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pathologicalreid · 4 months

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stuck between a rock and a hard place | S.R.

You, an undercover agent, uncover a hidden secret of the country's largest operation, putting your life in danger and under the protection of the BAU.

who? spencer reid x fem!FBI!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, hospitals, medical inaccuracy, drugs, sex crimes/trafficking, attempted sa, reader works in sex crimes. mentions foyet and also 6x24 (supply and demand). established relationship. word count: 7.7k a/n: this has been sitting in my wip folder for far too long. i am now emotionally attached to these two. i will write more of this specific pairing because now all i want is for them to be happy.

Spencer

It wasn’t every day that men and women in suits piled into the BAU carrying evidence boxes, everyone stood up at their desks. Spencer watched as Andi Swann followed in behind the other agents, not even bothering to greet the team as she went straight to Emily’s office.

Prentiss opened the door, letting Andi in before beckoning for Reid to join them. This had to be about you.

Ignoring the way his heart rate spiked, Spencer stood up from his desk and went up to Emily’s office. On the other side of the bullpen, the rest of the team filed into the roundtable room.

“Spencer, have a seat,” Emily offered, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of her desk.

Glancing at Agent Swann, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “No, I’ll stand.”

Andi cleared her throat, looking at Spencer, she spoke, “Y/N missed her last two check-ins. As her next of kin, I need to notify you to let you know that as of now, the FBI is considering her missing.”

He wanted to be angry. He wanted so badly to be mad, but he’d seen this before. Years ago, an agent in Andi’s unit missed her check-ins and the BAU helped find her. More than that, he knew how much Andi cared about her agents, so he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad.

“Section Chief Cruz has asked that the BAU help to recover Y/N,” Emily said, looking at Spencer. “You know I have to tell you that you can’t be on this case,” she explained, leaning against her desk, eyes flickering as she tried to read Spencer’s expression.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer looked at Emily, “Y/N’s gone missing, and I’m not allowed to help look for her?”

Sympathetically, Prentiss shook her head, dark hair swaying with the movement. “You know it’s a conflict of interest to be involved with a loved one’s case.”

“Isn’t that kind of what the BAU does?” He could’ve rambled off a list of BAU agents who worked on cases involving their loved ones – including himself and Emily.

Turning to face Agent Swann, Emily suggested she join the rest of the team in the roundtable room. She waited until the door was closed before speaking again, “When’s the last time you saw Y/N?”

Closing his eyes, he remembered the morning of the day you left, the both of you had stayed up late as if you could delay your departure, but the last time he saw you was when he dropped you off at the Sex Crimes Unit before making his way up to the Behavioral Analysis Unit. “We haven’t even spoken since she left,” he answered, almost a month ago now.

“Is there a chance she tried to reach you or her family?” Emily asked. She had to ask, he knew that, but it didn’t make the questions any less ridiculous to him.

Shaking his head, he began to pace around the office, “No, she wouldn’t have done that. She follows the undercover playbook obsessively. She always said freestyling was like signing your death certificate.” He tried. He tried to get you to leave him breadcrumbs, but you never did.

Nodding, Emily watched as he paced back and forth “When did you get married?”

Pressing his lips into a thin white line, he stopped in his tracks, “When I came back after The Believers. It was the next day.” You had offered to sleep on the couch in an attempt to give him space when he asked you to go to the courthouse with him. That was two months ago now.

He didn’t want space. Not from you. Never from you.

Finally, he sat down.

“Did you tell anyone?” Emily asked, sitting down in the chair next to him. “Did you have a witness to sign your marriage certificate?”

Nodding, Spencer reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and produced three rings, his wedding ring, your engagement ring, and your wedding band. You didn’t have the time to get them soldered together yet. “Rossi was our witness,” he responded, “He was the only one who answered his phone.” He slipped his ring on and closed his fist around your two rings.

After a moment, Emily stood, “I’m going to speak with the rest of the team, but I won’t tell them anything I don’t think is pertinent to the case.” Which was her way of saying ‘Your secret is safe with me.’ “Stay in here as long as you need, Spence,” she offered before walking out, shutting the door tightly behind her.

He thought of the last night you were together. Spencer tried to check in with you, he told you that if your job ever became too much, you just had to tell him, and he’d be there. What he neglected to tell you was that he was beginning to feel like your job was too much for him.

You had given him the opportunity to hold you close, and instead, he let you slip through his fingers.

Opening his fist, he looked down at your rings and the indent they had left on his palm, slipping them back into his pocket before he walked over to the roundtable room. Everyone paused what they were doing to look up at him.

Spencer just shrugged and looked at Emily, “I can’t just do nothing.”

In response, Emily nodded solemnly and suggested he go through the case files with Matt.

It had been hours. The sun had set, jackets had been shed, and takeout had been ordered. The clock behind him showed it was nearly midnight, meaning it had been almost two days since anyone had last heard from you.

“Oh god,” Penelope said, her voice cutting into the thick silence of the roundtable room. Her fingers began frantically typing on her laptop.

Spinning in the office chair, Spencer wheeled over so he could look at the screen, vaguely aware of Emily hovering above him, “What is it? What did you find?”

She hit the keyboard so hard he thought they might break, but she answered, “The trauma center at Johns Hopkins reported a Jane Doe brought in a few hours ago. She matches Y/N’s description.”

“Did they run prints?” Andi asked, of course, there would be red tape if the hospital tried to run your prints, seeing as you were undercover.

Another tap and dozens of files opened, “It looks like she went right into surgery. Uh, the EMTs reported she was listing off a string of numbers when they brought her in… 265D019Z?”

Spencer swallowed thickly, “That’s Y/N’s badge number.”

Shaking her head, JJ looked over at the map of DC on the wall, “It’s a two-hour drive to Baltimore from here.”

“But it’s a thirty-minute flight, Reid, Tara, Swann, and Alvez go. The rest of us will look into what happened from here,” Emily doled out responsibilities, nodding at everyone as the team broke.

