embarrass yourself. Your skin still ached for more of his touch.

“You don’t have to do this,” You said suddenly as he took his keys out to unlock the door to his apartment. He glanced up at you before turning his attention back towards his keys.

“I know.” He said simply and unlocked the door. “But I want to,” he said and held the door open for you. You felt your cheeks flush as he turned on the lights. His apartment was clean and simple, the most decorations he had were books on shelves and a blanket folded on the end of the couch. He had the basics: a couch, TV, a kitchen that looked functional, coffee table. You didn’t get red flag vibes from being here, but you could tell that this was a place that he didn’t spend a ton of time. Robby walked through the apartment and you trailed behind him. You walked past the kitchen and into a hallway, and into what looked like a bedroom. He turned the lights on and you could quickly tell it was Robby’s bedroom.

“Oh I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-“ you started but he cut you off.

“No, this is where you’re going to sleep. I have other rooms but there’s not another bed.” He placed the box on the bed and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “Never really had the need for one.” He admitted sheepishly.

“No, Robby I’m not coming into your house and taking your bed,”

“I’m not asking.” He said simply, locking eyes with you. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” He said matter-of-factly, like there was absolutely no question to it.

“Shower is off the bedroom, it’s the only one.” He pointed to the door in the corner of the room. “I changed the sheets on the bed this morning. There are towels in the cabinet, and the laundry room is through there if you need to wash anything.” You nodded, giving up on fighting him about the bed for the moment.

“Is it okay if I shower?”

“You don’t have to ask, make yourself at home, I’ll be in the living room.”

By the time you hopped out of the shower half an hour later, you found Robby sitting on the couch, reading. He had a pillow and blanket folded up beside him. You stopped to take him in, he was sitting with his legs crossed, glasses perched on his nose. He didn’t even make a move when you walked in the room, hair still wet and falling down your shoulders. Robby patted the seat next to him without looking up from his book. You sat down next to him and pulled out your phone, scrolling while nervously chewing on your lip. When you looked back at him, his book was closed on his lap and he was studying your features.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly. You turned your phone so it was face down on your lap.

“I don’t want to fight with you about the bed, but I don’t want to sleep in your bed, Robby. You’re doing enough by letting me be here.” He chuckled at the response and took his glasses off.

“Here I am thinking that you’re in some emotional distress and you’re upset about sleeping in my bed?”

“Robby,” You sighed, running a hand through your hair.

God, no. I’m not upset about sleeping in your bed, I’m upset that you won’t be sleeping in your bed with me. You decided that confession would be a little too honest.

“I just don’t want to overstep,” you settled on that response and he gave you a grin.

“I promise it’s fine, couch is comfy.” He shifted back into the couch and spread his arms. One settled behind you and the comfortableness of the gesture made your stomach flip.

“I am going to go shower though,” He said and started to stand. You nodded and pulled out your phone again, but as he turned you looked up from the screen, watching him walk to the bedroom. You let your mind wander for a split second and a heat rushed across your chest and down your abdomen.

A hot shower with Robby was probably the best thought you had had in a while. You lingered in that thought for a moment and then shook your head to clear it, pulling your phone back out and settling into the couch to scroll. You must have been more tired than you realized, because the next thing you felt was warm hands sliding up under your back and your legs and lifting you in the air. You started to scramble and were immediately comforted by Robby’s voice.

“Shh, shh,” He soothed, “I’ve got you.” You felt him making his way towards the bedroom and your heart rate picked up. The way he picked you up with such ease made your stomach flutter.

“Please don’t drop me,” you mumbled with a half hearted giggle into his chest, clinging to his shirt tightly. Robby snorted.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair. He continued walking down the hallway, carrying you with ease. When you got to the bedroom, he eased you down on the bed, gently laying your head on the pillow. He hovered above you for just a moment and he started to pull away. You shook your head, your mouth just inches from his.

“Don’t go,” You whispered. He stopped in his tracks, his breath warm across your lips. He searched your eyes, lingering for just a second, almost as if he wanted to say something, and you swore you saw him open his mouth.

“Please,” You said softly, you weren’t sure if it was the sleepiness clouding your judgment or the fact that he cared enough to carry you to bed, but you wanted him close more than you ever had.

“Okay,” He said simply, you weren’t sure but you thought you may have heard some relief in his voice. He crawled in the bed beside you and you scooted closer to him. The smell of cedar shampoo made your mouth water, you were desperate for his touch. Both of you knew that you were blurring lines between the two of you, but neither of you seemed to care. He wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you from behind. You settled into him, he buried his face in your hair, his breath on your neck.

“Thank you… for this. For everything,” You said quietly, relaxing further into him.

“I might be a little bit selfish,” He admitted, you could hear the defeat in his tone. “I wanted you here. I mean, here,” he gestured vaguely to the room with the arm that was draped around your waist. “But here too,” he said and wrapped his arm back around your waist, pulling you closer. You smiled and ran your hand down his arm, interlacing your fingers with his.

“I wanted to be here too.”

[reidmarieprentiss]

Don't Get In Your Own Way

Summary: You and Spencer have always been close - everyone else can see it's more than just friendship. When will you two be ready to see it as well?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff, light smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption, suggestive content, friends to lovers, minimal BAU case talk, mild public indecency

Word count: 10.3k

a/n: this was an olddd draft ,,, i came back to give it the ol' razzle dazzle

main masterlist

Every afternoon, like clockwork, you and Spencer retreat to the stairs outside the FBI offices, your little quiet corner away from the noise of the bullpen. The team is usually scattered—some opting for takeout at their desks, others heading out for a bite—but you and Spencer? You prefer the fresh air, the slight reprieve from case files and fluorescent lights, just the two of you.

Spencer talks—a lot. And you let him. You never interrupt when he goes off on a tangent, whether about a book he’s been reading, some obscure historical event, or even the latest behavioral theory he’s been mulling over. He’s learned, over time, that you listen—that you don’t just humor him but engage, ask questions, challenge him. It’s one of the reasons he feels safest around you, why he lets the mask slip, why he doesn’t feel the need to filter himself. Around you, he’s just Spencer. Not Dr. Reid, not the genius of the BAU. He's just a guy who loves sharing the things that make his brain light up.

Lately, he’s been growing his hair, letting the waves fall into his face while he works. He never noticed how often he pushed it back, but you did. One afternoon, after watching him shove it out of his eyes for the hundredth time while struggling through paperwork, you wordlessly slid a hair tie onto his wrist.

“For when you finally give up,” you’d said with a small smile.

Spencer had looked at the simple black band like it was some kind of sacred object before slipping it on. He never did tie his hair up, but the band stayed. Now, when he’s anxious, when his thoughts spiral too fast for even him to keep up, he rolls it between his fingers, snaps it lightly against his skin, and uses it as an anchor. He wonders if you even realize what you’ve given him and how something so small makes him feel grounded.

You are completely unaware of how much Spencer sees you and how much he feels for you. You like him—more than you should, more than is probably appropriate for two people who are just friends—but you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. Spencer is brilliant and kind and so effortlessly attractive, and you? You convince yourself he’d never see you that way. It’s not self-deprecating, not really—just… reality.

Meanwhile, Spencer sits beside you every day, wondering how you don’t notice how his eyes linger, how his heart jumps every time you laugh, and how he holds onto your hair tie like a lifeline. How he wonders if you feel the same way.

—

Derek doesn’t let up. Not now, not ever.

Spencer’s been subjected to his relentless teasing for years, but ever since he started growing his hair out—and ever since you gave him that hair tie—Derek has been on a mission.

“Pretty Boy, you’re pathetic,” Derek says one afternoon, leaning against Spencer’s desk with his arms crossed, watching him roll the hair tie between his fingers like it’s some kind of lifeline.

Spencer, who has been deep in thought, barely looks up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Derek scoffs. “The hair tie? The way you light up every time she talks to you? The fact that you, the man who hates all forms of physical contact, don’t even flinch when she gets in your space? Do you even hear yourself when you talk about her?”

Spencer blinks at him, feigning ignorance. “I talk about her the same way I talk about all of my friends.”

Derek lets out a loud, incredulous laugh. “That’s funny. Real funny. Because I don’t remember you getting all flustered and dreamy-eyed when you talk about me.”

Spencer’s brows furrow. “I don’t get flustered.”

Derek raises a brow and mimics Spencer in a high-pitched, breathy voice. “Oh, she listens to me ramble. She actually engages with me. She’s so perceptive.” He drops the act, shaking his head. “Man, you are down bad.”

Spencer rolls his eyes and turns back to his book, a weak defense mechanism. “I really don’t think—”

“No, you don’t think,” Derek interrupts. “That’s the problem. Because if you were thinking, you’d realize that she looks at you the same way you look at her.”

That makes Spencer freeze, a book halfway in his hands.

Derek smirks, knowing he’s struck something deep. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Spencer opens his mouth, ready to protest and argue some logical counterpoint, but nothing comes out. He can’t explain away the way his heart clenches at the mere possibility that you might feel the same.

Derek slaps a hand on his shoulder, grin widening. “Any day now, Pretty Boy. Any day now.” Then he walks off, leaving Spencer to stare blankly at his book, brain absolutely wrecked.

He glances down at the hair tie around his wrist, suddenly hyper-aware of the way it sits against his skin.

Rossi is just as relentless with you as Derek is with Spencer—except he’s a little more subtle about it. He doesn’t tease in the same playful, in-your-face way that Derek does with Spencer. No, Rossi prefers to plant little seeds, make small comments, and give you just enough to get your mind churning.

He’s been keeping a close eye on you ever since you joined the team. Maybe it’s the way you love to talk about home or how you light up when someone treats you like family. So, naturally, Rossi steps in. A guiding hand, an occasional piece of advice, a warm presence when you need one.

And right now? Right now, you need someone to tell you that you’re being blind as hell.

“You know, bella, I’ve been around a long time,” Rossi says one afternoon, leaning back in his chair, swirling a glass of bourbon in his hand. “I’ve seen a lot of things. A lot of things. And I’d like to think I have a pretty good read on people.”

You barely look up from your case file. “Are you about to say something wise or just something annoying?”

He smirks. “Oh, I can do both.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue.

Rossi takes a sip of his drink, watching you with that knowing look that makes you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. “You like him, you know.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably, but you don’t react. Not outwardly, at least. “Who?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You’re smarter than that.”

You exhale sharply, still keeping your eyes on your paperwork. “I don’t like Spencer.”

Rossi chuckles, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “That’s cute. Now say it again like you mean it.”

You finally glance up at him, narrowing your eyes. “I mean it.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rossi hums, clearly unconvinced. He leans forward, resting his arms on his desk. “You know, you remind me a lot of myself when I was younger.”

You raise a brow. “Oh? You had a thing for Spencer, too?”

Rossi lets out a full-bodied laugh. “No, but I was stubborn. And I was good at convincing myself that things weren’t what they obviously were.” He tilts his head, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Let me ask you something. If I told you that Spencer thinks the world of you, that he practically glows when you’re around, what would you say?”

You swallow, suddenly very aware of your heartbeat. “I’d say you’re exaggerating.”

Rossi shakes his head. “No, bella, I’m not. Derek sees it. I see it. Hell, even Garcia sees it, and she’s usually too busy matchmaking herself to notice when something’s right under her nose.” He leans back again, watching you carefully. “But the real question is—why don’t you see it?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. The truth? Because the idea that Spencer could feel that way about you is terrifying. You’ve convinced yourself he wouldn’t, couldn’t, not in the way you secretly hope.

So you deflect. “Spencer’s just… Spencer. He’s sweet to everyone.”

Rossi sighs, shaking his head with something like fond exasperation. “You keep telling yourself that, kid. But one of these days, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time.”

You scoff lightly. “What, you want me to march over there and declare my undying love?”

Rossi grins. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

You shake your head, muttering something about meddling old men as you shove your paperwork into a neat stack, trying to ignore the way your hands feel slightly unsteady.

Rossi just watches you, amusement still lingering on his face.

Because he knows.

And one day, you’ll know, too.

—

The precinct is buzzing with too much movement and too much noise. Officers shuffling papers, detectives arguing over case details, coffee machines gurgling, the fluorescent lights humming like an irritating static in the back of your head. It’s a small station, cramped, and the team has been forced into an even smaller conference room, shoulder to shoulder with local law enforcement.

Spencer has been quiet all morning, his fingers twitching slightly, his blinking a little too frequently. You’ve been with him long enough to notice when the world is becoming too much for him, and right now, it’s clear that the rapid-fire conversations, the overlapping voices, the smell of burnt coffee and cheap air freshener—it's all pushing him to the edge of his tolerance.

So, as usual, he attaches himself to you.

It’s something he’s done for years, seeking you out when things get overwhelming. You’ve never minded. In fact, you never even thought much of it—until now.

Right now, his head is slumped against your shoulder, a deep sigh escaping him, his breath warm where it ghosts over the fabric of your shirt. His long fingers loosely clutch your jacket sleeve, not in an obvious way, but just enough that you know he’s anchoring himself with your presence. His entire frame is pressed slightly against your side, fitting into your space in a way that should feel intrusive—but it doesn’t. It never does.

But today? Today, it does feel different. Not bad, not at all, just... noticeable.

The warmth of his body against yours. The way his hair brushes your cheek when he shifts. The way you can feel the weight of him, trusting, unguarded.

You should say something—acknowledge it, maybe even tease him like Derek would—but your throat feels tight. Instead, you sit perfectly still, let him rest, let him take what he needs from you.

Across the room, Rossi is watching. He doesn’t say a word, just gives you a knowing look, an almost smirk, before turning back to his conversation with Hotch.

You swallow hard, your mind racing with thoughts you don’t have time to entertain. Not right now. Not with a case on the line.

Spencer exhales again, a deep, exhausted sound. Without thinking, you lift your hand and gently brush it over his arm, a quiet reassurance. He hums in response��barely audible, but enough to let you know he appreciates it.

And you?

You pretend your pulse isn’t hammering; pretend this is just like every other time.

Even though, for some reason, it doesn’t feel that way anymore.

—

The room is already cold and sterile, the air thick with the lingering scent of antiseptic and something darker, something that clings to the walls of places like these—death, decay, the remnants of lives cut short. The mortuary is dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs casting a bluish hue over the metal slabs, the bodies covered with crisp white sheets.

Spencer and Emily step inside, the door clicking shut behind them, sealing them away from the world of the living for just a little while.

Emily exhales, rubbing her hands together despite the temperature-controlled environment. “I don’t know what Hotch thinks we’re going to find that we didn’t already see,” she murmurs, but there’s no real complaint in her tone—just exhaustion.

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He’s already moving, scanning the room with sharp, restless eyes. He doesn’t like being back here. Too quiet, too still. Too much time to think. And he’s already spent the morning overstimulated, barely hanging onto himself. If it weren’t for you—your presence, your steadying warmth—he might have lost his grip entirely.

But you’re not here now.

Emily watches him for a moment, sees the way his fingers twitch slightly, how he pushes his hair back only to drop his hand to his wrist, rolling the familiar hair tie between his fingers. A grounding mechanism. She’d seen him do it before.

“Spencer,” she calls gently.

He blinks and looks at her.

“You okay?”

He hesitates, then nods.

Back in the SUV, Emily watches Spencer out of the corner of her eye as he flips through the case file, his knee bouncing slightly, his fingers twitching against the edge of the folder. He’s rattling off statistics about the likelihood of unsub behavior escalating post-mortem examinations, but there’s a certain absentmindedness to the way he’s speaking—like he’s not entirely here.

And Emily Prentiss? She’s no fool.

So, as she turns onto the road leading toward the mortuary, she decides to go for it.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she starts, keeping her tone casual. “In fact, I haven’t for the past few years.” She glances at him and watches as his fingers tighten slightly on the folder. “But today felt different. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Spencer stills, his knee stopping mid-bounce before he forces it back down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Emily snorts. “Oh, come on. You can’t seriously expect me to believe that.”

Spencer purses his lips, shifting in his seat like he’s trying to physically move away from this conversation. “We have more important things to focus on right now.”

“Uh-huh,” Emily hums. “And yet, back at the station, you looked about one deep sigh away from crawling into her lap.”

Spencer stiffens. “That’s an exaggeration.”

Emily shrugs, smirking slightly. “Is it? Because from where I was standing, you were practically molded to her side.”

Spencer stays silent, glaring down at the folder like it’s personally offended him.

Emily softens, tilting her head. “Look, I’m not teasing you. I’m just asking—are you okay? Because I’ve seen you cling to her before when things get overwhelming, but today… it was different.” She hesitates. “You were different. She was different.”