Spencer stayed still, still looking at Penelope’s screen, his eyes flickering over the documents. Words jumped out at him, drugged, punctured, and knife. It made his stomach churn. How had you gotten to Baltimore? Your unit had you set up in an apartment near the Hill. When did you travel from the district to Baltimore?

The thirty-minute flight felt like it was hours long, the drive from the airstrip to the hospital dragged on, but thankfully Emily had called the hospital ahead of time to let them know who you were and who was coming for you.

A doctor stopped the four of you from going into the room, a police officer was already stationed outside of the room, and the blinds were closed. Please, Spencer wanted to plead, please just let me see her.

“She’s weak, she just came down from recovery and she hasn’t fully woken up yet,” the doctor said, placing her hands on her hips. “I can’t in good faith let you go in there and badger her with questions. Not with no one in there to focus on her well-being,” she ordered. The doctor stared the four of them down with piercing gray eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer peeked through the doorway when a nurse exited your room. “She’s my wife, I’ll advocate for her,” he responded, hoping the doctor would let him through. He could feel Tara and Luke staring, but he didn’t care.

Nodding, the doctor continued sizing Reid up, “Alright, but just you, for now. She’s not awake enough to be questioned anyway.” Stepping to the side, the doctor let Spencer through before blocking the doorway to everyone else.

In the worst way possible, you took his breath away. Your skin was sallow, you had an IV, nasal cannula, and a chest tube out the left side. Walking to your right, he took a seat next to you, taking your hand in his and pressing a gentle kiss to your bloodied knuckles – evidence that you had put up one hell of a fight. “Oh sweetheart, what did they do to you?” He whispered even though he knew you wouldn’t answer.

Reaching over you, he smoothed your hair from your face, your skin was clammy, probably as a result of blood loss. It looked like they were still transfusing, so you had probably lost a considerable amount of blood.

Shuffling the seat closer to you, Spencer took your hand in his. The doctor came back in holding a tablet, “Dr. Reid?”

He hummed in response, not daring to take his eyes off of you. “What happened to her? Why did she need surgery?”

“She had been bleeding out in an alley, according to the police officers who reported to the scene. The other agents are talking to them now,” the doctor said, tapping a few buttons on the tablet. “She had been stabbed several times in the upper left side, we went in to repair damage to her spleen, liver, and lung. There was some strain to her heart, it appears she was drugged before she was stabbed.”

He intently watched the steady rise and fall of your chest before he spoke up again, “Is she going to be okay?”

Setting the tablet down, the doctor paused before answering, “We’ll know more when she wakes up.”

Spencer leaned back in the chair, finally taking his eyes off of you and looking at the doctor, “Was there anything… did they…” He felt ridiculous, having spent the better part of his adult life in the BAU, and he couldn’t even put the words together.

To his relief, the doctor shook her head, “There were no injuries that suggested she was sexually assaulted.”

Reading the doctor’s badge, Spencer nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Herman.”

“Hit the call button when she wakes up, we’ll need to evaluate her pain and other treatment,” the doctor said, gathering her things before walking out of the room, and shutting the door behind her.

Spencer kept his eyes on you, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently, every once in a while, his phone rang, but he didn’t have the energy to talk on the phone. When his phone buzzed, he pulled it out of his pocket and checked the messages.

Penelope Garcia: How is she? Spencer Reid: Still sleeping. Penelope Garcia: How are you? Spencer Reid: Not sure.

Setting his phone on the table, screen down, he watched you again, every once in a while, your nose would twitch, or your eyes would flutter. Every time he would hold his breath, hoping you’d open your eyes.

He waited, and about an hour after he had arrived, a small, keening noise came from you. His head snapped up at the sound, your eyes were still closed, but you were moving. “Y/N?” He whispered hesitantly, not wanting to wake you up if you weren’t ready. Slowly, he stood up from the chair, not sure if he should keep waiting or if he should hit the call button.

You were muttering something, talking to someone in your sleep, when suddenly you jerked away. Instinctively, Spencer put his hands on your shoulders to stop you from tearing your stitches, and it was that touch that caused your eyes to snap open. “No, no, no, no,” you babbled, frantically looking around the hospital room.

“Y/N,” Spencer said, keeping his hands on your shoulders, “You’re safe, I’m here. You’re at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.”

With wide eyes, you looked up at him and mouthed the word ‘Baltimore.’ As if you were trying to figure out how you had ended up in Baltimore, something the BAU still hadn’t figured out. “I thought I…” Your voice was nothing more than a rasp, but with the bruises he could now see littering your neck, that didn’t surprise him much. “Did you see it?”

Spencer pushed the call button without you noticing, “Did I see what, love?” He asked, keeping his voice low as he gently sat down on the edge of your hospital bed.

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked around the room, “Is Andi here?" Your voice was tight, like you were struggling to breathe. "I need to talk to Andi.”

Helplessly, Spencer watched as the number signifying your heart rate jumped, “Not just yet, alright?” He said, looking up when the doctor and a nurse came through the door.

The doctor introduced herself and started trying to get you to even out your breathing, one of the monitors was beeping like crazy until the nurse hit a button on it.

All he could do was watch, making sure he didn’t get in the way. Listening in to words about medications and making a mental note to research everything. “How’s your pain, Y/N? On a scale from one through ten.” The doctor asked, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Like a seven? When I breathe it’s more like a nine,” you answered, every word was strained. The doctor flashed a light in your eyes, “That isn’t helping,” you said through gritted teeth.

The doctor said something to the nurse, prompting her to nod before pushing something through your IV. After a few moments, Spencer watched as your heart rate lowered and your body visibly relaxed into the mattress. You nodded softly when the nurse asked if that was better.

Dr. Herman left and the nurse scrawled some notes down on your chart, introducing herself as Amelia before she left as well.

“Oh no,” you whispered, looking in the direction of the door. “Is the whole BAU here? How badly did I fuck up?”

Quickly, Spencer shook his head, “You didn’t, at all. It’s just me, Tara, and Luke,” he tried to reassure you as best he could without knowing the full story. “Do you feel up to talking?” He asked, smoothing your hair away from your face.

You nodded gently, “I need to talk to Andi. Alone, if it’s okay with you.”

“I can wait right outside in the hallway,” he offered, holding your hand in his and skimming the pad of his thumb over top of your knuckles.

You hummed contentedly, “Could you see if I can have water?”

Grateful to have something to do, Spencer stood up, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I’ll be right back.” He stepped out of the room, garnering the attention of the agents who were waiting in the hallway, all of them staring at Spencer expectantly, “Andi, she wants to talk to you.”

The Unit Chief nodded and disappeared into the room, leaving the door open just a crack.

He was gone for three minutes, that was the time it took him to walk to the nurses’ station and ask if you were allowed liquids and back, but when he returned the door to your room was wide open. “Where did they go?” He asked, looking over at Tara.

She was still leaning against the taupe hospital walls before nodding in the direction of the red exit sign, “Swann was in there for maybe two minutes before she came out in a huff, she took Alvez with her.” Lewis spoke calmly like it didn’t necessarily mean anything to her.

But it did to him. Walking back into your room, he stood at the side of your bed, “What did you tell Andi that you didn’t want me hearing?”

“Huh?” You sounded tired – rightfully so. Your pupils were dilated, which told Spencer that the drugs that the doctors had given you were working.

It comforted him that you weren’t in as much pain, but you were still hiding something from him. “You asked me to leave while you talked to Andi because you didn’t want me to hear what you were telling her. What did you tell her?”

Your face softened as your eyes filled with a different kind of hurt, “Don’t profile me.” You were too tired to hide the pain in your voice.

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, “Don’t lie to me,” He countered. You were lying by omission, but what was worse was that you might’ve been putting yourself in danger.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whimpered.

Spencer’s chest tightened as he watched your eyes fill with tears, he sat down on the edge of your bed and took your hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere. Why would you think I’d leave you, darling?”

Your eyes were half-closed, “because you…” your voice trailed off and he squeezed your hand to get your attention. “When Scratch had Emily, you wanted to kill him,” you murmured.

The air had been knocked out of his lungs. You hadn’t been talking about a divorce. You were saying that you could identify your assailant, and you didn’t want Spencer to know. “I won’t go,” he whispered, “I’ll be right here.”

“It was Jake,” you mumbled, barely able to open your mouth as you fought your exhaustion.

That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. He swallowed thickly, “Jake did this to you?” He asked slowly, looking at your hand, your fingers intertwined.

Minutely, you shook your head, “Jake blew my cover, Spence.” Yawning, you proceeded to mumble about him doing it on purpose.

Untangling your fingers, Spencer reached out and smoothed your hair away from your forehead, “Get some sleep, angel. I love you.”

You hummed an ‘I love you’ back, and the next moment your eyes were shut.

A nurse came in and asked for a moment while she checked the output of your chest tube, ushering Spencer and Tara out. “Okay, I’ll bite, who’s Jake?” Tara asked, putting a hand on her hip as she looked expectantly at Reid.

“Jake is her partner. When she’s not undercover and just out in the field, they’re partners,” Spencer explained.

Tara pursed her lips thoughtfully, “So, he would’ve known that she was undercover.”

Nodding as the newly added weight of the situation threatened to pull him down, Spencer turned and faced you, watching as the nurse examined you as you slept. “He blew her cover on purpose,” he reached up and rubbed his eye. Jake knew exactly what he was doing when he blew your cover, and you knew exactly what you were doing when you begged Spencer not to leave you.

“We have to go back in and ask her more questions,” Tara said.

Usually, Spencer agreed with Tara, but not this time. He saw the monitors you were hooked up to, he read your chart, and he watched the concerned looks on the nurses’ faces. They all told him that you weren’t stable enough to be speaking, let alone a cognitive interview. “No,” Spencer said finally.

Clearing her throat lightly, Tara stood next to him in the doorway, “We can’t let them get away, Reid.”

“And I can’t lose her,” he rebutted, ignoring the way his voice broke in his desperation.

Stepping back slightly, the other agent nodded in understanding. “Okay, I’ll call Emily. You go sit with her.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice; he pulled a chair up impossibly close to your bedside and draped his jacket over the back of it before loosening his tie and sitting down.

You

When you woke up, it was still dark outside, but the bright lights of the hospital room made it hard for you to get any real rest. You were pleased to find that, true to his word, Spencer was right next to you when he woke up.

He was sleeping, resting his head on his hand with his wrist bent awkwardly. “Spence,” You whispered, clearing your throat, “Spencer.” You couldn’t reach out to touch him, but you wanted to wake him up, so his wrist wasn’t sore.

Jolting awake, he looked at you, “Hey, did you just wake up? How do you feel?”

It was a weird question, you felt like an absolute dumpster fire. “Better,” you whispered, “less hurt, achier. Sore. I don’t know, my head feels fuzzy,” you rambled, trying to move higher up on the hospital bed, but being limited by the chest tube. “How long do I have to have it?” You asked, staring at the plastic tubing as if you could make it go away via the power of suggestion.

“At least through the night, but it could be longer,” he said, reaching over and smoothing over the edges of your blanket. “Do you know what they gave you?” Spencer asked, shaking out his wrist.

You hummed in response, “No, it was intravenous though. They were big on amphetamines, but it didn’t feel like a stimulant. Benzos maybe,” you told him, your voice was soft. The pain in your throat had subsided after being intubated during surgery, but you were still swollen from when Cal grabbed you.

None of this made sense to you. The one thing that bothered you more than anything else was why Cal stopped when Jake said to. It couldn’t have been as simple as the money.