Spencer swallows, pressing his lips together. He could brush it off. He could easily throw out some logical, cold dismissal. I was overstimulated, and she provided a familiar presence. There is nothing unusual about that, but the problem is, it is unusual.

Because for the first time, he noticed it.

Noticed how natural it felt, how good it felt, to be pressed against you. Noticed the way your touch lingered, how your fingers brushed his arm with a softness that made his skin buzz. Noticed how he felt safe, not just because you were familiar, but because he wanted to be close to you. Because he liked it.

And that? That realization is unraveling something in him he isn’t sure he’s ready for.

“I—” He hesitates, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

Emily watches him for a moment before nodding, letting the conversation settle for a few beats before she speaks again.

“You know,” she says, keeping her tone light. “You could always ask her.”

Spencer’s head snaps toward her, eyes wide, panicked. “Ask her what?”

Emily grins, eyes twinkling as she pulls into the mortuary parking lot.

“Oh, you know. On a date.”

Spencer makes a strangled noise of protest, but Emily is already unbuckling her seatbelt, pretending she doesn’t hear it.

She lets him stew in his thoughts and sit there with that panicked expression because honestly?

He needs to figure it out for himself.

—

Tuesday nights were for Star Trek, and Friday nights were for pizza and movies. It had started as something casual, a way to unwind after long days at work, but over time, it became an unspoken rule—a part of your week as consistent as waking up in the morning.

Tuesday nights meant curling up on your couch, debating over which Star Trek series to watch that week. Spencer always had his preferences—he loved The Original Series for its groundbreaking storytelling and The Next Generation for its philosophical depth—but he never protested when you picked Voyager because he knew how much you liked Captain Janeway. You didn’t always pay attention to the episodes the way he did, but you loved listening to him ramble, watching his eyes light up as he dissected the scientific inaccuracies or argued about the moral dilemmas presented in each episode.

And then there was Friday night—pizza and movie night.

Unlike Star Trek night, where Spencer usually held the reins, movie night was a battle. You had vastly different tastes—Spencer leaned toward old classics, noir films, and things with intricate plots that required full intellectual engagement. On the other hand, you sometimes just wanted to watch an over-the-top action flick, something fun and ridiculous.

“I don’t understand why we can’t watch Casablanca,” Spencer had complained one Friday, frowning at your choice of Die Hard.

“Because Casablanca is depressing, and I just want to watch Bruce Willis blow things up,” you’d argued, plopping onto the couch.

Spencer had grumbled but ultimately stayed, reluctantly eating his pizza while you enjoyed Die Hard a little too much.

But despite the friendly bickering, you both always showed up for each other. No matter how draining the week was or how heavy the cases got, Tuesday and Friday nights were yours. If one of you was too tired, the other brought food. If Spencer needed to visit his mom, he’d make you promise not to watch Star Trek without him. If you had a bad day, he let you pick the movie without a single complaint (except for that one time you picked Twilight, which he still refuses to acknowledge).

For years, it was just routine, something comfortable, something easy.

The case had finally wrapped up late Wednesday afternoon, and while you should have been relieved—grateful that everything ended as cleanly as possible—you were distracted. Off-kilter. Your mind wasn’t on the debriefing, the flight back to Quantico, or even the pile of paperwork waiting for you tomorrow.

No, your mind was stuck on him.

Spencer.

More specifically, the way you couldn’t seem to shake the lingering warmth of his body from when he had leaned against you, or the quiet, vulnerable way he had sighed into your shoulder, or the way Rossi’s words had wormed their way into your brain and stuck.

"You keep telling yourself that, kid. But one of these days, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time."

Damn him.

You were usually so good at compartmentalizing, at keeping your feelings neatly boxed up and shoved into the farthest corner of your mind where they couldn’t betray you. But now? Now, every little thing Spencer did had you spiraling.

Like right now.

Friday afternoon rolls around, and you’re already on edge.

When Spencer casually walks up to your desk, his messenger bag is slung over his shoulder, and his hands are tucked into his pockets, you already know you’re in trouble.

“Hey,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “We’re still on for tonight, right?”

You blink at him.

Wait. What?

Is he confirming plans? He hasn’t done that since the first month you started doing this—since he was still unsure if the ritual was set in stone. But now, after all this time, he’s asking?

Your heart starts hammering, palms go clammy.

“Yeah—yes,” you blurt out, nodding a little too fast. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

Spencer watches you carefully, clearly picking up on something being off. His brow furrows slightly, and he studies you with that damn profiler gaze, the one that makes you feel like he’s reading every single thought you’re desperately trying to bury.

“You okay?” he asks slowly.

You force a laugh. It comes out weird. “Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?”

His frown deepens.

Okay. You need to fix this before you combust.

You grab your phone off your desk and clear your throat. “So! What are we watching tonight?” you ask, trying to force the conversation forward before you completely unravel.

Spencer tilts his head slightly, still watching you with suspicion, but he lets it go.

“For our movie night? Or are you asking if we’re switching to a Star Trek episode lineup for some reason?”

You roll your eyes, grateful for the distraction. “Movie night, obviously.”

He hums, his lips quirking slightly. “I figured it was my turn to pick.”

You groan dramatically. “Ugh. If this is another silent foreign film that you claim is ‘captivating,’ I’m kicking you out before the pizza even gets here.”

Spencer smirks. “It’s not silent.”

You narrow your eyes. “But it is foreign.”

Spencer just shrugs.

You groan again, shaking your head. “Fine. But if I fall asleep, I’m blaming you.”

He grins, and for a moment, just a moment, everything feels normal again.

Except it’s not.

Because now you’re noticing everything. The way he’s smiling at you, like he genuinely likes looking at you. The way he’s still standing a little too close, the scent of cologne you’ve never noticed mixing with the faint smell of old books and coffee. Your heart is pounding, not from panic anymore but from something else.

And Rossi’s voice echoes in your head—You’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to push the thought away.

Spencer is still looking at you, waiting, expectant.

You clear your throat. “So… my place at seven?”

He nods. “Your place at seven.”

And with that, he walks away, leaving you gripping your desk, trying to convince yourself that your entire world hasn’t just shifted on its axis.

—

The knock at the door makes your stomach drop.

You weren’t expecting it. Not from him.

Spencer never knocks. Not anymore. Not when he’s been coming here for years, slipping inside without hesitation, using the key you gave him so long ago that neither of you even remembers when it stopped being your apartment and started feeling like his, too.

But tonight, he knocks.

And for a moment, you just stare at the door, pulse pounding in your ears, a strange, unsettling panic twisting in your chest.

Why?

Why would he knock?

Did something happen? Did you do something? Did he?

You scramble to your feet, nearly tripping over the corner of the rug in your rush to reach the door. Your hand hovers over the doorknob for half a second too long before you finally pull it open.

And there he is.

Standing in the dim glow of the hallway light, looking just as nervous as you feel.

He’s holding the pizza in both hands, gripping the box like it’s the only thing anchoring him. His lips are parted slightly as if he’s mid-thought, mid-explanation for why he’s standing here like a stranger instead of walking in like he always does.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is careful, deliberate. Like he’s testing the temperature of the air between you.

You swallow. “Why’d you knock?”

Spencer shifts, his fingers flexing against the cardboard. “I—” He exhales sharply, eyes flickering down for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wasn’t sure if I should just—if you wanted me to just come in.”

Your stomach twists. “You always just come in.”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I just—” He stops, swallows, tries again. Spencer takes a breath, shifting his grip on the pizza box. “Can I come in?”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the doorknob as you nod and step aside.

The warm glow of your living room wraps around Spencer like a familiar embrace. The scent of old books and candle wax lingers in the air, mingling with the rich aroma of fresh pizza. He’s holding the box carefully as if it were fragile or important. His fingers clutch the edges a little too tightly.

Something is different.

You feel it the moment he walks through the door, the way he hesitates on the threshold before closing it behind him. His usual easy presence is replaced with something unsure, something heavy that neither of you can quite name.

It’s never been awkward before.

But tonight, it is.

Maybe it’s the way he swallows before speaking or the way you feel hyper-aware of the space between you—space that’s usually nonexistent when you’re tangled up on the couch, watching whatever movie you finally agreed on after bickering for twenty minutes.

Maybe it’s the way his fingers brush against his wrist absentmindedly, rolling the hair tie between them, a habit you know means he’s feeling too much.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because something unspoken has been hanging in the air between you for a while now, something neither of you have dared to name.

Spencer sits down beside you, a little closer than usual but still not quite enough. His knee brushes against yours, and you don’t pull away. Neither does he.

“Movie?” you ask, trying to sound normal. Trying to push through the tension.

Spencer nods, but he doesn’t reach for the remote. Instead, he glances at you, searching your face, lips parting slightly like he wants to say something.

And for the first time in all the years of Friday pizza-and-movie nights, for the first time in all the comfortable silences and easy laughter, you think—

He might actually say what you’re both thinking.

But when Spencer finally does speak, it’s not what you expect. You blink at him, your brain short-circuiting.

"Do you want to watch 10 Things I Hate About You?"

It takes you a second to process the words because that is not what you were expecting.

For a moment, your grip tightens on the edge of the couch, your knuckles going white, and your heart still hammering from the sheer weight of what you thought he was about to say.

“What?” you finally spit out, voice higher than you’d like.

Spencer shifts awkwardly in his seat, clearing his throat as if he’s just realized how strange the moment is. “It’s… isn’t it your favorite rom-com?”

You stare at him. “Yeah… but I didn’t think you liked it.”

“I don’t dislike it,” he hedges, suddenly looking everywhere except at you. “And, statistically speaking, if we’re ranking romantic comedies based on their adherence to Shakespearean influence, it’s arguably one of the better adaptations of Taming of the Shrew—”

You cut him off with a squint. “You’re rambling.”

He presses his lips together, a nervous habit, his fingers twitching slightly. “Right. Sorry.”

The air between you feels charged, like an unsaid truth is pressing against the walls, threatening to break them down. But instead of confronting it and saying whatever it is that’s clearly sitting on the tip of his tongue, Spencer is talking about rom-coms.

You cross your arms, tilting your head. “Okay, but… why? Why that movie? Why now?”

His eyes flicker up to yours then, just for a second, and there’s something raw, vulnerable, and uncertain.

And then, before you can decipher it, he shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Your heart clenches painfully because God, he’s so Spencer. Always thinking of you, noticing the smallest details, and looking out for you even when you don’t expect it.

And yet… there’s still something unspoken lingering between you, something simmering beneath the surface, something that almost came out before he took a sharp left turn into the world of 10 Things I Hate About You.

“Do you want to watch?” Spencer asks again in that vulnerable tone, lifting the movie case from his bag.

You exhale, rubbing your hands on your pants to wipe off the nervous sweat. “Yeah,” you sigh.

Spencer nods, but it’s almost hesitant, almost like he wasn’t sure you’d say yes. He lingers for a second with the 10 Things I Hate About You DVD case in his hands, gripping it just as tightly as he had the pizza box moments ago.

You swallow, rubbing your palms against your pants again before reaching for the remote. “Uh, you can put it in.”

He moves toward the DVD player slowly, methodically, like he’s focusing on the action so he doesn’t have to focus on you. You watch him as he kneels down, sliding the disc into the tray, his fingers steady even though you know he isn’t.

The air between you is thick with something unspoken, a weight pressing on both of you, but neither of you acknowledges it. Instead, you wait as the movie boots up, the familiar menu music filling the quiet space between you.

Spencer hesitates before sitting, but it’s closer than usual when he does.

Not overly close—not close enough to make it obvious—but close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, close enough that his knee brushes yours again.

You pretend not to notice.

He pretends not to, either.

The movie starts, and for the first time, neither of you is watching it.

You’re too aware of him—the way he shifts slightly when you do, his fingers twitch against his knee like he’s trying not to reach out, and the way his breath catches ever so slightly when your arm brushes his.

Spencer doesn’t usually do this. He’s tactile when he’s overwhelmed, yes, but this? This is different. This is hesitation; this is awareness; this is something tiptoeing dangerously close to the edge of something neither of you has dared to touch before.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

So you try to focus on the movie, try to push through the nervous energy coiling in your stomach.

But then—

Then Spencer shifts, leans back against the couch, exhales softly—

And his arm drops, just slightly, around your shoulders.

Your heart stops.

You stare at the screen, unblinking, unsure if he even realizes what he’s done.

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

The room feels different now. Warmer, heavier, charged with something neither of you have spoken aloud. You can’t tell if it’s the candlelight flickering in the dim space or if it’s just him, just this, whatever this is, settling around you like a second skin.

Spencer’s arm—his arm—is resting along the back of the couch, not quite on you, but close enough that you can feel its weight, close enough that if you shifted even the slightest bit, it would be.

You try to focus on the movie. Try to act like nothing’s changed.

But your body betrays you.

Your shoulders stiffen at first, instinctively, not because you don’t want this—God, you do—but because you don’t understand it. Because Spencer Reid does not do things like this. He does not reach out in this way, not unless he’s overwhelmed, and even then, it’s different. This is intentional, isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

You inhale slowly, carefully, keeping your eyes trained on the screen as Kat Stratford delivers another sharp-witted insult. But you’re not really listening. You’re waiting. Waiting for Spencer to shift, realize what he’s done, pull back, laugh nervously, and pretend like nothing happened.

Except—

He doesn’t.

If anything, he seems more relaxed than before. His breathing is even, his body settling into the couch like he belongs there. Like you belong there.

And then, before you can stop yourself before you can overthink it like you always do, you shift. Just slightly. Just enough that your shoulder leans into his arm.

The movement is so small and insignificant that if it were anyone else, they wouldn’t notice. But this is Spencer. And Spencer notices everything.

You hear the sharp inhale of breath and feel the way his body tenses just for a moment—just long enough to make your pulse hammer against your ribs—before he exhales slowly, deliberately.

And then—

Then his fingers brush against your shoulder.

A whisper of a touch, hesitant, almost like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

So, he stays.

And for the rest of the movie, neither of you moves. Neither of you speak.

But everything, everything, has changed.

The credits roll. The music swells softly through the speakers. The dim glow of the screencasts flickering shadows across the room, but neither of you move.

Not even a little.

Your body is still pressed into his side, your shoulder tucked against him, his arm draped so loosely yet so deliberately around you that you can’t tell if it’s keeping you close or if it’s keeping him grounded.

Maybe both.

Maybe that’s what this has always been.

You don’t know how long you sit there, frozen in the moment. You don’t know if he’s thinking the same thing, if he’s waiting for you to speak, to move, to acknowledge that something unspoken has settled between you like a weighted silence.

But then—

“Y/N,” Spencer murmurs.

Just your name.

Soft. Almost careful.

You inhale sharply, blinking yourself back into the moment. Your head turns toward him slowly, cautiously, like moving too fast might shatter whatever fragile balance is hanging between you.

And then—

Spencer shocks you.

Because the second your eyes meet his, the moment your lips part in silent question—he leans in.

And he kisses you.

It’s not hesitant.

It’s not unsure.

It’s not like the Spencer Reid you thought you knew—the one who second-guesses, who overthinks, who analyzes every possibility before making a move.

No.

This is something else entirely.

This is Spencer moving without logic, without calculation, without fear.

This is Spencer wanting.

And for a split second, your brain short-circuits, unable to process what’s happening or understand how the man who had just spent two hours analyzing 10 Things I Hate About You is now kissing you like he means it.

But then—

Then you kiss him back.

And it’s over.

Whatever line had existed between you—whatever barrier had kept you from stepping over the edge—it's gone.

Spencer exhales against your lips like he’s been holding his breath for years. His fingers tighten against your shoulder, just slightly, pulling you in closer, pressing against you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go.

But you’re not going anywhere.

Not now.

Not after this.

—

Dating Spencer is like stepping into something timeless, warm, and constant. It’s not rushed or overwhelming. It’s not dramatic or chaotic. It’s just Spencer. And that, in itself, is everything.

He doesn’t love convention. He doesn’t do big grand gestures unless they mean something. But he does the little things, the things that matter. The things that show how deeply and irrevocably he feels for you.

Like reading to you before bed.

It starts without much thought, just a quiet habit that becomes part of your nights. You never ask him to do it, and he never makes a point of it, but it happens—night after night, in the soft, dark quiet of your bedroom when the world slows, and nothing exists but the warmth of his arms and the soothing rhythm of his voice.

Some nights, it’s The Picture of Dorian Gray or a few pages from Pride and Prejudice. Other nights, it’s something entirely different—a passage about an old poet, a historical retelling of an artist’s life, something obscure and worn, a book he’s read a hundred times before. It doesn’t matter. You don’t even remember the contents most nights.

What you remember is the sound of Spencer’s voice, the way it lulls you into a hazy, comfortable state within minutes. The way his fingers draw lazy circles on your arm as he reads, absentmindedly tracing patterns like he can’t not be touching you. The way his lips brush the top of your head in soft, feather-light kisses like he’s saying goodnight without ever actually stopping the words on the page.

You never make it past a few minutes.

That’s how long it takes for his voice to pull you under, for the warmth of his chest to turn into a lullaby, for his steady breathing and gentle presence to quiet every thought in your mind.

And Spencer?

Spencer never minds.

Even when you fall asleep on him mid-sentence, even when his voice trails off and he realizes you’re gone, lost to dreams, he just smiles to himself, presses one last kiss to your temple, and quietly closes the book.

Because he loves this.

Loves you.

Even if he hasn’t said it yet.

—

You knew Spencer was good with kids—he had an innate gentleness, a patience that most adults didn’t possess. You had seen him with Jack before, seen the way he could calm a crying toddler with a few soft words and a fascinating fact about dinosaurs. But this? Watching him take care of a baby?

This is a whole different level.

JJ and Will had been desperate for a night out—just a few hours, nothing crazy—and with Garcia tied up at some tech conference, JJ hesitantly asked you and Spencer to watch Henry. She had barely finished asking before Spencer nodded, assuring her that he had plenty of experience with child development and cognitive growth.

Now, an hour into babysitting, you sit on the couch in quiet awe as Spencer moves around the living room, cradling Henry against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Statistically speaking, infants exposed to language early on are more likely to develop higher literacy skills in adolescence," Spencer muses softly, bouncing Henry gently in his arms as the baby babbles against his sweater. "So even though you might not understand this now, Henry, I think you'd really enjoy learning about the Fibonacci sequence when you’re older."

You stare, biting your lip to contain the ridiculous grin threatening to take over your face. "Spencer, are you seriously lecturing a one-year-old on mathematical sequences?"

Spencer glances at you, unfazed. "He seems interested."

Henry lets out a delighted squeal, gripping a fistful of Spencer’s cardigan and yanking with surprising strength.

"Ah—Henry, no, that's my—" Spencer stops mid-sentence as Henry starts giggling, his tiny fingers still tangled in the fabric. Instead of pulling away, Spencer just sighs in resignation, adjusting his hold so Henry can comfortably rest his cheek against his shoulder.

And oh, no.

Your heart is gone.

Your ovaries? Destroyed.

Because Spencer—sweet, brilliant, slightly awkward Spencer—is standing there in JJ’s living room, holding a baby like he was made for it, rubbing gentle circles on Henry’s back as he hums absentmindedly.

And you are not okay.

"You’re good at this," you murmur before you can stop yourself, watching how he instinctively shifts to sway Henry slightly, lulling him between sleep and contentment.

Spencer shrugs, but there’s a soft pink dusting his cheeks. "It’s just… knowing how to respond to their needs. Babies need security and reassurance. If they feel safe, they thrive." He glances at you then, his voice quieter. "It's not complicated."

But it is.

Because suddenly, your brain is not thinking about just this night. It’s not just thinking about babysitting Henry. It’s thinking about Spencer as a father, Spencer with his own baby in his arms, rocking them just like this, whispering facts to lull them to sleep, pressing soft kisses to their tiny forehead.

And the thought wrecks you.

JJ has no idea what she’s done by asking you to babysit.

Because now?

Now, you are painfully aware that Spencer Reid would be the best dad in the world.

And you really need to go splash cold water on your face before you say something insane.

The drive is quiet at first, a comfortable kind of silence, filled only with the hum of the engine and the faint rustling of Spencer shifting beside you. The weight of the night still lingers, the softness of it, the warmth—Spencer holding Henry, the easy way he’d cared for him, the way it had done things to you that you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to name yet.

"Are you dropping me off," Spencer asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the stillness, "or am I coming over?"

Your hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel.

The question is simple. Straightforward. But there’s something deeper beneath it, something unspoken. Because this isn’t the first time Spencer has stayed over. But tonight, with the way you’re feeling, with the way you want him—really want him—the meaning feels different.

Your pulse picks up.

You don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know what you want, but because you do.

Because you want him to come over. Because you want him in your bed for more than just resting. Because you’ve wanted it for a while now, but neither of you have crossed that line yet.

And suddenly, it feels like Spencer knows exactly what you’re thinking.

He’s watching you, quiet, observant, his fingers resting lightly against his knee as he waits for your response. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry—he just waits.

You swallow, exhaling slowly before finally speaking. "Come over."

Spencer doesn’t say anything at first. But when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, his lips are pressed together, his fingers twitching slightly—nervous energy, anticipation, something else.

"Okay," he says finally, voice quiet but firm.

And that’s all.

You don’t talk for the rest of the drive.

But you feel everything.

The way his hand rests between you is so close to yours but not quite touching. The way your breaths sync up is slow but uneven, charged with something you both know is coming.

When you finally pull into your parking spot, turn off the car, and steal one last glance at him, Spencer doesn’t hesitate.

He just unbuckles his seatbelt, pushes open the door, and follows you inside.

Spencer follows without hesitation but doesn’t move past the doorway immediately. He lingers, standing just inside your apartment, watching as you set your keys down on the counter, as you exhale slowly, as you try to steady yourself against the weight of what this night is turning into.

You turn back to him then, and the sight of him standing there—hands tucked into his pockets, shifting slightly on his feet, looking at you like he’s trying so hard to figure out what happens next—makes your stomach flip.

He’s waiting for you.

Waiting for permission.

You take a step forward, closing some of the space between you. Spencer watches you carefully, his breath hitching just slightly, his fingers twitching where they rest at his sides.

Spencer nods. Swallows. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asks, “Are we just sleeping?”

The question hangs between you, thick with implication, and that’s when it happens—the shift from nervous anticipation to something else.

You step closer again, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that if either of you moved just slightly, you’d be touching.

And then, softly, hesitantly, you reach for his wrist, fingers brushing against the skin just above the hair tie he still wears, the one you gave him so long ago.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want to just sleep?”

Spencer’s breath catches. His eyes flicker to your lips, then back up again.

“No,” he murmurs. “Not really.”

And that’s all it takes.

Because suddenly, you’re kissing him.

Or maybe he kisses you—you don’t know who moves first, don’t care, because all that matters is the way his hands are suddenly on your waist, pulling you closer, the way his lips part against yours, slow and deep and wanting.

It’s different from the previous kisses you have shared. And as his hands slide up your back, as you press yourself into him like you’ve been waiting forever for this, as he exhales sharply against your mouth because he’s finally getting to have you—

You know neither of you will be getting much sleep tonight.

The first time you and Spencer had sex was nothing short of mind-blowing—at least for him.

You hadn’t known just how little experience he had until later when he mumbled something against your skin about only having done this once before, his voice laced with disbelief and something like awe.

But it wouldn't have changed anything even if you had known beforehand. It had started so slow, like neither of you wanted to rush like you were both trying to memorize each other in ways you hadn’t been able to before.

Spencer had been nervous at first—not clumsy, not hesitant in a way that made you think he didn’t want this, but careful, intentional, like he wanted to make sure he was doing everything right. Like he was terrified of messing up, of not being enough.

But God, was he more than enough.

Because once he got past the nerves, once he stopped thinking and started feeling—

It was everything.

He touched you like he was discovering something new like he was learning you in real time. His fingers mapped the soft curves of your body, memorizing the way your breath hitched when he kissed your neck and how you sighed when his hands gripped your waist.

And when you guided him, when you whispered what you liked against his lips when you told him exactly how to move—

That was when he really fell apart.

Because Spencer thrives on knowledge, learning, on understanding. And now, he was learning you—learning what made you shiver, what made you moan, what made you clutch at his shoulders and gasp his name in a way that sent a shudder through him so deep he thought he might break apart completely.

By the time you were actually together, when he finally slid inside you with a deep, shaky moan, his hands gripping your hips like you were the only thing keeping him grounded—he knew.

He knew he was ruined for anything else.

Because nothing—not the one experience he had before, not the books he had read, not the theories or statistics—could have ever prepared him for this.

For you.

And when he came undone, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and ragged, your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer—

It was the closest thing to heaven he had ever known.

You pulled Spencer on top of you without hesitation, letting his exhausted body flop onto yours, his full weight pressing you into the mattress in the best possible way. He didn’t resist or try to roll away or give you space—he just let himself be and melt into you like he belonged there.

You traced slow, lazy shapes on his bare, sweat-slicked back, feeling the way his breathing gradually evened out, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against yours in a steady rhythm. His damp curls tickled your skin where his face was buried against your neck, but you didn’t dare move. You liked having him close like this.

Then you felt it—Spencer taking a deep breath like he was about to say something important.

His voice was muffled, soft, still laced with lingering wonder as he exhaled against your skin.

“Did… was that good for you?”

You smiled at the ceiling, your fingers still tracing mindless patterns along his spine. He was too cute. Too him.

“It was amazing, Spencer.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but you felt him tense slightly, his arms tightening around your waist as he let out a small, almost sheepish exhale.

“I’m sorry it was over so quickly.”

You laughed, tilting your head so you could press a soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Spencer, you have nothing to apologize for.”

He huffed, shifting slightly so his face was visible again, his flushed cheeks still pressed against your skin. “But I—”

“Nope.” You cut him off before he could finish whatever self-deprecating thought was about to leave his mouth. “I loved it. And besides…” You trailed your fingers down his spine, feeling the shiver it sent through him. “Now that the nerves are out of the way, we’ve got all night to take our time.”

Spencer froze for half a second before lifting his head just enough to look at you properly, his eyes wide, dark, needy.

“All night?” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

You smirked, fingers tightening ever so slightly on his back. “Mmmhmm.”

And just like that—

Spencer wasn’t exhausted anymore.

The night stretched long and slow, turning into early morning, and in those quiet, intimate hours, you discovered things—things that made you grin, things that made Spencer writhe, things that neither of you had ever put words to before but suddenly felt so obvious now.

Like hickeys.

Spencer really liked hickeys.

You hadn’t meant to leave one, not at first. But the moment your lips latched onto the sensitive skin of his neck, the second your teeth scraped lightly against his pulse point, Spencer let out a sound that was almost embarrassing—a sharp, gasping whine that had his fingers digging into your waist, his hips bucking up against you without thought.

And just like that, you knew.

“You like that?” you murmured against his skin, already smirking, already marking another spot just below his jaw.

Spencer shivered violently, his breath stuttering, his grip on you tightening. “I—” He cut himself off with a choked noise, arching into you again.

Yeah. He definitely liked it.

And then there was the other discovery that made your entire night.

Spencer was a certified bottom.

He liked giving up control, liked you taking the lead, liked it when you moved on top of him, guiding him, making him fall apart underneath you.

And oh, he thrived in it.

Especially when your hands threaded into his hair, whispered things to him, and praised him in that sweet, teasing tone that made him whimper.

And God, the way his hands roamed when you were on top—

Which led to the third discovery of the night.

Spencer was a tits guy.

Sure, he loved all of you—he worshipped every inch of you with those big, eager hands, his lips, his tongue, taking his time, savoring you like he had all the time in the world.

But your boobs?

Those really got him going.

Maybe it was because of the angle, the way they bounced when you moved, or maybe it was the way they fit so perfectly in his hands, how he could squeeze, cup, and knead them just the way he liked.

Maybe it was the fact that he could bury his face in them, groaning as he nuzzled into your chest, leaving open-mouthed kisses against your skin, mumbling about how perfect you were, how soft, how he never wanted to stop.

And when you realized?

When you teased him about it?

He turned a deep shade of red, sputtering something about biological instincts and aesthetic appeal, but the second you rolled your hips and dragged his hands back to your chest, his words died completely.

“Oh my God,” he groaned, his head thudding back against the pillow, his fingers squeezing you almost desperately.

And yeah—

You really liked that discovery, too.

—

Spencer had barely stepped into the bullpen when Derek’s booming voice rang through the air like a damn foghorn.

"Pretty boy!"

Spencer flinched. He knew that tone. That taunting, giddy, Derek-is-about-to-ruin-your-life tone.

And then—before Spencer could so much as blink—Derek was grinning at him, full teeth, eyes sparkling with absolute mischief as he pointed directly at Spencer’s neck.

“Oh no,” Spencer mumbled under his breath, instinctively reaching up as if he could somehow erase the evidence.

But it was too late. Because Derek had seen it. The hickey.

The hickey.

The one you had left on him Saturday night. Or was it Sunday morning? Honestly, it didn’t even matter—what mattered was that he had forgotten to cover it up, and now? Now, Derek was never going to let him live this down.

“Damn, kid,” Derek laughed, sauntering over with the confidence of a man who lived for this kind of teasing. “So you are gettin’ some.”

Spencer groaned, his entire face going up in flames. “Derek—”

“Nah, nah, don’t even try to deny it,” Derek interrupted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “That is a grade-A hickey, man. I’m talkin’ official, stamped, certified ‘this man is gettin’ wrecked’ level.”

“Derek, please,” Spencer hissed, glancing around desperately as if he could somehow stop this from escalating.

Too bad the damage was already done. Because JJ and Penelope were already staring. And then laughing. Loudly.

“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, practically shrieking with delight. “Spencer! Look at you! Our boy is all grown up and getting marked up like a romance novel protagonist!”

“Okay, stop,” Spencer pleaded, feeling absolutely doomed.

JJ just smirked, sipping her coffee like this was the best entertainment she’d had in weeks. “So, how was your weekend?”

Spencer exhaled sharply, adjusting his bag on his shoulder and making a beeline for his desk, determined to escape. “I hate all of you.”

Derek just grinned, following after him with his arms crossed. “Nah, Pretty Boy, you love us. Just not as much as you love your girl—who, by the way, did some damage on you, man. She got territorial.”

Spencer slammed his forehead onto his desk with a loud thud. JJ and Penelope cackled. Derek patted him on the back like he had just won something. And Spencer?

Spencer knew damn well that this was never going away.

—

Spencer was always composed. Always Spencer. Polite, intelligent, articulate. The type of man who didn’t act impulsively, who thought through everything before making a move.

Except, apparently, when it came to you.

Because when it came to you, Spencer had no self-control.

And nowhere was that more apparent than tonight—right now—when he had you pressed up against the bar in the middle of a crowded room, his lips hot against your neck, his hands resting just a little too low on your waist, and his very obvious boner grinding against your ass.

This was not the Spencer the team knew. This was not the awkward, hesitant genius who stumbled over his words and overanalyzed his every move.

No, this Spencer was different.

This Spencer wanted you, and he didn’t care who saw.

This Spencer also happened to be a few glasses of champagne deep in his birthday celebration with the team.

“Spencer,” you hissed, gripping the edge of the bar for support as another firm roll of his hips had heat coiling low in your stomach.

He hummed against your neck, his lips still moving, still marking you in the same way he had been since he discovered how much he loved leaving hickeys on you.

“Hmm?” he murmured, voice low, dragging his tongue lightly over the fresh mark before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against it.

Your grip tightened on the bar. “We’re in public,” you reminded him, but your voice was breathy, weak, barely convincing.

Spencer chuckled—actually chuckled—against your skin, his fingers flexing against your hips. “And?”

And?

And?

You blinked, stunned by his sheer audacity, by the fact that Spencer Reid was grinding up against you in a public bar like he had every right to.

Like he owned you.

And maybe he did.

You hated to stop him. God, you hated it.

But Spencer was too drunk.

It wasn’t that he was wasted—Spencer didn’t drink often, and when he did, he rarely overindulged—but tonight, between rounds of celebratory drinks with the team and the way he had relaxed into your presence, he was just tipsy enough that his usual inhibitions were gone.

And normally, you wouldn’t mind. Normally, you’d love seeing him like this, out of his shell, more bold in his affections. But Spencer was intoxicated, and you were sober, and you refused—refused—to take advantage of that. 

So, with a deep breath, you gently pried his hands off your waist, turning around to face him fully.

“Spencer,” you murmured, voice soft but firm.

He blinked, slow and dazed, his lips swollen from where he had been so intent on marking you up. “Huh?”

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing against his flushed cheeks. “We need to get you home, okay?”

His brows furrowed. “But—”

“No ‘buts,’” you interrupted, kissing his cheek quickly before pulling away completely. “Come on, before Derek starts making bets about whether you’ll take shots with him.”

Spencer groaned, looking devastated—like a scolded puppy who had just been denied his favorite treat. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to pull you back, but even in his inebriated state, he listened.

With one last longing look at you, he sighed. “Fine.”

You smiled, taking his hand and leading him back to the group. The second you announced, “I’m taking Spencer home,” a chorus of hoots and hollers erupted from your friends.

Derek practically howled with laughter. “Damn, Pretty Boy, she’s gotta put you to bed already?”