Spencer must’ve noticed you burrowing into your memories, “You remember everything?” He asked gently.

He knew what he was implying, in more cases involving severe trauma, victims generally remember everything or remember nothing. It was lucky for law enforcement when they remembered, but bad for the victims. Bad for you. “Mostly,” you breathed, avoiding his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

“Why? You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he tried to reassure you, reaching out and taking your hand in his.

You hummed, “I don’t remember anything after they drugged me, just the stuff before. Just the…” Your voice trailed off as you returned to your confusion. “Who’s still here that I can talk to?”

He squeezed your hand comfortingly, “Do you feel up to it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice,” you answered him despondently.

Spencer nodded before he got up from his chair, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before he stepped out into the hallway and let Tara in.

The agent smiled at you gently, “Hey, Y/N, how are you feeling?” She asked, sitting down at a free chair at the end of your hospital bed, leaving the chair at your side available for Spencer to return to.

You gave your best attempt at returning the smile before you answered, “I think I’m going to make it.”

As Spencer sat back down next to you, placing a water cup on your bedside table, Tara opened a file and looked through it, “Can you start by telling me a little bit about your assignment? You were undercover as… Barbara?” She read from the file.

Nodding slowly, you held out your hand for Spencer to hold, “Yeah, but they called me Babs.”

Three days ago...

You shifted self-consciously in the gold dress. It was a silky, slippery number that displayed more than you particularly liked. Spencer would probably like it, but he’d hate how uncomfortable you were in it.

Inadvertently, you smiled at just the thought of your husband. It was late, so he was probably at home, reading next to the fireplace. Maybe he was on a case, off somewhere in the United States and saving lives.

It had been twenty-nine days since you had last seen him.

“You look gorgeous tonight, Babs,” Johnathan McCallister, better known as Cal, told you, reaching out and placing a hand on either one of your shoulders before placing a kiss on both cheeks.

Bashfully, you smiled at him, “You’re too good to me, Cal. I can’t believe you got me in!” Deep down, you knew tonight could be the night, you would be able to take down The Program. At least the D.C. chapter of it.

When it was over, you could be Y/N Reid again, instead of Barbara McFarston.

The Program took women around your age and sold them into sex slavery. The chapter in Washington D.C. was one of the most active, which made sense when you looked around the room and saw a majority of the people were elected officials – men and women alike.

Andi Swann had assured you that taking down this chapter would create a domino effect, causing the other chapters to topple. According to her, if you could take down D.C., Miami, and Los Angeles, The Program would most likely cease to exist.

Turning to ask Cal about the selection tonight, you were startled to see familiar gray eyes on your companion’s other side. You felt your façade slip, but only for a second before you pasted a brilliant smile back on your face.

You tilted your head to the side, “And who might you be?” You asked Jake, wondering if Andi had sent him in to get a status report on you.

“Jake Cohn,” he answered, and goosebumps spread over your exposed skin at his answer. He should’ve said William Jacoby, that was his identity for this case.

In horror, you watched as Jake leaned in to whisper something in Cal’s ear, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. You bit your tongue as Cal wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in tightly, “Let’s talk.”

You stumbled a little over your own feet and looked at Jake with wide eyes, the leader forcefully shoved you into a private room, one that would probably light up like a Christmas tree under a blacklight. “What’s wrong, Cal?” You asked, standing up straight.

He reached over and grabbed the back of your neck, gathering the hair at the nape of your neck in his fist. The force of it made you scrunch your shoulders up, “You’re a fucking fed?” He seethed, tossing you to the ground in one swift movement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to convince him. Tried to flip the script so that Jake was the liar instead of you.

Cal grabbed your throat next, holding you down on a booth seat. “Oh, Y/N… Jake’s been one of my best employees for years.” He said, chuckling at the betrayal in your eyes, he only laughed more when you kneed him in the gut. “Oh, I like it when they fight back.”

You shut your eyes tightly as you heard the clinking of his belt buckle, but they snapped back open when you heard the word, “Stop.”

“What? Did you want first go on her?” Cal asked, wiping his cheek – you must’ve scratched him in your struggle.

Jake cleared his throat and met your eyes, “We should keep her clean, you know?” He said, and for a moment you thought he was actually trying to help you, “Think about how much a clean fed would go for here. Especially in D.C.”

And just like that, your hopes were dashed, “he’s right,” you told Cal, trying to formulate a plan.

“Shut up, whore,” Cal spat, causing you to involuntarily flinch.

At least there’s nothing he could call you that you hadn’t heard before, in your line of work, people got very creative.

Cal looked at you, inspecting your neck where he had grabbed you before, “You’ll make me a lot of money, won’t you?” He said, rubbing a hand up and down your arm soothingly before poking you with a needle.

Your legs gave out beneath you, but Jake caught you before you hit the ground. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think he’d do this. I thought he’d kick you out, but I didn’t think…”

Looking up at him, your throat burned, and you weren’t sure if you were going to cry or throw up, but you shut your eyes. “No, you didn’t.” You don’t just casually tell the leader of a sex trafficking ring that the person with them is an FBI agent.

Present

“And that’s the last thing you remember?” Tara asked, scribbling something down in your file.

You nodded absentmindedly, “I think…” Your voice trailed off as you looked at Spencer, “I think Jake might’ve been in charge the whole time. Pulling the strings from behind the curtain while he waited for the perfect time to catch me off guard. That’s the only reason Cal would’ve backed off when Jake told him to,” You proposed your theory, not missing the way Spencer was holding your hand a little tighter than before.

Tara’s brows were raised, “Jake Cohn has worked in the bureau for almost a decade, it would be hard for him to evade detection for that long.”

“But he knows exactly how to evade it,” you rebutted. “He’d know all of the tricks from Sex Crimes and all of my tricks. He- He set me up,” you realized.