“I hate all of you,” Spencer grumbled as Penelope cackled.

JJ smirked into her drink. “Don’t forget to hydrate him.”

“Oh, I will,” you assured her, rolling your eyes as you steered Spencer toward the door.

After a few more teasing remarks and one last dramatic wolf whistle from Derek, you managed to load Spencer into the passenger seat of your car.

As soon as you pulled out of the parking lot, you reached for the stereo and turned on classical music—something calming that would hopefully settle the restless energy still buzzing under Spencer’s skin.

And sure enough, within minutes, he was already melting into the seat, head lolling to the side as the soft notes of Debussy filled the quiet space.

You smiled to yourself, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

“Almost home, Spence,” you murmured.

He sighed deeply, squeezing back. “You’re the best,” he mumbled, voice slurred with exhaustion.

The rest of the night had been easy enough—getting Spencer home, guiding his sleepy, clingy self into bed, listening to him mumble drunken nonsense as you pulled the covers over him. He had curled around you the second you lay down beside him, burying his face in your neck, sighing deeply as if you were the cure to whatever hangover awaited him in the morning.

Before you had drifted off, you had set up a glass of water and some painkillers on his bedside table, making sure everything he needed would be right there when he woke up.

Now, in the golden light of morning, you were sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, reading while Spencer slowly resurfaced from his alcohol-induced slumber.

He stirred first, shifting slightly under the sheets, letting out a sleepy little grunt before blinking blearily up at you.

For a moment, he just stared.

His hair was a complete mess, curls sticking up in every direction, and his face was still warm and soft from sleep. His lips parted slightly, his eyes unfocused as he tried to piece together where he was, why he felt like this, and why the hell you looked so perfectly content beside him while he felt like his brain was swimming in molasses.

“…Morning,” he croaked, voice raw from sleep.

You glanced down at him, smiling over the top of your book. “Morning, baby.”

He blinked slowly, still processing. Then, realization dawned—the bar, the teasing, you dragging him home like an overgrown toddler.

He groaned, flopping onto his back and throwing an arm over his face. “I was drunk.”

You laughed softly, closing your book and setting it aside. “Yep.”

He peeked out from under his arm, his lips twitching slightly. “Did I…?”

“You were very affectionate in public,” you teased, shifting to face him. “Like, very affectionate.”

Spencer made a noise between a groan and a laugh, rubbing his face. “Derek’s never going to let me live this down, is he?”

“I didn’t let anybody see, Spence.”

He sighed dramatically before turning his head to look at you again, his expression softening. His eyes flickered to the bedside table, taking in the water and painkillers, the small gesture that made something warm and fond settle in his chest.

“You took care of me,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Of course I did.”

Spencer didn’t say anything momentarily, just looking at you like he was trying to memorize you in the morning light. Then, without warning, he reached for you, pulling you down into his arms, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I love you,” he mumbled against your skin, voice still thick with sleep.

Your heart stopped.

Completely.

Frozen in time, in this moment, in him.

Spencer had said it. So casually, so effortlessly, like it had always been there, sitting just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to slip out. Like it wasn’t something earth-shattering, something that made your breath catch and your entire world tilt.

You barely breathed as you whispered, "You love me?"

You felt his lips curve slightly against your skin—soft, sleepy, so sure.

"I love you," he repeated, voice muffled but certain, like it wasn’t even a question in his mind. Like it never had been.

The warmth of his words settled over you, seeping into every inch of your skin, curling around your heart like the softest, safest thing you’d ever known.

Suddenly, you were moving, pulling back just enough to cup his face in your hands and tilt his head so that his eyes met yours—still drowsy, still heavy with sleep, but so incredibly full. You smiled, soft and disbelieving like you couldn’t believe you had gotten this lucky. Like you couldn’t believe he was yours.

"I love you, too."

Spencer blinked, like it was his turn to freeze like his still-sleepy brain was trying to process that you had said it back. Then he smiled—wide and beautiful, the kind of smile that made his dimples show, the kind of smile that made your chest ache in the best possible way.

And without another word, he kissed you.

Slow, deep, certain.

Like he had just decided—right here, right now—that he was never letting you go.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[lemon-slushie]

YAYY REDESIGNS idk what happened to gingerbrave on the bottom lol

But yay new age ancient redesigns

Rough draft story undercut

Warning it is not great!! 😭 I’m not a writer and it probably has crazy plot holes and is lacking in places but I just wanted to get the idea down

The ancients have temporarily beat the beasts and sealed them away but they all know that they are still extremely powerful and won’t stay gone long, especially with the help of dark enchantress. Though the beasts are sealed away they are now awake and still have their powers, which is seeping from their prisons and attempting to effect the soul jams from the inside, which could cause the ancients decent into insanity like the beasts. All of the ancients know this is an extremely dire issue and can only ward off the beasts for so long.

After a lot of contemplation Pure vanilla figures there is only one option. They must remove the soul jams, giving them to someone else, and hiding them away in an old secluded area while they devise a plan. The ancients are some of the only people who can find a way to beat the beasts but if they are plagued by infected soul jams it could cause the beasts to take over and send the world into chaos. Giving the soul jams to another person is inhumane but if they removed them and left them unattended it could be more risky, if the soul jams are attached to another person it could also allow the ancients to see and study the changes of the person if the beasts do manage to start infecting the soul jams. Though if the soul jams do get infected this too could be dangerous. Pure vanilla recognizes this and creates 5 coffins similar to the one white lily was kept in, this would keep the replacements asleep and trapped. This would cause the infection to slow down and prevent the replacements from acting out or doing anything.

Pure vanilla feels guilty for whoever the replacements will be but ultimately decides there is no other way, if him and the other ancients are gone everything would be doomed. After finding a hidden spot far from any kingdoms and leads to where they could be, Pure vanilla needs help to prepare the coffins. He goes to white lily for help and explains the plan, she thinks for a moment but ultimately agrees with pure vanilla and helps him with the preparation. Together they call for a meeting with the other ancients at his castle. He explains the plan to them and hollyberry and dark cacao are the most against it, believing it to be cruel and unfair. Golden Cheese, though a bit hesitant, agree with pure vanilla as she cannot bare the thought of what’s left of her kingdom getting turned to ruins again and helps to persuade a reluctant hollyberry and cacao into agreeing.

They discuss who the soul jams should go to, believing it must go to someone trustworthy and understanding. Pure vanilla chooses clotted cream, as he believes clotted cream proved himself worthy during the odyssey. Dark cacao decides on dark choco, he feels incredibly guilty at the thought of seeking him away but rationalizes it with telling himself that dark choco would understand and could use it to prove himself as a true hero for helping against a great evil. Hollyberry considered pitaya but consider them to be too strong of an ally to seel away. Eventually she decides on her granddaughter, Princess. Princess is courageous and strong and hollyberry thinks she too would understand the weight of the situation the best. Golden cheese picks black raisin, as she connected with her deeply about loss and pushing foward after they dragged her out of the digital world, Golden believes black raisins selflessness would help her be understanding of why she must risk sacrificing herself. Finally, white lily decides on gingerbrave. All the other ancients are put off on her choosing a young kid but she truly believes that gingerbrave is one of the only people who can truly understand the light of freedom and is willing to do anything for his friends. (Also he’s the main character and always has to be involved)

After deciding on their replacements Pure vanilla calls them all to his castle for various different mundane reason as too not stire anything up and will explain to them why they are there after they have arrived. Once there pure vanilla will give them the “true” reason they were called there. (Dark choco has to be found and personal brought in by dark cacao cuz he’s currently living off the grid in the dark cacao forest, this will lead to developments in their relationship as their first encounter is awkward but heartfelt). He will explain that they were called to become the new ancients, as they have all long outgrown their positions and it is time for someone new to step up. The other ancients deeply disagreed with pure vanilla lying to the others but he stood firm on the decision, he feared if he was truthful they would reject and word would spread and send people into hysteria as the regular people who knew about the beasts are currently under the assumption they have been seeped away for good. After a while of convincing they all agree as they believe there is truly no other way.

The replacements arrive and gladly join Pure vanilla and the others in the meeting room. A few others have also come to the vanilla kingdom this being, financier to guard clotted cream as she always does, madeleine as he saw the two leaving and after questioning them decided to tag along (much to their dismay) to visit espresso, and wildberry to accompany Princess and also check in on Hollyberry as she’s been very hush hush and he feels something is going on behind the scenes. This is a bit inconvenient to the ancients as they can’t have any possible leads to what is happening but they decide they will just have to tag along on the mission as they can’t have them leaving, this also applies to current vanilla kingdom residents (espresso, strawberry crepe, and the raisin villagers). There can be no trace of the ancients or anyone involved, they must stay hidden as much as possible to avoid any attacks.

Pure vanillas gives them the lie and after a bit of shock and questioning they agree as it is a great honor. All except dark choco, he’s extremely hesitant and expresses that he is in no way fit for the soul jam after all that he’s done. Dark cacao disagrees with him after the vision he had with mystic flour and hearing about how he had help the milk village from the flour plague. He assures dark choco that he whole heartedly believes he has finally found himself and is truly ready for the role and will make a great leader. Dark Choco hesitates once more but with the encouragement of his father he agrees. Black raisin feels a bit nervous about the responsibility but completely trusts pure vanilla after all that they’ve been through and thinks it’ll be a great way to give back to him and care for her villagers. Princess is excited and proud to take after hollyberry and go on grand adventures as she did. Gingerbrave too feels nervous but is excited to help and become as great as the other ancients, he also believes this could help defeat dark enchantress, though since he’s a child he doesn’t completely understand the weight and reap of it all so he’s more excited than nervous. They remove the soul jams and hand them over, all of the soul jams connect to the new person except for one, clotted cream. The light of truth refuses to connect with clotted cream, the soul jam speaks to pure vanilla, refusing to go as it believes clotted cream will use the soul jam for personal benefits instead of a greater cause (like he planned to do in the odyssey as he clearly values his own republic more than anything). This does not sit well with the soul jam and it refuses clotted cream. This leads to an awkward stand still as Pure vanilla did not expect this and is unsure what to do. Clotted cream is extremely disappointed and embarrassed but comes up with a solution, offering up madeleine to use. Madeleine is high status in the republic but still under clotted cream and listens to his say, if madeleine wields the soul jam then it still gives clotted cream room to worm his way in and attempt to persuade madeleine in using it for the advancement of the republic. Pure vanilla agrees as he doesn’t have much of an option and madeleine is called in. The situation is explained and madeleine quickly declines, much to the surprise of clotted and financier. Madeleine comes up with a half assed explanation that his family is a generation of knight commanders and he can’t bring himself to break it. Though truthfully he doesn’t believe he could handle a role, he’s very full of himself but this is a front as is seen multiple times he’s very insecure and can be unsure of himself. Pure vanilla, getting a bit frustrated with the sudden change in plans continues to tell Madeleine that this is for the greater good along with clotted cream pressing him about how much this could help the republic to be better. Madeleine gives under the pressure and agrees. The soul jam connects with him (because he has crazy light blessing and doesn’t monopolize off of other people’s works) and they all get super cool transformations to awesome outfits and accessories (like when pure vanilla and hollyberry reconnected with their soul jams in story).

Pure vanilla then explains that they all must leave to “begin training and teaching the replacements how to harness and use the magic of the soul jams” but it’s a ploy to lead them far away from everything where they will be hidden away. He also makes up some excuse as to why even the people without soul jams must attend as the training and powers will also be useful for them to know once they return to their homes so they can help the new ancients if an attack occurs (they will not be returning home)

Once they all arrive to the hidden area (idfk know where it is there’s not really any abandoned places we know about so it’s gotta be unspecified unfortunately) the ancients begin training the replacements as they do not need to be seeker away immediately due to no effects from the beasts yet. Though the training is short and vague as the ancients spend most times trying to figure out how to defeat the beasts. The training though only tends to make the ancients feel worse as they connect with their replacements. This is particularly hard on dark cacao as he finally reconnects with his son and feels as if he’s making up for lost time but he constantly has a lump in his throat as the guilt eats at him for what he’s done and will have to do. This feeling only gets worse for dark cacao as dark choco begins opening up to him more. The replacements seem to be mostly adjusting well with some occasional anxiety of the new responsibility, particularly in madeleine who is struggling most with fear of failure and stains on his image along with clotted constantly in his ear about how important this all is for the republic putting more stress on him. Watching the training and seeing the replacements befriending each-other and trusting the ancients so greatly truly breaks his heart but he stays strong, constantly telling himself they’d understand if they knew. Black raisin is the one who quickly notices the odd shift in the ancients behavior, and while she becomes skeptical she tries to have faith in pure vanilla but she can’t shake a bad feeling. Princess is mostly happy to be spending time with her grandma and hear of all her adventures she had missed. And ginger brave is also there doing the main character stuff he does you know how it is.

Eventually the ancients notice the replacements begin to complain of feeling odd and random changes in behavior which means it’s time for them to go. They bring them to the coffins and it’s a disaster, the replacements are obviously horrified and deeply hurt causing them to act out more and panic which leads to them fighting back against the ancients. Along with family angst and betrayal and what not, but they haven’t fully gotten used to their power and lose to the ancients and are put away to sleep for whoever knows how long.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

Note: I asked about husbands and all your hoes said Bucky (with a few Sy’s in the middle). I wasn’t intending on a whole series but I thnk it would be fun to have husband!Bucky turn a bit desperate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The desolation lingers, even with Bucky's return. You shuffle down the hall to your office and set your bag on your desk. He fills the doorway as he watches you unpack your tablet and place it on its tripod.

"Some homecoming," he growls.

You look up, eyebrows rising, unready for his confrontation. As unprepared as you are for him to be there. You're so used to being alone. He feels like a stranger.

"I'm sorry, Bucky, the issue is due at the editor tonight. And Janine sent me the draft ages ago," you avert your eyes guiltily. "It should be too much longer..."

"She sent it a while ago. Meaning, you're the one who slacked," he sniffs.

You nod and sit, "sorry. I messed up. Again."

You swivel to face the tablet and take the pen off the side. You unlock it and pinch with your fingers to zoom. He clucks and marches off as you struggle not to show your discomfort.

You lean in and focus on the work. It's so natural to you, it's soothing. To know exactly what you're doing. Not like this. Not like living. Not like marriage.

He comes back through the open door and smacks his hand down on the desk. You reel back with the pen in hand as he uncovers your rings, leaving them next to your monitor. You glance at him, "thanks. I... thanks."

Your lips twitch and your cheek ticks. You can't stop moving your mouth. That old nervous habit is back.

"Oh, and these might help," he sets down your glasses next to the rings. "Probably more important to you."

You hesitate and take the rings first. You slip them on and admire the shine. The teardrop is just as sparkling as the day he gave it to you. You reach for your glasses and he catches your hand.

"I didn't want to go," he says. "So I'd appreciate if you stop acting like I abandoned you."

You shake your head and shrug. "I don't think that--"

"I saw the Kelly's bag on the counter," he scoffs. "The soda cup next to the bed..."

"I've been busy. I forgot to tidy up."

"And cook," he challenges.

You wiggle free of him. Because he lets you. He could easily keep you in his grasp. He rescinds his hand and exhales heavily.

"Yep," you put your glasses on and turn back to your tablet, overly aware of how much room your ass takes up in that chair. "I'll cook tonight. I have a steak for you."

He clicks his tongue, "I'm concerned, not a tyrant."

"I know, Buck, alright? I'm sorry, I have a lot going on--"

"You do, yeah. Me too," he crosses his arms. "Like spending a month away from my wife. Getting my head knocked half-off. Sleeping on concrete--"

You drop the pen. You can stay up. You had that coffee, it will help.

"I better marinate that steak, make sure that flavour sticks," you move out from behind the desk. He moves to meet you, blocking you.

"I don't want you to fucking act like some trapped housewife. You haven't even kissed me," he sneers.

Your heart drops. You hadn't even thought of it. You look at his belt. It's as if he plunged that knife there between your ribs.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?" You flutter your fingers nervously. "Oh, I..." your lips slant back and forth.

"What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?" He shakes his head. 

"Please, I..." you step closer and reach for him, "I'll give you a kiss--"

He stops you by your shoulders and moves you away from him. It's like he's slapped you. He puts you at arms' length. He grits his teeth as his nostrils flare.

"Kiss me because you want to," he shoves you just a little. "I'll order a fucking cheeseburger. Finish your work." He pokes his tongue in his cheek and spins away. "You don't need to let anyone else down."

He stomps out and you stagger, leaning on the desk to steady yourself. What the hell? You tried. You did. Didn't you?

You swallow and blow out a long, dry breath. You close your eyes and gather up what's left of your strength. You sit and stare at the tablet. The pen sits in front of the stand. You should cry. You want to. Your eyes are barren. Nothing.