Spencer turned around and looked at your monitor, “Okay, let’s take a break. We can talk more later.”

Getting up, Tara let Spencer know she was going to call the rest of the team before she stepped back into the hallway.

“My chest hurts,” you said, hating how your voice sounded like a whine.

In response, Spencer smoothed your hair back in an attempt to comfort you. “Your heart is racing,” he whispered, “Take a deep breath, okay?”

You nodded slowly, breathing in deeply through your nostrils and letting the air collect in your lungs before blowing it out your mouth. Looking up at Spencer, worry plain in his eyes no matter how hard he tried to hide it, you came to a decision, “Spence?”

He bowed slightly closer to you so he could hear you better, “What is it, love?” He moved his hand, so it was gently cupping your cheek.

Leaning into his touch, you whispered, “It’s too much.” The only thing you had left was to hope he knew what you were talking about, the words were too hard right now, but you felt them contributing to the burning in your chest.

“Okay,” he answered. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about disappointing anyone.”

You practically melted back into the hospital bed; the weight of your job eased off of you. Nodding, you closed your eyes, “It’s good, this is good. I just feel crazy, but a good crazy.”

Spencer smiled at you, “Okay crazy,” he whispered, “I’m going to-“ He was abruptly cut off by his phone ringing, furrowing his brows, he swiped the screen and held the phone up to his ear, “Hey, JJ.”

Cocking your head to the side, you tried to listen to JJ’s side of the conversation, but either she was speaking quietly, or Spencer had his phone volume really low. From the way Spencer’s jaw tightened, you knew that this couldn’t be anything good.

He looked at you before looking at the door, “Do you know where?” He said in a tone entirely unfamiliar to you, it was low and steely. Reaching over you, he nimbly pressed the call button on your bed, “Okay, keep me updated.”

“Spencer, what is going on?” You asked as the nurse came into your room, faltering for a moment as she looked at the two of you.

Placing a hand on the bar of your hospital bed, Spencer looked at the nurse, “Do you have somewhere secure she can be moved to?”

The nurse looked shellshocked, surely the FBI occupying the hospital wasn’t an everyday occurrence, “I don’t… I don’t think so?” She seemed unsure of herself.

“Spencer,” you repeated his name.

He turned to look at you, “Jake’s here and he’s looking for you.” Turning back to the nurse, he pointed at you, “She has to be moved.”

“I don’t… I’m just a student, my preceptor is taking a break. I could try to find-“ The nurse stammered nervously. “We don’t usually just move people.”

Nothing about this situation was usual, but one look at Spencer told you this was life or death. Your life or your death. You sighed in defeat, “This is really going to suck.” Reaching over to your side, you gripped the tube that had been draining blood from outside your lung and pulled it out. Like ripping off a band-aid.

In the process, you tore the stitches holding it in place and set off all kinds of alarms, leading to a crowd of nurses and doctors charging into the room.

As someone held pressure down on where you were bleeding, someone said something about moving you to a sterile procedure room, and the nursing student trailed along, whispering “That was the stupidest smart thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

Everything was blurry when you woke up next and, through the blinds, you could see that the sun was finally rising. The warm, orange light peeking through like lines on a piece of paper.

“Hey,” Spencer said from right next to you, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispered.

You looked away from him, back towards the blinds, “Will you open them?” You rasped, your throat felt raw, and your body felt heavy.

He got up and ambled over to the window, twisting the mechanism until the sun poured into your room. “How are you feeling?”

“Heavy,” you whispered, the mental weight of the past several days was threatening to take you down, but physically you felt like Atlas himself, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Spencer hummed in response, “They sedated you, standard procedure for people who rip their own chest tubes out.” He adjusted the way your gown rested on your shoulders, “Luckily you didn’t do too much damage.”

You took a deep breath and leaned your head so you could look out the window. The outside felt so foreign to you now, you couldn’t remember the last time you had breathed real, fresh air. “So, what is the damage?” Your voice was little more than a murmur but with just the two of you in your room, it wasn’t hard to hear.

“You’re going to be fine; they think the tube can go later today. Then they’ll evaluate whether enough you’re strong enough to go home, it’ll probably be another couple of days,” He explained to you, matching your gentle tone. “Johnathan McCallister is in custody, and Jake Cohn is dead,” he told you, studying your face for any kind of reaction.

Closing your eyes, you felt white hot tears stream down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, laughing a little despite yourself. He probably thought you were losing it, crying over the death of someone who had nearly had you murdered.

The edge of your mattress dipped down slightly, and you opened your eyes to see Spencer sitting next to you, “You don’t need to be sorry, my love.” Gently, he rested a hand on your hip, skimming his thumb over the rough fabric of your hospital gown, “He was like family to you. I’m not sorry he’s dead – I’m not. I am sorry for that loss, though.”

Nodding, you felt it as your face crumpled, leading Spencer to lean down and hug you as best he could. “I’m sorry I scared you,” you said as he pulled away.

Your furrowed your brows in confusion as he reached into his pocket and produced your wedding ring, taking your left hand, he slid the rings on, “For better or for worse, right?”

A small smile grew on your face as the gem on your finger shimmered in the morning light, “for richer or for poorer,” you continued.

“In sickness and in health,” Spencer whispered, eyes flickering around the hospital room.

You reached up a shaky hand and cupped his cheek with your palm, “to love and to cherish.” You said, feeling a dopey, lovesick grin blooming on your face.

He turned his head and kissed the center of your palm, “until parted by death,” he finished, taking your hand in his.

“No dying,” you insisted, feeling your energy begin to drain, you started to understand why the doctors didn’t want you going home for a few days.

Spencer hummed in response, “You almost did. If you hadn’t been found when you were-“ his voice broke off and you had to tear your eyes away from his for a moment. “I still can’t believe you chose that,” he whispered, looking at you like you hung the moon.

Shrugging as if it was nothing, you melted back into the pillows, “I had a split second to weigh my options – get sold into sex slavery or get stabbed in the chest.”

“A catch-22,” he nodded, wrapping his head around your impossible decision. You couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take until the fear in his eyes left.

You shifted a little in the hospital bed, the sheets rustling as you did, “We get it, you’ve read Joseph Heller.”

He smiled at that, the light teasing seemed to bring brightness to his face, “What is it about blood loss that makes you think you’re funny?”

Laughing lightly, you squeezed his hand as tightly as you could manage, “I am funny. And I’m tired.”

“Go back to sleep then, baby,” he said softly, “it’ll all be here when you wake up.”

There was a party in your hospital room. It started with just Emily, coming in because you were finally up to seeing anyone other than Spencer, and it ended up being the entire BAU.

Someone had gone to the apartment and gathered clothes for you so that, once your chest tube was removed, you could put on real clothes. So now you were sitting up, wearing sweatpants and a ratty old college sweatshirt, and laughing with the BAU. You were leaning heavily on Spencer, who was also sitting on your hospital bed, but he didn’t seem to have a problem with keeping you steady.

Luckily for you, no one in the BAU wanted to ask about what had happened on your assignment, they were more interested in the rings that adorned your and Spencer’s fingers.

“I still can’t believe you two secretly got married,” Penelope said. “Of all of the times for me to not answer my phone.”

Next to her, Luke shrugged, “Honestly, I can believe it. It feels like a very Y/N and Reid thing to do.”

Gently, Spencer rubbed your back. His hovering was quickly going to become insufferable, but right now you were welcoming every touch with open arms.

“Well, we’ll have a party for the two of you. When you’re up for it, of course,” JJ said, smiling from where she was standing next to Emily.

You wanted to shake your head and tell them that it really wasn’t necessary, but asking the BAU to refrain from throwing a party was like asking a shark to stop swimming. Instead of debating, you just smiled and bobbed your head.

Eventually, Andi showed up, just as you knew she would. “Hey, guys,” Emily nodded in the direction of the doorway, “Why don’t we go raid the hospital cafeteria?”

After a few more hugs, including a lingering one from Garcia, the BAU, save for your husband, filtered out, and Andi made her way to the foot of your bed. “Hey,” you said, your voice was soft.

Nine years. You had spent nine years in the sex crimes unit. Spencer had done the math, you’d spent approximately seventy-six percent of that time undercover, missing birthdays, holidays, not ever really looking forward to the future. Until now.

You, the most decorated member of the sex crimes unit, were leaving.

Suspiciously, you eyed the files in Andi’s arms, one was a case file, the other a plain manila folder. She silently handed you the case file, and you shared a look with Spencer before flipping it open. “The Program is gone?” You asked, your eyes skimming the folder.

Swann nodded, her brown hair swaying with the movement, “The arrest of the leader of the D.C. chapter greatly contributed to that, but it was the death of the ringleader that took the remainder of The Program down.”

Closing your eyes, you nodded as you tried to process what she was telling you. Jake had been in charge all along. “Andi, I-“

“It was your intel that did it,” she cut you off. “From your last several assignments, everything you collected directly contributed to the downfall of this trafficking network. One of the largest networks the FBI has ever seen.”

She handed you the next file, labeled with only your name. You flipped it open, well aware that Spencer was reading from over your shoulder. “I don’t qualify for retirement,” you told her, furrowing your eyebrows, and looking at the papers in front of you. You didn’t qualify for retirement, and yet, you were looking at a retirement offer.

Your unit chief nodded understandingly, “I pulled some strings, with some help. Collectively, Prentiss and I know a lot of people.”

Spencer placed a supportive hand on your back, and you looked up at Andi. “I’m only thirty-two?” You asked, it wasn’t a clarification, it was a question.

“And yet,” she answered, “you’ve done more for the Bureau than most agents could hope to do in their whole career. This plan came from the director, Y/N. He wanted you to have it.”

Shaking your head, you handed the folder over to your husband so he could look through it. “I don’t… can I think about it?”

“He’ll want an answer soon but talk it over and give me a call when you’ve come to a decision,” she said, grabbing her things and making her way to the door. “And Y/N?”

You lifted your head up to meet her eyes, “Yeah, Andi?”

She smiled at you, a rare, real smile from her, “Make the right decision for you. You have a small army ready to support you through everything.”

Slowly, your gaze followed her out the door, waiting until you heard the latch of the door secure. Spencer handed the folder back to you, “What do you want to do?”

You flipped through the folder again, it was a lot of money, and there were a few different distribution options, but it was more than you felt you’d ever need. “I don’t really feel like I deserve this,” you whispered, reaching your hand up and rubbing the back of your neck. “The Bureau doesn’t offer early retirement like this, not without extenuating circumstances,” you continued.

“They did it with Hotch,” Spencer said, reading the file over your shoulder.

Shaking your head, you leaned over to look at him, “That was way different, Haley was murdered by a serial killer.”

Spencer sighed, “I think you’re selling yourself short, darling. The Program was trafficking almost 12,000 people across the country. That’s almost 70 percent of the yearly total trafficking victims. You took them down,” he told you earnestly.

Your shoulders slouched forward, “I didn’t do it alone, though.”

“Didn’t you, though? They sent you in with no communication device, no emergency signal, and information that wasn’t even true. Your unit told you Johnathan McCallister was the leader of the ring, but it ended up being a decorated agent and you’re the one who figured that out,” Spencer spoke emphatically. “You almost died in the process, and now there are thousands of victims who are going to go home – all thanks to you.”

Wiping at your eyes, you looked at your husband, “You’re biased.” That felt true, but Spencer was the person who knew you best in the world.

“What’s holding you back?” He murmured gently, sweeping strands of your hair behind your ears.

Smiling unsurely, you closed your eyes, “Fear of the future. In the past nine years, the longest I’ve ever been home was four weeks. I don’t… What do you want me to do?”