You grab the pen and roll close. You focus on the line work for the next panel. You have to stop and ease the tremble in your hand. Your frustration mounts as you can't keep the pixels from wobbling.

You hear a soft thump. You sit up and look toward the door. You hear the clatter of something else. More things tossed around. You get up and leave the pen behind.

You step into the open door and listen. He's upstairs. You go up, a step at a time, following the noise with baited breath. He's in the bedroom.

As you peer inside, he's pillaging your top drawer. He grips your vibrator and gnashes his teeth. It crunches in hand before he hurls it away. Your books are on the floor before the bookshelf, your nightstand is on its side. He continues to tear apart your things.

"Bucky, what are you doing?" You near him and touch his arm.

"Looking for evidence," he opens your jewelry box and spins the hooks that hold your necklaces.

"Evidence? Of what?"

"Him."

"Him?" You echo in confusion.

"The other guy."

"Other... Bucky? How can you say that?"

"There has to be someone else," he grabs the jewelry box and flings it with a crash. He turns to face you. "You're icing me out."

"I'm not. Bucky, I-- I--" You can't find a single fucking drop of moisture in your head. It stings for him to accuse you and yet it's all locked inside you. "I waited for you. I've been waiting. And I would never-- How could you even think--" You stammer through your anger and hurt. "You-- I thought you knew me."

"I thought I fucking did too," he snorts.

He sidesteps you and you turn to watch him storm out. You step on a book and hear the spine break. You look down as his footfalls hammer downstairs. You bend and pick up the journal you forgot. The one with all the postcards he used to send you while on missions. You thought it was cute back then how old-fashioned he was. He hated texting, but he sent you these cards he found in local shops. They just feel like reminders of what you've lost. It's gone, isn't it?

[band--psycho]

Ambessa x Fem!Reader - Jealousy And Teasing

Been a while - I'm working on current requests but will happily take more if people have any ideas they want me to write!

In the meantime, I'll be posting some other stories, like this one that have been in my drafts!

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Thank you all for the continued support!💛

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Ambessa Masterlist / Arcane Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Warnings: 18+, teasing

You loved Ambessa, but she was insufferable when she was like this. 

Showing off.

Trying to prove a point, aggravating her daughter….and you in the process.

The man she’d hired to show her Piltover, was now here, during what should have been your private time with one another. 

And to make matters even worse, he was massaging her shoulders with a sickly smirk on his face. 

You hated it.

 Hated watching his hands on her.

 Hated being sat to the side of her, completely naked.

And more to the point, you hated being ignored, especially by Ambessa. 

She’d insisted you were here, but now you wished you’d just said no and stayed at home.

Of course you would miss her. 

But it was better missing her when she wasn’t there, compared to missing her when she was with you. 

You just wanted to ask her toy to leave, but you knew that unless Ambessa said it, he would pay no attention to you. 

A flannel was covering her eyes; and in your mind you believed that you could just grab your towel that had been discarded on the floor next to the bath, and leave. 

Ambessa would hear the sound of the water moving, but that didn’t mean that you were leaving. 

You just had to be quick enough to make it to the door without her noticing.

So with that thought in mind, you carefully rose from the warm water that had been engulfing you, you checked to see if you’d been heard but Ambessa didn’t seem to bothered, she still sat, leaning against the wall of the bath, her eyes still covered. 

You grabbed your towel and wrapped it around your wet body, before stepping onto one of the steps outside the bath. 

The towel wasn’t super long, but it was long enough to cover all of your intimate areas. 

You thought you’d gotten away with it.

That was until you heard Ambessa voice,“I don’t remember saying you could leave.”

The audacity of this woman. 

“That’s because I didn’t ask,” you retorted, before your mind could process your response.

You didn’t sass Ambessa often, if ever, you certainly hadn’t in a long time but you were so irritated today, you couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. 

“Leave us,” she ordered her guards, and the man that stood behind her. 

You could see the confusion in his eyes, but he didn’t dare to disobey her orders, few did, so he followed the guards out of the room. 

Leaving you alone with Ambessa. 

“You seem frustrated, my love,” she began, stepping out of the water and moving towards you, only stopping when she was directly infront of you. 

“You’ve only just noticed?” You quipped back, knowing that all of these sarcastic responses probably weren’t the smartest move, but you couldn’t help it. 

You’d been calm and collected all day, despite your frustration. 

Now there was no need to pretend, no façade to put on, you could be as pissed with Ambessa as you wanted to be. 

And you cared little for the consequences of your words. 

Though you did have to admit; it was hard to be mad at her when she was standing in front of you with nothing on…your mind couldn’t help but wander, to what you’d been so desperately needing all day. 

To the world, the lady standing in front of you was a highly decorated general, a formidable and brave warrior; to you though, she was Ambessa, the woman you loved.

“I noticed a while ago, I thought a bath would help you relax,” she stated softly, her large hands delicately touching your forearms; her thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your damp skin. 

“Not with your new toy present,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the surge of pleasure that rushed to your core from her touch. 

Why? Why did she have to make it so hard to be mad at her? 

Why was just the smallest of touches enough to arouse you so much? 

It was maddening. 

She was maddening.

“Oh so that’s what this about,” she drawled as the realization dawned upon her, making a small smirk grow on her lips, “You’re jealous.”

Jealous? 

Seriously?

Why would you be jealous? Who would you be jealous of?

You weren’t jealous. 

“I’m not jealous, I just don’t like being ignored,” you defended, your words coming out harshly, not that Ambessa seemed to mind all that much, and if she did, she didn’t let on that she was annoyed. 

“And is that what you feel I’ve been doing? Ignoring you?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation, meeting her eyes, noticing the glint of mischief in them instantly. 

“Well,” she started, moving one of her hands just above your breasts to where you’d tucked the towel around your body. Her eyes lingered on your for a moment before untucking it and allowing it to fall into the floor,  “Perhaps I should remedy that for you,”

The rush of cool air hit your bare skin, you wanted to complain but you couldn’t. Not with Ambessas lips kissing you so fiercely, and her hands touching all over your body, except for where you most desperately craved her. 

Too quickly the thoughts escaped from your mind and all you could focus on or think about, was her. 

“‘Bessa-” you squirmed, feeling her chuckle against your lips. 

“There she is,” she muttered triumphantly against your lips, one hand traveling up the back of your neck, holding you in place, while the other stroked teasingly down your side, “All this attitude, just because you’re just jealous and needy,”

“I’m not needy,” you argued back between breathy moans as her lips trailed from your lips to the nape of your neck.

“Ah so you admit you’re jealous,” she questioned, nibbling on your neck as one of her hands reached down to your soaking pussy. 

You wanted her to touch you.

Needed her to touch you. 

“Just admit it and I’ll give you what you want,” she whispered alluringly in your ear. 

You weren’t jealous. 

You knew you weren’t. 

But if that’s what you needed to say to get Ambessa to touch you… 

“Fine, I admit it,” you muttered. 

Ambessa chuckled again; pulling away from you slightly; the sudden loss of her warmth on your body drawing a small whimper from your lips. 

“No no, my love, I need to hear you say it.”

“Bessa-” you whined, not wanting to say those words. 

Not wanting to admit defeat. 

“Say those words; or I won’t touch you for the rest of the night.” 

You knew Ambessa well enough to know that those words were no idle threat; they were a promise. And despite the fact that you didn’t want to say it; you were so desperate for her touch that the thought of not having it for the rest of the night made your pride falter. 

“I was jealous,” you admitted; waiting for her touch, but her body didn’t move. 

“Again,” she ordered and so you repeated the words you’d begrudgingly said mere moments ago. 

A triumphant smirk graced Ambessas lips as she moved closer to you; her lips inches away from yours once again. 

“Say it again,” 

“I was jea-lous-” 

You felt Ambessa’s finger tap on your clit as the words left your mouth; making the words you were saying morph into a moan. 

“Good girl,” she praised in your ear, moving her finger from your sensitive clit to your dripping hole. 

Her praise and the sudden rush of pleasure that she was bringing you, made you want to cum right then and there and you were so close to; that was until Ambessa pulled her finger away from you. 

“You didn’t think you were going to get to cum that easily did you, my love,” she questioned, her teasing tone making you instantly regret the attitude you’d previously given her. 

This was how she was going to make you pay for it. 

By teasing the fuck out of you. 

And as much as you hated it….you also loved it.

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @barbersjoy @conretewings @wockillz @eternallyvenus @eternalgoddessofart @marimaris-stuff @iamagodyoudullcreature1 @paranormal-is-my-life @trixiex2 @just-levyy @itsmekalou @the-lone-librarian @fortune-fool02 @dazecrea @ecao @euriiverse

[hellsquills]

Disclaimer: I know about the duffle bag Filbrick threw at him, but you can ignore that if you want

My thoughts below the cut! (this turned into a whole ass fic lmao)

Edit: timeline here!!

My personal headcanon is that Filbrick is as much of a coward as he is of an asshole. Therefore, he wouldn't have kicked Stan when he did in canon. Probably not for a while after that.

However, he does try to send him to military school. He keeps talking about how this kid needs to learn discipline and respect, and if he's not gonna bring money to the house, then he should at least bring some honor to his family.

Stan obviously does NOT want to go. Not only because it's a pointless war ("what've the vietnamese done to us anyways?") but because he remembers his mother's face when Shermie got drafted and he will NOT make her go through that hell again. Also, he doesn't wanna die!!!! Hello?????

He talks it out over the phone with Ford, who's obviously just as against it as he is. He tells Stan that, if he gets into a PhD program, he could skip military. Stan laughs in his face. It'd be easier to jump off the plane without a parachute.

And so, he comes up with a plan. When he goes to take his physical, he tries his best to botch it. If he is bad enough, if it looks like he can't do it, maybe he won't have to. Unfortunately, the recruiters are far too used to this by now, and they don't buy it. Stan goes home with a recruitment letter hidden in his jacket.

Everything goes downhill after that. He runs away from home, changes his name several times, does some crime here and there... The military is after him, and it doesn't take rejection kindly.

Stan stays out of contact with his family for a few years. He can't risk getting them involved in this mess. They don't deserve it. So he just leaves, without saying a word, in the middle of the night. No phone calls, no notes, nothing. Not even he knows where he's going. But if it just looks like he abandoned them, maybe they'll hate him. That will make them sound more believable with the police. They aren't covering for him, because they genuinely have no idea where he is. It's the best way to keep them safe.

In that time, Ford doesn't stop looking for him. He finds him every once in a while, but only his phone number, and he knows that could give away his brother's location and get the family in trouble. So, against his deepest instincts, he doesn't call.

One, three, five, seven years pass. Stan has been around almost all the country, and is genuinely considering leaving it. Maybe going to Mexico, or Colombia. Those sound nice. Maybe they'll be nicer to him.

He's passing his time and thinking about this in a small town restaurant in wherever he's in (somewhere he's not banned from, yet), when a family enters. He doesn't make eye contact, but he can't help but stare at them: a man and a woman, probably in their 50s, with 7 kids; one must be older than him, the second one around his age, the third one a little younger, the fourth one a teenager, and the last three between 10 and 15, no more. Except for the last three, they're all taller than him, even the mother, and they have various degrees of blond hair. Their clothes (overalls and plastic boots) suggest they must work in one of the farms he's seen around the state. They don't wear any accessories, except for the glasses that the father and four of the kids have. They're talking loudly and laughing. They look exhausted from a morning of hard work. They seem happy. They... look nothing like his family, and yet, he can't help but think about it.

He can't help the sob that comes to his throat. It's loud and messy from trying to suppress it, which obviously makes it worse. He covers his mouth immediately, and at that point he notices the tears that have run down his cheeks. "Great", he thinks, "that will make it easier to hide, for sure".

He doesn't move. He wants to escape, but that will draw even more attention to him, and he hasn't even paid for the food yet (normally he'd leave without paying, but the old waitress was kind enough to give him some extra food when she saw how little he ordered). He settles for not moving, lowering his head and covering his face, hoping that no one heard (unlikely) or cared (very likely).

"Ya'lright, son?"

The voice startles him. I wasn't very deep, but it was close enough to send his body into immediate danger mode. He looks up at the man towering over him, who's standing in front of him at a prudential distance.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, no worries."

He hates how broken his voice sounds. He's spent more than enough time sweet-talking his way out of trouble, he should be better at this by now. The man looks about as convinced by it as he is himself.

" 'lright then. Can I help ya?"

Damn villagers and their welcoming demeanor. If he wasn't a wanted man, he would appreciate it. But right now, it couldn't be worse timing.

"Come get ya food, kids!" The waitress' yell yanks him out of his thoughts.

"No", he blurts out, and he turns to the man. Least he can do is show him some respect and look him in the eyes. "I'm fine, thank you."

The man smiles lightly and nods. "Okay. Welcome to the town."

Stan watches as the man goes back to his table. He wishes he had been more polite, the guy was just worrying about him, but he can't afford it. They already know his face, he can't risk anyone else recognizing him-

"Sweet Mother of God almighty."

Stan turns to his right. One of the kids, the one about his age, is looking at him like he just grew a second head. He's frozen in place, his eyes wide as plates behind thick glasses. He doesn't say a word, and it's getting increasingly unnerving. Was the bruising on his face still visible? Maybe it's more apparent in broad daylight than in the shitty light that last motel had in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry, I- Can I ask your name?"

The fuck?

"No", answers Stan. Considering how nice his dad was, this guy is pretty rude.

"Son, leave him alone." The mother seems to have manners too, good to know.

The guy does pretty much the opposite. He comes closer to him, until he's right in his path, blocking his exit. That can't be good. Stan feels trapped.

"Are you Stanley Pines?"

Well, that's about it.

Stan tries his best to stay still. This guy doesn't look like a cop, not even an undercover one. But he knows his real name, so maybe someone in his family or friends works in the police; or worse, in the military.

"Listen man, I don't know who you're talking about, but that isn't my name. See?" He reaches for his wallet. He pulls out an ID, with a very clear Jackson Cage on it. He makes a mental note to change it soon, just in case his hunch is right and this guy has connections. "Now, if you excuse me, I'd like to pay for my food and leave. Move."

Stan is already on his feet, but the guy hasn't moved. Stan looks him up and down, trying to appear threatening despite his face probably still being a little red from before. He also gauges how feasible it'd be to escape if things turned bad; the dude is taller than him, sure, but he's also as thin as a toothpick, and by the anxious look on his face, he doesn't seem eager for a fight. The real problem would be evading the restaurant's staff and the other costumers, which include eight carbon copies of the guy in front of him. Probably better to try to de-escalate the situation.

"I- I can't let you leave. Please. I know who you are."

This man is making it really difficult to believe he's not a cop.

"No, you don't. I'm new in town. Move."

"Listen, I-"

"Move out of my way."

"I know your brother."

The words are like a bullet between his eyebrows.

"You look just like him-"

Against his better judgement, he quickly grabs he guy and pins him to the wood in between the booth benches, arm to his throat. If he knows Ford, he knows too much. God he just wanted to have lunch.

The commotion is immediate. He doesn't break eye contact with the guy who's grabbing his arm, whose strength is frankly surprising. He can hear, however, the screams from the dad and the siblings, as well as a couple of gasps from the other costumers. This is not going to go well, but fuck that. He's escaped worse.

"Stop!", the guy shouts as he keeps Stan's forearm from blocking his airway. "Don't hurt him! Don't get closer!"

It takes Stan a second to process what he said. The first part, sure, who wouldn't shout 'stop' when you're being attacked? But the second half doesn't make sense. Is he protecting him? The attacker?

Whatever it is, it works. The family stops in their tracks, still very ready to attack if needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the three younger kids moving closer to their mother. For a split second, he feels a pang of remorse for the scene he just caused.

"Hang up the phone, Clarisse, it's okay. Please."

Stan looks in the direction the guy was talking to. Right behind him, the waitress reluctantly puts the phone down.

He looks back at the guy. He looks a little shaken up, probably from the impact his back (and his head?) made with the wooden plank, but he doesn't look scared. He almost looks... sympathetic? Stan is confused as hell.

"I know who you are", the guy whispers, low enough for Stan to hear alone. "You're Stanley Pines, and you have a brother named Stanford. I know him, okay? He's my friend. I met him a few years ago in a quantum physics congress and we've been talking ever since. He told me about his family in New Jersey, and about you. About how he hasn't seen you in years, and how he was trying to find you, to no avail."

Stan is gradually loosening his grip on the guy's neck, who takes a deep breath. He should know better, but- shit, hearing that Ford was looking for him was not what he expected. Even if he doesn't know yet if this guy is lying out of his ass, it's enough to make him doubt.