He shook his head slowly, “it’s not my decision.” A diplomatic answer, you should’ve guessed.

“But what do you want me to do?” You pressed.

Sighing, you watched him weigh his options, “If my choices are you going back out into the field and getting hurt again, where maybe it doesn’t have this good of an outcome, or you, safe at home, where I get to see you more than approximately three months a year, then the choice is clear.”

When he laid it out for you like that, it was pretty clear. “Maybe I could finally see what all the BAU spouses are talking about. You know, how you’re never home,” you said. Some part of you always felt disconnected from the other BAU family members, Spencer wasn’t the one who was never home, you were.

Spencer laughed lightly, “We could celebrate your birthday together.” That was the one day you always missed. Almost six years together, and something always came up on your birthday.

“I’ve never had this before,” you whispered, there was still something about it that felt tentative, almost frail.

Smilingly softly, Spencer reached out and took your hand in his, “Had what before?”

You beamed, “A future to plan.” Everything was always laid out for you, every day was spent waiting for the next directive, a new assignment. “I mean, not in nine years.”

There were always dreams, late-night murmurs with Spencer about a house with a yard and kids running around, but they were just dreams. The nights when you were able to sleep next to each other. “Do you have plans for us?”

Nodding rapidly, you answered, “Oh yeah, you and me, I’ve got big plans for us.”

please remember to like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed :-)

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer x retired!reader

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comicaurora · 4 months

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I'm sorry that the terfs made their way onto your blog but it does feel good to see you support trans people. Thank you for that

Always.

I think, charitably, that the discourse going down on that post is an extrapolation and over-focus on one element of the point I was making: that for me, determining with certainty that I was cis was a rather fraught process. I was presented with many alternatives, but underlying their imposition on me was the oddly regressive idea that the things I liked, the principles I valued, the parts of myself I was proud of were not permitted of women. My whole life I got smacked with the background radiation that I couldn't like being strong because women aren't allowed to be stronger than men. I couldn't like being loud and boistrous because women aren't allowed to take up space. I couldn't be a math geek because women aren't smart. It was all deeply regressive misogyny from day one, but I started getting hit with it slathered in a fresh coat of paint - all those assumptions still held to be true, but now there was the out that I could do all those things if I just wasn't a woman.

Concluding that the underlying bioessentialist premise was wrong was very important. Absolutely none of those statements were true, and were only ever maintained by cultural saturation, goalpost-readjustment when they were actively disproven, and the occasional bout of lying with statistics to pretend they weren't just Shit All The Way Down. The core premise that certain things were only permitted of or possible for men was bullshit, and I didn't need to surrender the gender I liked best in order to play in the spaces I wanted to. I could simply exist the way I was already existing. I didn't need anything else.

The misinterpretation is the assumption that this being true of me means this is everybody's relationship with gender. I turned out to be cis, so for me, feeling that holding onto my assigned gender wasn't allowed was distressing - just another invocation of the same bioessentialist bullshit I'd been dealing with since the preschool playground. This is because misgendering is fundamentally denying that a person has the right to express themself the way they want. When aimed at me, it says I'm not performing traditional femininity well enough to deserve my pronouns. The same disrespect is the root of misgendering when aimed at trans people. "Perform your gender to my satisfaction or I will confiscate it."

The problem is, bioessentialism is 100% ingrained into the terf playbook, which is why, for instance, all their shitty talking points about trans athletes eventually boil down to "no woman can ever defeat a man in any contest because we are simply naturally weak and stupid and there is nothing we can do about it" and quite frankly nothing disgusts me more than the defeatist acceptance of the very lie that feminism is dedicated to overcoming. Instead of accepting that the paradigm of bioessentialism is a false dichotomy right from the jump, they embrace and weaponize it against the people whose existence proves the dichotomy is a lie. If gender essentialism is fundamentally false, then it is nobody's fucking business what anybody does with their gender. If the lines don't exist, nobody needs to enforce them. And yet there the terfs go, hunting down people whose lives are none of their business and trying to argue that they represent some great and terrible evil, some downfall of society made flesh, something that makes it totally correct and normal for them to spend so much time thinking about strangers' genitalia. They want this to be a noble crusade so badly they won't even examine what flag they're flying.

I love and support the trans people in my life and will always, always stand on the side of your right to exist, but alongside that, terf rhetoric especially disgusts and infuriates me because it is, at its heart, utter cowardice. The world told them they were weak and stupid and inferior and they fucking believed it. And now they think Fighting The Good Fight For Women means turning around and using the same paradigmatic weapon that hurt them to hurt the people whose existence outside the binary proves the weapon is a lie. They're the same shithead schoolyard bullies who made me believe my entire existence was foundationally wrong for years of my life and I will never, ever side with them or the shitty, cowardly rhetoric that contributed to the loneliest years of my life.

Figure out who you are and do it on purpose. Find the real source of the misery in your life and try fighting that instead of the other crabs in the bucket. Trans rights.

#asks #not aurora

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palipunk · 7 months

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“You’re feeling isolated. You feel like you’re being eaten alive. That is why I must remind every Palestinian, in every country around the globe, that you are part of a family and that you are deeply loved”

‘“..And there, my dear cousin, is your playbook.

Take this message from the people of Gaza: we, the Palestinian community, despite being cast all over the globe in our diaspora, are a family. And we will survive as families do, by bonding together, consoling each other, gifting each other the gentleness that the world denies us.

When your sense of self is threatened, we will tell you stories of who we are. Of our ancestors and their dreams. Of our passion for life and our great love for the world, despite how it has treated us. This is how we have always kept our stories - and ourselves - alive. Trust us to gather around you, and keep your heart safe.”

Wanted to share this article here for other Palestinians to read, a little light within the dark for us.