"I know you were called to Vietnam. He told me. I spent a week with him in his place when he found out, he was unconsollable. When you ran away, he called me. He knew what it meant for you and he thought he'd never see you again, whether you got caught or not. All because of that stupid war." Stan is now trembling a little, he knows it. This guy must know it too, with how close they are. If he stays here any longer he'll break down, but he can't move. Anything to hear his brother's name a little longer. "I know what it's like. Three of my cousins were drafted last year, and I know at least one of them won't be coming back home. Please... let me help you."

Stan meets his eyes. They're green and brown-ish, not unlike the immense fields he's seen in his last journey, the one that led him to this town. With the years, he's learned not to trust beautiful eyes, because they are better at hiding. These ones, however, seem serene and honest, just like his words, and he can't help but believing them. This guy, whoever the fuck he is, knows just about enough.

Stan lowers his right arm. The guy still has his hand on it, but this time is much less defensive and much more comforting. He doesn't complain.

"My name's Fiddleford McGucket, and I'm gonna help you find your brother."

______________________________

Essentially, after this Fidds calls Ford as if nothing happened (per Stan's request, since he's still paranoid about the police tracking his calls) and asks him to come to Tennessee. Ford argues that he's very busy and all, but Fidds convinces him in the end.

Obviously the twins have a dual breakdown and cry their heart out. In this AU they're much less emotionally constipated lol

Ford tells Stan that he's gonna build a house in a small town in Oregon as a part of his research, and asks him to move in with him once it's finished. Stan, of course, accepts.

In the meantime, Stan stays in the McGucket farm and helps them out as a way of laying low. He has a great relationship with his family, and they're very proud of him for what he did (i believe that the McGuckets are hippies at heart, and they're VERY anti-war, especially when it already took three of them)

I don't know how much of the canon storyline would this AU follow, but it's pretty much your average Mystery Trio AU with some different backstory

[deepmochi]

SYNASTRY: Venus in the houses (7th-12th) part 2

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Note: Honestly, I had a draft for the 2nd part, but probably I deleted by mistake, or tumblr did it (idk). Maybe, That's why I thought I already posted the 2nd part, but I was wrong.

Part 1 🩷

♡ Venus in the 7th house ♡

These couple usually views commitment as all or nothing, are you in or not? They have strong values about true love, and they will follow them. Love is viewed as a contract by their souls or hearts. If they break any aspect proposed, they know it's the end. They can be reflections of themselves either the good or the bad. When the contract is done, it's over. The Venusian sees the house person as a very stable being. They feel safe and prepared for them. These two may live together before the year of knowing each other romantically. The pair just feel ready when it's about commitment. The house natives perceive the Venusian as very "wife/husband" material for them. With this overlay, their personalities blend well and work together. It feels natural for both of you to be close and intimate together. For others is moving too fast, and for them is easy to become intimate with each other. The seventh house person fits well for the planet native. These two feel like it's a soulmate connection, very easy. You’re both drawn to please each other. It's a very strong connection for long-term relationships. It takes time for them to move on if they ever break up. If Venus has bad aspects, it can be a toxic relationship. The reason for this, it's that they prefer to stay together instead of being alone or start something new. Intimate gesture like hugs and someone hand guiding the other. Cooking dates and going out at night the most. "Here, I bought this?";morning texts: " how are you today? My day...." "Can I call you, I miss your voice"; " My mom ask if we can go to her party?" ; "we should go to that restaurant"; Formal clothes; "hey, look me, they don't know how worthy you are". They like to spend time with people they love. Balance. If Venus cooks today, the house will do it tomorrow. Wearing nice clothes and a good perfume to impress the other. Compliments and physical touches, especially kisses in the cheek. Cheesy things like love letters. Having "the song" or the place.

♡ Venus in the 8th house ♡

These two have a different kind of love. The Venusian feels like the house person bring something in them that they can explain. Sometimes, these people have taboos to share. Death has impact their lives. The house person may become obssess with the planet person. Sex isn't a way emerger together. Usually, they possess the same interest in taboo topics. In the beginning, Venus feels attracted to the house, but it's also scared of them. Their sexual energy is intense. The 8th house person wants to know the Venusian's secrets and fears. Both are possessive, but the house win the round. They detest when their partner don't respect them. Their relationship status will remain a secret for the public eye (in the beginning). They would share many things even traumas (if hardly aspected). The house native will protect the Planet from the world. Sex can be very intimate or aggressive (bsdm stuff). These people will not be the same they were when they met. For them, love is intense and transformational. The house feels that the Venus native is trustworthy, but they need to see their actions. Holding hands during intimate times. During sex they will talk and have intense stares. "I don't like that person, be aware of them", "Here, use this for yourself"; "if you need money, just let me know"; "don't lie to me, I know you are sad"; his/her hand on your thing while eyes are on the road; taking notes of your gestures. They have weird hobbies together and enjoy dark humor too. Moonlight sex and long sessions.

♡ Venus in the 9th house♡

These individuals perceive love as a new adventure and try to go with the flow. If they're mature, they prefer to maintain a very healthy relationship. Both prefer to travel and know about new places and cultures. Love is not as other say. They may prefer to do things their way. Venusian isn't instantly involve, but they see the house as interesting. For the house native, the planet is nice an attractive, but they will not force things. The house native could be older than the Venusian. The house person likes the planet manners and life vision the most. They see the commitment as an experience. Sometimes, marriage isn't obligatory requirement. They may enjoy walks, museum, and play board games. One could be from another country or have a different culture. Their relationship presents a new chapter in their lives and their families. Besides, they like to engage in intellectual debates, maybe they are into philosophy. If they broke up, they will try to be professional or move on. They can meet later in life after maturing. It's likely that you will work together or in the same environment. Having a child or more is possible, so use protection. "Look at here, we can travel here"; "aww, baby, you were right they declare that"; ["I really want to buy that book" / "baby, you have that book already"]; Saving for vacations; buying each other souvenirs or antique objects as gifts; reading books and doing small debates about it; *knowing each other during trips, universities, conferences, cultural events, and religious activities" Buying new book editions. They love to try new foods or learn about new places together. They could meet while traveling or in college.

♡ Venus in the 10th house♡

Coworkers to lover vibes. They are comfy with being mature. Similarly to the previous combo, the house partner is the older one or has more experience. This partner also has more dominant energy. They could meet in different levels. The negative aspect is that they could be very nitpicking and too logical when it comes to love. The planet individual sees the house person as straightforward and mature. Partnership is very important; it's like a contract. If one of the part broke a part of the deal, it's done. They can work together or met during college (last year), conference or work related things. They are straightforward and mature when approaching the other. If badly aspect it, they have an issue with power imbalance (not good at all). Big egos over emotions, this is the start of arguments. They plan their dates. The planet person accepts that the house individual cares for their image and professional life. The Venusian isn't afraid of being a home stayed wife. Here the Venusian knows and appreciates the house efforts to balance their stability. Nonetheless, the house person must value the venusian support. Doing plans after they leave the work; caring for the other in profesional settings; making food or leaving notes in the stuff *you can do it* in their computer. Making each other feel valuable "Here, i make you favorite food"; let's celebrate your new position"; *making time to luch together*; naming the other whenever they can "I'm grateful for my wife meals and support"; giving gifts and showing their s/o in public. Even thought people think they aren't super romantic, they will try to match things. It could be rings, watches or wearing the same brand. Looking good.

♡ Venus in the 11th house♡

Love depicts a friend to lover storyline where both care for dreams and humanity. It's very possible that they met when they were helping other people. The Venusian fits the house's ideal type. They seem more friendlier than other couples. You wouldn't think they were dating at first. They prefer to joke around, but they love each other. The Venusian share the dreams the house native have for life. It's also likely that they like each other in the future, even if they met since birth. They prefer to have experience with love before settling down. Its common to see them as "I thought they were only friends". The Venusian sees the house person as humanitarian, reliable and interesting. Stay protected because big family can be a thing. Moreover, the must clarify about what is a family. The house perceives the planet native as beautiful and too much to some people. Together, they will form a very unique pair and family. Regardless Venusian feel the planet as hopeful person. The eleventh house person sees a future with the venusian because they feel understood. Love for the house is independent, and the venusian can see this as as a relief. Making fun of the other in a non hurtful way. "I can't deal with you right now *kiss them*"; "Alexa plays titanic's song" *grabs the venusian and starts dancing*; *hugs their s/o when they're cooking*; being romantic when they're alone; sending spicy texts "come home, I'm ready"; talking about the future; matching devices or wallpapers; a lot of trust, they share passwords. Having the same or similar friends. They like to help other people. Donating for other people as a hobby or helping to people who need. Dates in the nature. Cleaning beaches, rivers or places.

♡ Venus in the 12th house♡

Love is simple but blurry. They can't get confused in how they love. The house sees the Venusian see them as the real deal. The planet perceive the house native as too good for them. There are some blurry aspects that they don't understand. When this synastry happens, it can feel too blurry for outsiders. Sometimes, they feel as friends and others as partners. At times, they hide their feelings without realizing or because they don't want to hurt the other. The house may hide their crush for the planet (too well). The Venus feel like the house person hides things for them. The house native don't want to bother the venusian. The house wants to give all they have to the venusian without having a concrete reason (maybe they are friends, but they are their #1 friend). This connection feel very special even divinely guided. The house is very observant with the Venusian Different backgrounds, it's possible that the house person has faith or not. One (usually the venusian) is more intuitive. Venus comes to open the house's eyes to other knowledge. The house will do all they can, so the venusian is happy. They can be soulmates (even non platonic). On the negative side, they don't have good communication because they avoid confronting each other. Both have experience paranormal activity, but only one believes more. The Venus person will try to invite the house to their home (pure opening of their soul). The Venusian can be quite delulu, but the house see it as funny or special. They met when something is ending for the Venusian. Romantic times, home dates, asking the other about things or traumas carefully, a special vibe around them. *Big smiles and shiny eyes*, "I buy you this; you tell me two months ago around 9pm" "aww thank you", "are you sleeping well?" - "yes" , *astrology or tarot talks* "can you give your birth time?" - "12:34 am" " it was bad?" "No, we match". Talk about paranormal activities like any other topic, special dates, random celebrations, secret spots, discreet dates, spirtual conection, they may understand the other, but can't explain it.

Take what resonates only. 💚

[dinogoofymutated]

Hi. Could you please write some Gambit fluff headcannons? The Gambit Nation is struggling right now and we could all really use some fluffiness from the man himself.

Btw I'm absolutely OBSESSED with your writing. Like, seriously amazing.

Gambit/GN!Reader

I Know you sent this in forever ago after that one godforsaken episode of 97' and I'm so sorry I'm just now getting to it!!! It's been sitting in my drafts for forever and I've just been struggling to come up with fluff hcs! TBH, It started as general fluff and not a whole ass storyline and eventually i just got too far deep to stop! This isn't even as fluffy as I was quite expecting, but once i started writing it just came out and atp I couldn't stop. It's been a rough night, but this really just turned Into being Remy's comfort person HCs.

TWs: rocky family life mentioned. Sneaking out, underage drinking, so on. Smooth timeskip to adulthood. very much fluffy with a lil bit of somber tones. Not enough to be angst tho.

Think about being Teens with Remy Lebeau. The late nights, sneaking out, ranting to each other in the streets and alleyways of New Orleans.

Getting into fights with your parents/guardians or siblings and wanting nothing more than to just shrivel up and disappear. Curling up underneath your blankets with a pillow wrapped around your ears trying to just block out all of the bad thoughts when you keep hearing a persistent Tap, Tap, Tap. And then a much more obvious pop! Against your window.

You know who it is before you even unwrap yourself from the comfort of your bed, opening your window with a lot less energy than you usually have. You're tired and sad, but the face of that Cajun boy your parents don't like always makes you smile.

The red-eyed teen's smirk falls when he sees the rough state you're in, right before ducking back behind the trashcan when a light turns on in your parent's bedroom. Eventually, it turns back off again, and by the time he's back on the sidewalk you're ready to go. He helps you out of the window much more gentlemanly than a thief and a scoundrel probably should, but he's nothing if not a sweetheart. (And a loverboy, but you wouldn't realise it then.)

"Ah, hell wit' them. S'not like they worth your time anyway." Remy's got an arm wrapped around your shoulders, a beer in hand as the two of you lean against the wall of a particular mausoleum. -Course, you had offered whatever ghosts has resided there the first sip as a courtesy, so you're definitely not cursed, right? Not that Remy was even worried about that, but he puts up with your superstitions to comfort you.

"Don't say that, please." You whisper, rubbing your tired eyes. He frowns, knowing that he wouldn't know the first ting about how "normal" families work, but he doesn't quite get why you worry about what they think so much.

"I don't get why you stay, Cher. Not when they treat you like this." You can feel the rumble of Remy's voice through his chest, and find yourself tucking yourself closer into his side. He sets his head on top of yours when you do so.

"What other choice do I have? They're my parents." You whisper, fidgeting with some strings at the hem of your sweatshirt. In hindsight, maybe wearing pajamas to a graveyard wasn't the best choice. You hear Remy chuckle after a moment as a thought crosses his mind, and he swirls the bottle slowly, a few times, before he hands it to you.

"Well..." He starts, giving the words a moment to rest. "There is one option..." You take the bottle from him, cocking a eye as you sit up a little bit to look at him.

"And what's that?"

"Run away wit' me."

He's smirking when he suggests it, a playfulness in his eyes. If only you knew just how serious he was.

"Remy LeBeau!" You scold, unable to fight back your smile as he chuckles at you.

"What? S'not a bad idea, no? No thieves guild, no drama, Jus' you an me." He laughs when you give him an incredulous look and take a dramatic sip from the beer, only to make a face at the taste directly afterwards. Damn, was it rancid.

"Don't get me dreaming, Remy." You mumble. There's only a little bit left it the bottle, and you decide it's better suited for the graveyard. Remy complains about it, trying to fight you for the rest of the beer. The two of you are a couple of idiots to be laughing this loud in a place like this, and even bigger ones to start play-fighting, but neither of you really mind.

You were each other's safe space. The one person the other could run to as the world falls apart around them. Life as a teen was never easy, especially not when you're mutants- but at least you had each other. But as his life was being consumed with the thieves guild, and the prophesy that came with it, you saw less and less of Remy as the years went by.

When you did meet again, it was under the roof of one Professor Xavier. The others were nervous and distrustful about this ex-con entering the team, but you never doubted him for a second. Your person was finally right where you needed him once again. Your Remy. And as smooth as he is around the team, you knew it was a wall, almost an act. Something to befriend the others- but you knew Remy, and you were grateful that after all the years that had passed, he still came to you when he needed you the most.

"Long day?" You ask. Remy hums in response, plopping down onto the bed next to you. You set your book to the side when he rests his head in your lap, soothingly running your hands through his hair as he sighs in content.

"You know it, ma chérie." Remy says in your lap. You can't help but blush at the name still, despite how many years he's spent calling you by the words. Remy's eyes are closed beneath you, giving you the freedom to fully take in the features of his handsome face whilst keeping him unawares. His stubble is growing in, and he's got a few new freckles and scars from your years seperated, but he's still the same wild, reckless kid you fell in love with as a teen. He hums as you brush your thumbs across his cheekbones, catching your hand and pressing it to his lips, leaving a kiss there. He then kisses your inner wrist before holding your hand to his face.

You still don't really know what to say when he does things like that.

"Can I ask you something?" You ask after a moment.

" 'Course, Cher."

"Would you still wanna run away with me?" When the last words leave your mouth, you can feel Remy frown. His eyes open about halfway, your hand still in his hold as he presses it to his face.

"What brought this on?" He asks, and you only shrug, looking away from him as your thumb idly strokes his face.

"I dunno. I was just thinking about it." His skin on your own is starting to feel too warm, your nerves becoming unignorable. Remy cocks an eyebrow at you, before he smiles. Not a smirk, a real, genuine, smile. He takes your chin in his hand, and moves your head so that you're looking at him again.

"If you needed me to run away with you, Belle, I'd do so without looking back." His words make you smile brightly, holding onto the wrist of the hand that holds your chin. You lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead, but Remy moves. He sits up just slightly, and before you know it, Remy Lebeau's lips are pressed against yours in a sweet kiss.

Remy chuckles at the surprised face you're making when he pulls back, sitting up a little further so that he can press his forehead to your own, leaning into your space.

"You' always known me to be an opportunist, Cher. Can't help but steal a kiss here an there." Remy says, and your laugh is partly from disbelief, surprise, and outright giddy joy.

"Please tell me you haven't been waiting to say that since we were kids." You ask. Remy smiles brightly in return.

"My poker face 'not good enough for you, huh, ma chérie?."

[revelboo]

Any tips for getting over nerves for posting writings or headcanons in the transformers fandom... I'm trying my best to not be do nervous

In my case, I tend to think of these short form fics as first drafts- I’m telling myself a story and it doesn’t have to be perfect (that’s what they were always meant to be, but things got a bit out of hand), but that mentality helps so I don’t fret and stress about whether it’s good enough. If it makes you happy, go for it!

Bad Idea Pt 20

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Sprawled flat on your back, staying out of the pool is harder than you’d have thought. Mostly because when he leaves, you’re bored out of your mind. Really need to ask him if there’s anything you can do. Doubt you can actually help him in any way, but it’s infuriating being directionless. Useless. Glancing at the pool, you catch big bird shuffling slightly on his perch. Watching and waiting for you to screw up so he can tattle. Or so he can try to drown you. Figuring out what the drone’s thinking as his head tips, staring at you, is beyond you. Though, you’ve been trying to play nice for Soundwave. To pretend you don’t hate his awful brat.

• Tendrils drawing closer to his frame as he works to repair a console, Soundwave goes out of his way to pointedly not look in the direction of Megatron’s throne. Specifically the warlord’s little human since aside from a faintly jingling harness and a short little mostly sheer covering, they’re bare. Already one of the Vehicons had glanced at the human, attention drawn by the faint, silvery sound of the harness and Megatron had smashed them face first into a console. Repeatedly. Making more work for him. Knows his oldest friend’s moods are ever shifting. That he’d dressed the human that way knowing someone would look and knowing he’d lash out. Amusing himself by causing chaos.

• “Hey, big bird,” you call out and his plating ruffles up in jagged, offended angles. Well. You’re off to a great start. “Look, you could tell me your name if you don’t want me to call you that. I mean, we should get along.” Especially since you’re banging his alien daddy. Which, come to think of it, is probably most of why he hates you. Shuffling further away from you on his perch, he turns his back to you in an obvious dismissal. Alright then, so much for that. “Don’t be that way. I can call you worse things.” And he’s glaring hatefully at you again. “Like Tweetie Pie.”

• Stilling as Megatron slips up beside him, idly toying with a loose wire as he surveys the damage he’d done without any guilt, Soundwave waits. “You have a human, too,” Megatron says swapping to Cybertronian and it’s not really a question, but he inclines his head anyway. Studying the warlord, there’s something like uncertainty in his optics and the grim set of his mouth. And he wonders what Megatron’s human is to him. A toy? A distraction? Or do you actually matter? “Does yours care for you?” Tendrils flicking restlessly, it clicks. Megaton’s so used to just taking, conquering. But genuine affection? That’s not something he can demand and just seize for himself. It’s something he has to earn, so you must matter to him. Isn’t sure what to make of that.

• Shrieking and ducking when big bird dives at your head, you run away swearing. Why couldn’t you just leave him alone? But no, you had to antagonize the little psycho. Had known the second his optics had dimmed that he was somehow looking up the name the way Soundwave had done when the little brat had blabbed that you’d called him a DILF. And big bird slams into your back, knocking you flat. Grabbing and pulling your hair with his beak while you smack at him and curse. And a shadow falls across you both. Eyes wide, you realize there’s a masked and visored mech you don’t know looming over you. And he awkwardly lifts a hand. “Question,” he says and big bird pinches your ear hard, before turning to face the stranger, wings flared aggressively. Protecting you? The stranger backs away immediately, both hands up submissively.

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[lightsoutmatthews]

Stick Season - Matthew Knies

summary: you and Matthew bought tickets for a concert together, unfortunately life had other plans between then and the concert, but what happens when you still decide to go together?

pairing: Matthew Knies x female!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: -

authors note:

in honor of the Leafs clinching a playoff spot last night!!!!

-----------------------------

The two pieces of paper that were pinned to your fridge burned in your sight. There was a time where you looked forward to seeing your favorite artist in concert. Especially with your now ex-boyfriend.

You were so excited when he gifted you the tickets on your birthday last year. You didn’t know the two of you wouldn’t make it to your next birthday, or the concert.

It wasn’t a really bad breakup. More like the two of you growing apart. Realizing both of you would need to figure out how to live life on your own.

He was leaving for Arizona while you stayed in Toronto. You wished you could have gone with him, but work kept you. That was the first time you realized that your lives grew in different directions and would not really align anymore even when he returned to Toronto.

He was stressed enough trying to figure out how to manage being a full time NHLer after being thrown into the position on a whim. You were still trying to navigate your new job. Seeing each other less and less before he left.

Not on purpose, life just got in the way and that´s when you knew it could not go on like this.

You broke up when he was back in Canada. It wasn’t a hard conversation, both of you knowing things were coming to an end.

------------------

You hadn’t seen him in months. Not seen him being a stretch given his face was plastered all over the city, the radio and tv talking about the season he was having.

You were happy for him. Game after game he grew as a new player in the big leagues. Eventually he even got promoted to the top line alongside Auston Matthews and Mitch Marner. An unsent congratulatory message for that probably still a draft in your iMessage chat.

That was the first time you really missed him. Celebrating achievements together was one of the things you loved about being with him. No matter how small they were, either of you made it a big deal for the other.

There were a few other times throughout the months since the breakup where you thought about him. When your coworkers invited you to the restaurant you had so many dates at. When you drove past Scotiabank Arena, memories of the times you saw him in the Leafs uniform flicking through your mind.

The concert tickets at your fridge the worst reminder of what you had lost. It was a weird feeling. On the one hand you knew you had made the right decision but at the same time it felt like a piece of you was missing. Maybe you had been wrong? Maybe it was just a product of not seeing him for a while.

-----------------

You debated back and forth what you should do with the tickets. Of course, you still wanted to go, but you didn’t have anyone to go with. You could text Matthew. You knew the concert was during all-star break.

Would it be weird? Probably. But technically it was his ticket. He paid for it after all.

The decision laid heavy in your stomach for a few days. You asked around your friend group for a bit, seeing if anyone had time that day without mentioning what event you were actually talking about.

No one did.

A few days later the unsent congratulatory message was deleted, and a new one put in its place. It went unsent for another day, but you knew that you should send it eventually. For planning purposes alone.

I Hey, this might be surprising or weird, but I still have your Noah Kahan ticket. I would hate for it to go unused.

He didn’t reply for over a day. You were thinking that he was ignoring you, but when a text with his name at the top of the notification came through late on the next day you let out a shaky breath.

Matt Knies: Hey, not weird for me if it’s not weird for you. I forgot about that concert to be completely honest; you can give it to someone else if you want to.

You swallowed hard. You should’ve expected him to not jump at the opportunity immediately. You texted back regardless.

I Already asked basically everyone I know, and no one has time. If you don’t want it, I´ll put it up on resale and send you the money back.

You knew how this sounded. Like texting him was the last resort before putting the ticket up for sale. It kind of was. You weren’t screaming in joy about texting you ex about going to a concert together.

Matt Knies: Okay fine, I don’t want the ticket to go to waste. Let me check my schedule.

A few seconds later another message came through.

Matt Knies: What date was that again?

You chuckled.

--------------------

A week later you were on your way to the venue. Matthew agreed to come in the end, but you didn’t make any plans of meeting up until last night.

He texted, saying he´d pick you up but you argued that you were in the area beforehand anyways (you weren’t). So, you met up in front of the arena.

An awkward hug was shared as you approached him. Mumbled greetings and pleasantries were exchanged. You looked him over.

He gained muscle since you last saw him. The backwards cap on his head hid his hair which was slightly longer than you were used to. But it suited him.

It wasn’t lost on you that he was looking you over too. His gaze lingered on your legs for a little longer than it would be polite. You smirked. The loose leather pants were the right decision after all.

--------------

You entered the venue quietly, neither of you really knowing what to say. The hum and buzz of the rest of the concert crows a welcome distraction from your thoughts.

“Do you want something to drink? My treat.” His words made your head snap around. Starring at him like he said the most outrageous thing in the world.

“Woah, I asked you for a drink, not if you want to rob a bank with me.” A soft chuckle left his mouth at your expression. “I… uh… sure…”

You yelped when he grabbed your arm and dragged you towards one of the many drinks stands around the entrance of the arena. His touch immediately sending shivers down your spine. It was warm, familiar, full of memories that kept crawling back to you.

Minutes later he handed you a cup of Sprite. Your favorite.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to drink so I took the save option.” He smiled and took a sip from his own cup. A familiar prickle started to simmer in your stomach. You tried to blink it away, but it immediately bubbled back up when you looked at him.

His features were foreign but so familiar at the same time. “Do I have something between my teeth?” you snapped back to reality at his sudden question. “What…?” perplexity written all over your face.

“You were staring like I had something between my teeth, I had some spinach for lunch, but I swear I brushed my teeth after so usually there shouldn’t be any left.” You blinked once, twice, three times to process how easy he fell back into your familiar rhythm.

Talking to him used to be easy but it felt wrong to immediately slip back into this familiar rhythm.

Seeing him laugh spreading a warmth trough you that you had been missing without really realizing it.

“So?” You snapped back into reality once again starring at him with a confused look. “Spinach?”

“Uh, no, no spinach,” you mumbled but didn’t go into it any further, luckily, he let it go.

----------------

The two of you found a space in the middle of the floor. It wasn’t too crowded yet, so you opted to lean against the rail at the audio guys area.

You took in the buzzling atmosphere, trying to avoid looking in his direction so he wouldn’t ask about your starring again.

You wanted to look at him. Take in his familiar frame and strong build. Sleeping nestled into his warm hold something you missed to this day.

Making small talk until the show started felt easier the longer you talked. You asked about adjusting to his first full season in the NHL, he asked about your job.

The stories he told were exciting, filled with memories from road trips to striking up friendships with his teammates. He told you a lot about Joseph Woll who apparently became his new best friend given they were both in their first full season.

You patted his arm softly when he said how sad he was when he got injured a few weeks ago and wasn’t joining the team on trips but that there were a few others he got along with great.

You hadn’t met many of his teammates. Auston Matthews once when you were in Arizona two years ago, John Tavares last season when you visited Matthew at his house during the playoffs when he was first called up to play for the Leafs after losing in the Frozen Four.

He was just about to break into another story from the road trip out West when the lights dimmed, and the opener took the stage.

You weren’t familiar with the artist, but you enjoyed their music and made a mental note to look them up on Spotify later.

In the break between their set and Noah you didn’t pick the earlier conversation back up, rather sharing opinions about the opener and the songs they performed.

Matthew and you always had similar music taste but today your opinion was divided. Him not having enjoyed it at all and you advocating for them. The banter and jokingly arguing once again something you were incredibly familiar with and that brought that prickle back in your stomach.

It was easy falling back into familiar patterns. Like the past months hadn’t happened. Like you hadn’t broken up on a whim.

You knew it was something that needed to happen at the same time. If you would have kept the relationship up it probably would’ve ended badly. You both needed space to grow individually.

Having been together since junior year at the University of Minnesota there was hardly a time you had spent away from each other. You grew into real adults with the other by your side.

With the rapid change that was approaching in both of your lives you knew either of you needed time to adjust. Alone.

When Noah Kahan took the stage all those thoughts were out of your mind, and you focused on the concert ahead. Until “Stick Season” came on and you were hit with a massive flashback back to the first time you spent parts of your summer with him in Arizona.

--------

It was a very warm summer night in the middle of the dessert. You and Matthew had spent the evening with his family, having a barbecue and a campfire in the Knies family backyard.

The rest of the family already went to sleep but the two of you weren’t feeling tired yet, so you decided to grab one of the picknick blankets in the pool house and laid it under the stars that were shining bright in the dimly lit neighborhood.

The new Noah Kahan single was playing quietly over the speakers on the patio. “I wish we could stay like this forever,” you whispered. Matthew tightened his grip around you, pulling your head onto his chest and placing a soft hiss on top of it. “Me too.” After a few seconds he added: “It´s nice without the stress of hockey additionally to keeping up with classes.”

You laughed out a huff. He had been drafted by the Toronto Maple Leafs last year and it was almost sure he would make the jump into the NHL at one point in his life. Classes wouldn’t matter then, but you didn’t want to tell him that, knowing he wasn’t so sure if Toronto would make the call any time soon.

“Yeah. I´m dreading going back. Theres so much on my palate this semester.” You would graduate next summer which mean additionally to all of the classes you had to take you would have to start thinking about your thesis. More stress than you had handled in your academic career before.

Another soft kiss to the top of your head. “You´ll do great, I know you will.” You snuggled deeper into his hold and let out a hard exhale. “I hope so. I have that job lined-up from my internship, and I would hate to waste it.”

Moving back to Toronto, where you were originally from, was something you looked forward too. The company you did your internship at during spring break being so impressed by your skills that they offered you a position right out of college.

You knew that also meant you would be close to Matthew when he would eventually come to play for the Leafs.

“Everything will turn out okay, I just have a feeling.”

“I love you, Matt.”

He smiled down at you. “I love you too, sweet girl.”

He tips your head up and places the softest kiss to your lips before laying back down again, neither of you saying a word, the Noah Kahan song just quietly playing in the background.

---------

“I miss you.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. Matthew ripped his head around.

You weren’t sure he had heard you over the loud music but based on his reaction he did.

His lips moved but you could not focus on what he was saying, still shocked by your sudden confession.

“What…?” You mumbled, your mouth barely moving. Matthew softly smiled at you before he leaned down and did the least thing you expected him to do.

His lips felt soft against yours, moving against them felt like he was holding on to a lifeline. Warmth but also nerves and uncertainty creeped up in you.

“I said I miss you too.” He whispered against your lips when he took a second to give both of, you’re a breather.

For a minute neither of you said anything, Noah just singing in the background, the screaming crowd around you.

“You were thinking about that summer too, right?”

[usomads]

Slow Burn // Jimmy Uso x Reader

Author’s Note -> Hiiiii :) had this sitting in drafts so I decided to finish it… and I’m– 🤤. Will be working on more stuff in the coming days, so stay tuned! Also, my lovely friend @zyvngi made this clip and I just… yeah there was no way I wasn’t using it lol. As always, happy reading y’all!

Pairings -> Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader

Warnings -> Fluff (if you squint), Cursing, Drug Use (Weed), P in V, Not Proofread, MDNI

Word Count -> 4.4k

You enter Jon’s house as you always did, swinging the door open without knocking and waltzing right inside– your body collapsing on his living room couch. Media had kicked your ass today, more than usual, and you were definitely feeling the effects of it. Jon happened to have a day off today, one that was hard to come by, especially with the work you two did at WWE– him being a talent and you a producer. That’s how the two of you met 4 years ago, and you’ve been inseparable ever since.

“Well, good afternoon to you too, princess.” Jon teases, as you shoot daggers at him. 

“I don’t know how much more I can fuckin’ take. Paul’s driving me crazy, the work is endless, and absolutely nobody seems to appreciate how much work I’m putting into this to make shit happen every show. I’m about to fuckin’ lose it.” You groan, flopping down onto the couch and rubbing your eyes.

Jon leans against the island countertop, grinning, clearly amused by your frustration. “Sounds like you’ve had a day… wanna vent or just keep it low-key?”

You sigh dramatically, sitting up on the couch. “No, no, I should probably let it all out. I swear, I’ve been busting my ass, and every time I think I’m ahead, something else gets thrown on me. And everyone thinks I’m this superhero that can just fuckin’ fix it,” you pause, rubbing your temples. “I just want a break, but I feel like there’s no time to take one.”

He nods sympathetically, then walks over to the end table and pulls something from the drawer. “You really need to take a break though, you keep goin’ like that, you’re gonna burn yourself out.”

You laugh bitterly, half-glancing at him. “I know, I know. It’s like I don't even know how to take a break anymore. It’s always work, work, and more work.”

Jon takes out a joint from his pocket and lights it casually, raising an eyebrow at you. “You want some help with that?”

He takes a slow drag, exhaling slowly as you stare at him– shocked.

“You… smoke?”

He laughs, shrugging nonchalantly as he continues to puff on the joint. “Yeah, ‘s not somethin’ I bring up, but yeah, sometimes it helps me unwind. And you look like you could use a lil’ somethin’ to take the edge off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “I just… I never thought you’d be the type to do… that.”

“What, smoke?” he chuckles. “Well, you never really asked. Trust me though, a little bit won’t hurt. It’s just us, Y/N. No work, no stress…” he grins, taking another drag then passing it to you.

You’re hesitant, but also curious. You take the joint from him, your voice getting soft.

“I don’t know… I’ve never done… this before.”

Jon smirks at you, sitting down and leaning back on the couch as he grabs another joint– one for himself. “First time for everything, right? No pressure, ma. Just take it slow.”

Nervously, you take a drag, coughing slightly. “Oh my god…” 

He laughs softly, leaning closer to you and offering you a reassuring smile. “Yeah, it can be a bit much at first. Just breathe through it, you’ll get used to it.”

You exhale, giggling nervously and shaking your head. “Okay, okay, I’m definitely not used to it. But… this actually feels kinda nice.” 

You’re growing more confident by the second, taking another drag. Jon watches you intently, a gentle smile on his face.

“That’s it, you’re doin’ great, ma. You deserve to feel nice, just let go of all that stress, you know?” he soothes you, his voice dropping lower than usual. 

As the night goes on, you both start to relax, the conversation flowing more freely. The effects of the joint take hold, and the atmosphere shifts in a way that has allowed the two of you to open up in a way you hadn’t before. You lean back against the couch, your eyes a little heavier but more relaxed. 

“You know, I never realized how much I needed this… to chill. I feel like I’m always runnin’ around, doin’ everything for everyone, and never doin’ anything for myself.”

Jon nods, a softer tone to his voice as he responds to you, looking at you intently. “I get it. You’re always taking care of other people, but you forget about you. You deserve to slow down. You gotta take care of yourself, too. Not everything’s on you.”

You turn to look at him, the weight of his words hitting you deep within your chest. “I don’t know why I feel like I have to do everything. It’s like if I stop, everything’s gonna fall apart.”

He softens, his expression growing more serious. “You don’t have to be everything to everyone, you’re enough just as you are. But I get it, you don’t want to disappoint people.”

A moment of quiet rushes in between them as the room feels more intimate, the casual chatter fading into something more profound. The connection between you feels intense, a shared vulnerability settling in. 

You look down, almost embarrassed, as you speak softly. “Maybe I don’t know how to stop being so… perfect. Like, I always have to keep everything together. I don’t know how to let someone help me.”

Jon reaches over and tilts your chin to face him, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to always be perfect, Y/N. With me, you can just be you, no pressure.”

The mood shifts. Your eyes lock, and there’s an undeniable charge between you, something unspoken but deeply felt. The air is thick with tension as you unconsciously move closer together. Before you can even process it, Jon leans in and kisses you, slow and unexpected. It’s not rushed, but full of emotion, a silent acknowledgement of everything you’ve both been feeling. The kiss deepens naturally, your mutual desire growing, and in that moment, the world outside fades. Reality hits you after a moment and you pull back slightly, eyes wide in shock as your breath catches in your throat. 

“Wha–?”

He pulls back quickly, his own eyes growing wide, clearly panicked. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to– I just– I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have–”

He stands up, pacing slightly, his hand running through his hair. After a beat you stand as well, still in shock as you move towards him and gently place your hand on his arm. 

“Jon…” 

He turns to you, his eyes pinged in fear and nervousness as he looks at you. You step closer, looking at him with a soft but intense gaze. Before he can utter another word, you reach up, gently pulling him back down to you, kissing him again– this time with more certainty, as if you had wanted it too. You pull away slightly, breathing a little heavier as his eyes search yours, his expression mixed with relief and surprise– then, a smile starts to form on his face. 

Jon leans in, his forehead nearly brushing yours as that signature smirk of his plays on his lips. “Damn, Y/N… You got me over here thinking I messed up, and then you go and kiss me like that?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something deeper laced within it—something raw, something real.

You exhale a soft laugh, still feeling the warmth of his lips lingering on yours. “Maybe I just wanted to shut you up,” you tease, running a hand through his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

Jon’s grin widens, his hands still resting on your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your skin. “Oh, word? That’s how you feel?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, Y/N. I think you’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You raise a brow, playing along. “And if I have?”

His gaze darkens, his fingers tightening just slightly at your waist. “Then I’d say we got a whole lot of catching up to do.”

Before you can respond, he reaches over to grab the joint resting in the ashtray nearby, taking a slow drag before bringing it to your lips. “Here,” he murmurs, voice dripping with something dangerously smooth. “Relax a little. We got all night.”

You hold his gaze as you take a hit, the smoke curling between you as he watches you, his eyes flicking down to your lips before dragging back up. The tension between you thickens, wrapping around you both like a slow burn.

Jon leans back slightly, exhaling, his lips curving into a lazy smile. “You always look this good when you’re high, or is it just ‘cause you’re sittin’ here with me?”

You smirk, handing the joint back to him, your fingers deliberately brushing against his. “I don’t know, Uce… Maybe it’s just you.”

His laughter is deep, rich, sending a shiver down your spine. “See, now you just gassin’ me up,” he murmurs, tilting his head as he studies you. “But I ain’t mad at it.”

You shake your head, biting your lip as you watch him. “You like the attention, huh?”

Jon leans in again, this time close enough that his nose nearly brushes yours, his voice nothing but a husky whisper. “I like it when it’s from you.”

Your heart stutters, and for a moment, all you can hear is the faint hum of music in the background and the sound of your own breathing. The world outside doesn’t matter—right now, it’s just you and him, the air thick with smoke and something even more intoxicating.

“Say the word, Y/N,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing up your arm, slow, deliberate. “Tell me you want this as bad as I do.”

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze, your pulse pounding in your ears. Then, with a small smirk, you whisper, “What took you so long to figure that out?”

Jon grins, and before you can say another word, his lips are back on yours, the kiss deeper, more urgent, as if he’s making up for lost time. He groans softly against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you flush against him. The warmth of his body, the lingering haze of smoke in the air, and the way his fingers tease at the small of your back all send a slow-burning heat through you.

“You tryna drive me crazy, huh?” he mumbles between kisses, his voice husky, dripping with amusement and something deeper.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to the side as you let your fingers trail up his chest. “I think I already have.”

Jon exhales a slow laugh, shaking his head before taking another hit of the joint, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Oh, you definitely have,” he murmurs, exhaling the smoke lazily before slipping a hand up to cup your jaw, tilting your chin back slightly. “But I ain’t mad at it, baby.”

Your breath catches as his thumb traces along your bottom lip, his touch featherlight but enough to send a shiver straight down your spine. You hold his gaze, letting your lips part slightly, teasing him just enough before you take the joint from his fingers and bring it to your lips. His eyes darken as he watches you, his expression shifting into something unreadable but entirely consuming.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” you murmur after a slow exhale, the smoke curling between you both, “and I’m gonna start thinking you want me.”

Jon chuckles, shaking his head as he licks his lips. “Oh, I been wantin’ yo’ fine ass,” he admits, his voice dropping lower, thick with something almost possessive. “Just been waitin’ for you to catch up.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, at the weight behind them, at the way his fingers are still tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the pull between you both magnetic, undeniable.

“And what happens now that I have?” you ask, arching a brow, challenging him, teasing him.

Jon grins, slow and knowing, his hands sliding down to your hips before he pulls you onto his lap, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Now? Now I finally get to show you how bad.”

His words send a spark of electricity through you, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging slightly just to hear the way his breath hitches, the way his grip on you tightens.

“Damn,” he chuckles, his nose brushing against your cheek as he tilts your head, lips ghosting over yours but not quite touching. “You really been holdin’ out on me, huh?”

You smirk, your fingers still tangled in his curls as you whisper, “Maybe I just wanted you to work for it.”

Jon lets out a deep, satisfied hum, his lips finally capturing yours again, this time with even more urgency, more fire. His hands roam your body, fingertips grazing exposed skin, setting every nerve ablaze.

“Mm,” he murmurs between kisses, pulling back just enough to let his forehead rest against yours. “I don’t mind puttin’ in the work, baby. Not if it means I get to keep you right here.”

Jon’s grip tightens on your hips as he tilts his head back slightly, looking up at you with a mix of amusement and hunger. His fingers trace slow, teasing patterns along your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The warmth of his hands, the faint burn of the smoke in your lungs, and the deep pull of his gaze make your head spin in the best way possible.

“You really got me like this, huh?” he murmurs, his voice husky, rough around the edges. He smirks, exhaling a slow breath as his fingers press just a little harder into your waist. “Sittin’ on my lap, lookin’ at me like you already know what you doin’ to me.”

You bite your lip, dragging your nails gently down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. “Maybe I do,” you tease, tilting your head slightly, watching his expression shift. “And maybe I like it.”

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head as his hands slide up your thighs, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. “Oh, I know you do,” he says, his lips ghosting over your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. “You playin’ it all sweet, but you been wantin’ this. I can feel it.”

Your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Maybe he is. The heat between you is thick, the air electric with the weight of everything left unsaid. But right now? You don’t need words.

He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against yours, teasing you, making you chase the kiss. “Damn, baby,” he murmurs, smirking as he pulls back just a little, enough to make you whine softly. “You really gonna make me work for it?”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully as you drag your fingers up the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your lips barely touching his. “I thought you liked putting in the work?”

Jon groans, shaking his head with a laugh before finally closing the distance, kissing you with a deep, slow intensity that sends heat pooling in your stomach. His hands explore, memorizing every curve, every dip of your body like he’s wanted to do this for far too long.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, “You taste too damn good, Y/N.”

Your heart pounds as you smirk, brushing your nose against his. “Must be all that smoke.”

He grins, his fingers tracing lazy circles at your waist. “Nah… it’s just you, baby.”

The way he says it, low and smooth, makes something flutter deep in your chest. You were just playing before, flirting for the fun of it, but now? Now, you can feel it. This is more than just a moment.

Jon studies you for a second, his gaze softer now, a little more serious. “What you want, Y/N?” His voice is still deep, still teasing, but there’s something genuine underneath it. Like he’s really asking.

You hold his gaze, your fingers still tangled in his curls as you whisper, “You.”

He grins, slow and satisfied, like he just won a game he was always meant to win. “Then come here, baby,” he murmurs, pulling you closer. “Let me give you what you been waiting for.”

Jon’s lips move against yours with a slow, deliberate hunger, like he’s savoring every second. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady on his lap as his tongue brushes against yours, deepening the kiss in a way that makes your head spin. 

His hands wander, sliding up your back, tracing along the curve of your spine. His touch is firm, possessive, but there’s a tenderness beneath it too—like he’s memorizing you, committing this moment to memory. When he pulls back, just slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours, his breath is heavy, his eyes dark with something deeper than just desire.

His lips find yours again, this time slower, deeper, his fingers gripping you tighter like he’s afraid to let go. And you melt into him, letting yourself get lost in the moment, letting yourself feel everything.

He leans back slightly, his dark eyes drinking you in, his expression smug but soft at the same time. “So you admit it,” he murmurs, tilting his head, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your hip. “You been wantin’ me too.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but you can’t hide the smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe,” you tease, dragging your fingers down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. “What? You need me to spell it out for you?”

Jon lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah, baby. I just like hearin’ you say it.” His grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you even closer, making you feel just how much he’s enjoying this moment. “Say it again.”

Your breath hitches as his lips brush against your jaw, his voice like honey and smoke, smooth and intoxicating. “Say what?” you whisper, tilting your head slightly to give him more access, your pulse racing.

His grin grows against your skin as he places a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your neck, his tongue just barely teasing you. “That you want me.”

You let out a soft laugh, biting your lip as you slide your hands up to his shoulders, gripping them just enough to make him hum in satisfaction. “You’re really enjoying this, huh?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression smug. “Oh, hell yeah.” He licks his lips, his gaze dark and hungry. “But I’d enjoy it even more if you quit playin’ and told me what I already know.”

You take a deep breath, your body fully pressed against his, the heat between you undeniable. “Fine,” you murmur, dragging your fingers up the back of his neck, playing with the curls at the base of his skull. “I want you, Jon.”

The second the words leave your lips, his grip tightens, his hands sliding down to your thighs before flipping you onto the couch, pinning you beneath him. You let out a surprised gasp, but it quickly turns into a soft moan as his lips crash against yours again, this time more urgent, more possessive.

“You have no idea how long I been waitin’ to hear that,” he murmurs between kisses, his lips trailing from your mouth down to your neck, his hands roaming every inch of you.

Your head tilts back against the cushions as you breathe out, your heart pounding. “Then why the hell did you wait so long?”

Jon lets out a low laugh, his breath hot against your skin. “’Cause you play too damn much,” he teases, nipping at your collarbone. “Had to let you catch up.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at his hair just enough to make him groan. “And now?”

Jon lifts his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. He smirks, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip before leaning in so close you can feel every word as he whispers, “Now, I ain’t holdin’ back no more.”

Jon’s kiss is slow, deep, and consuming, like he’s savoring every second of finally having you in his arms. His body presses against yours, his warmth sinking into you, making it impossible to focus on anything but the way he feels—solid, strong, right. His hands explore, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist before gripping you like he’s afraid you might slip away.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something deeper than just desire. Possession. Affection. Something real. His thumb strokes your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the heat burning between you two.

“You sure you ready for this, baby?” he murmurs, his voice husky, his breath fanning against your lips.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding, but there’s no more hesitation. The tension, the teasing– it was always leading to this. To him.

You nod, looking into his eyes with a level of certainty that surprises even you. “I’m sure,” you say, your voice soft but filled with passion. “I want this. I want you. Now.”

He groans against your lips, his hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants, undoing them with a practiced ease. Every touch sends a wave of pleasure coursing through you, making it harder to think, harder to breathe. You tug at his sweats in return, eager to get him closer, to feel all of him, and when the last barrier is gone, the world outside completely fades away. 

He doesn’t hesitate. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, and you can feel him, feel all of him, as he enters you. Moans fall from your lips as your walls adjust to his length, entirely consuming you as he slides in deeper. The sensation is intense, overwhelming, and it leaves you breathless as you both adjust to the fit.

You move together, the rhythm natural, fluid, as though you’ve been doing this forever. His groans match your own, every snap of his hips intensifying the connection between you. The way he touches you, the way he kisses you, it’s all so much more than physical. It’s about something deeper, something you both have been unknowingly craving for so long. There’s tenderness in every touch, urgency in every kiss, and beneath it all, there’s that deep, undeniable love that’s starting to take shape.

“God, Y/N,” Jon groans against your skin, his voice strained, as if it’s taking everything in him to keep control. "You feel so fucking good. So perfect.” He presses you closer, if that’s even possible, and you can feel him, feel every inch of his body hard against yours, as if he can’t get close enough. Each touch, each kiss, feels like an explosion of raw, unfiltered emotion, and as you move together, there’s an undeniable sense of belonging that wraps around you both like a cloak. His hands are everywhere, tracing the lines of your body, pulling you closer to him with every breath, every movement.

Your lips are caught in a feverish kiss, hungry yet tender, each one of his caresses sending waves of electricity through your body. His lips leave your mouth only to graze your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, making you tremble beneath his touch. There’s something about the way he kisses you, something intimate and all-consuming, that makes you feel like he’s not just touching your skin—he’s touching your soul.

"You feel so damn good," Jon murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. His hands slide down your back, pulling you even closer, and you can feel the heat of his body against yours, the way he's completely consumed by this moment, this connection. His lips find the soft curve of your neck again, pressing kisses there that make you tremble, and you can’t help but moan softly.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, your voice shaky, your body vibrating with need. Every inch of you is on fire, every nerve alive with the sensations he's stirring within you. You want him, need him, and there's no turning back now.

He looks at you then, his eyes dark and filled with raw emotion. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N,” he breathes, his lips hovering near yours. “You’re mine. I’m all in. Always have been.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity in his words, at the vulnerability he’s showing you. The intensity of what’s between you both only deepens, and you can feel the truth of it, settling between you like a promise.

"I’m all in too, Jon," you breathe, your voice steady now, filled with the certainty of everything you've been feeling. "Always have been."

His lips meet yours once again, and this kiss is different. It's softer, more intimate, filled with everything you’ve both been hiding—desire, love, longing. Every part of you is connected to him now, body and soul. You move together, slow and steady, savoring every touch, every kiss, like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

You can feel him, feel the depth of his affection, his love for you, and you respond with the same intensity, giving everything you have to him. The world outside doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just the two of you, here, in this moment, and nothing could ever compare to the way he makes you feel.

“Fuck, Jon…” you moan, your head falling back. “I’m–”

“I know, baby,” he groans in the crook of your neck, “I know.”

And as you move together, your bodies becoming one, there’s a sense of completeness, a feeling that you’ve found exactly where you belong. And when you finally reach the peak of that all-consuming desire, it’s more than just physical pleasure. It’s an emotional release, a release of everything you’ve been holding back, everything you’ve been too scared to say.

When you both collapse into each other’s arms, breathless and sated, you can’t help but smile. There’s no question anymore. What you’ve shared tonight is only the beginning. This is only the start of something deeper, something real. And you know that with Jon, you’ve found exactly where you’re meant to be.