#palestine #free palestine

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singinginthecar · 8 months

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israel saying that they're only bombing mosques because hamas is using them "to store weapons" and destroying universities because "they're being used as training facilities for hamas"..... is like watching exactly what the sri lankan government did when they carried out a genocide on eelam tamil ppl in northern sri lanka in 2009. this is the same old genocidal playbook. sri lanka called the tamil resistance fighters a bunch of terrorists too. they wiped out hundreds of thousands of ppl - resistance fighters and civilians alike under the pretext of "only" targeting the "terrorists". sri lanka bombed schools saying that "terrorists" were using them to train their "youth army" meanwhile innocent school going children were blown apart. they bombed civilian shelters on purpose saying that terrorists were using these places to hide. same goes for hospitals as well. anyone who's been paying attention to resistance movements around the world knows israel's playbook like the back of their hand. because we've seen this before. and we've seen the innocent lives that it costs. we've been seeing this all play out again and again, only now in a different part of the world... and like before, the world watches while letting it all happen. this breaks my heart. truly.

#sri lanka #israel #palestine #text #keshika rambles #tamil #death tw #my posts #*

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metamatar · 5 months

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How do I argue with someone who says integration (Indians moving to Kashmir Valley) is good?

ask them if its fair that kashmiris homes get destroyed and seized by the indian army and then indians from the mainland get to buy the land for cheap. if their answer is yes they are beyond your or my reach. this moving of indians to the valley is not some idealised "natural" migration happening in the absence of the ideological motives of hindutva forces that have long aimed to resettle kashmir to make it more hindu.

(frontline's paywall can be broken using reader mode on your browser)

#kashmir

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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'We buy ugly houses' is code for 'we steal vulnerable peoples' homes'

Tonight (May 11) at 7PM, I’m in CALGARY for Wordfest, with my novel Red Team Blues; I’ll be hosted by Peter Hemminger at the Memorial Park Library, 2nd Floor.

Home ownership is the American dream: not only do you get a place to live, free from the high-handed dictates of a landlord, but you also get an asset that appreciates, building intergenerational wealth while you sleep — literally.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/11/ugly-houses-ugly-truth/#homevestor

Of course, you can’t have it both ways. If your house is an asset you use to cover falling wages, rising health care costs, spiraling college tuition and paper-thin support for eldercare, then it can’t be a place you live. It’s gonna be an asset you sell — or at the very least, borrow so heavily against that you are in constant risk of losing it.

This is the contradiction at the heart of the American dream: when America turned its back on organized labor as an engine for creating prosperity and embraced property speculation, it set itself on the road to serfdom — a world where the roof over your head is also your piggy bank, destined to be smashed open to cover the rising costs that an organized labor movement would have fought:

https://gen.medium.com/the-rents-too-damned-high-520f958d5ec5

Today, we’re hit the end of the road for the post-war (unevenly, racially segregated) shared prosperity that made it seem, briefly, that everyone could get rich by owning a house, living in it, then selling it to everybody else. Now that the game is ending, the winners are cashing in their chips:

https://doctorow.medium.com/the-end-of-the-road-to-serfdom-bfad6f3b35a9

The big con of home ownership is proceeding smartly on schedulee. First, you let the mark win a little, so they go all in on the scam. Then you take it all back. Obama’s tolerance of bank sleze after the Great Financial Crisis kicked off the modern era of corporations and grifters stealing Americans’ out from under them, forging deeds in robosigning mills:

https://www.marketwatch.com/story/us-breaks-down-93-bln-robo-signing-settlement-2013-02-28

The thefts never stopped. Today on Propublica, by Anjeanette Damon, Byard Duncan and Mollie Simon bring a horrifying, brilliantly reported account of the rampant, bottomless scams of Homevestors, AKA We Buy Ugly Houses, AKA “the #1 homebuyer in the USA”:

https://www.propublica.org/article/ugly-truth-behind-we-buy-ugly-houses

Homevestors — an army of the hedge fund Bayview Asset Management — claims a public mission: to bail out homeowners sitting on unsellable houses with all-cash deals. The company’s franchisees — 1,150 of them in 48 states — then sprinkle pixie dust and secret sauce on these “ugly houses” and sell them at a profit.

But Propublica’s investigation — which relied on whistleblowers, company veterans, court records and interviews with victims — tells a very different story. The Homevestor they discovered is a predator that steals houses out from under elderly people, disabled people, people struggling with mental illness and other vulnerable people. It’s a company whose agents have a powerful, well-polished playbook that stops family members from halting the transfers the company’s high-pressure salespeople set in motion.

Propublica reveals homeowners with advanced dementia who signed their shaky signatures to transfers that same their homes sold out from under them for a fraction of their market value. They show how Homevestor targets neighborhoods struck by hurricanes, or whose owners are recently divorced, or sick. One whistleblower tells of how the company uses the surveillance advertising industry to locate elderly people who’ve broken a hip: “a 60-day countdown to death — and, possibly, a deal.” The company’s mobile ads are geofenced to target people near hospitals and rehab hospitals, in hopes of finding desperate sellers who need to liquidate homes so that Medicaid will cover their medical expenses.

The sales pitches are relentless. One of Homevestor’s targets was a Texas woman whose father had recently been murdered. As she grieved, they blanketed her in pitches to sell her father’s house until “checking her mail became a traumatic experience.”

Real-estate brokers are bound by strict regulations, but not house flippers like Homevestors. Likewise, salespeople who pitch other high-ticket items, from securities to plane tickets — are required to offer buyers a cooling-off period during which they can reconsider their purchases. By contrast, Homevestors’ franchisees are well-versed in “muddying the title” to houses after the contract is signed, filing paperwork that makes it all but impossible for sellers to withdraw from the sale.

This produces a litany of ghastly horror-stories: homeowners who end up living in their trucks after they were pressured into a lowball sales; sellers who end up dying in hospital beds haunted by the trick that cost them their homes. One woman who struggled with hoarding was tricked into selling her house by false claims that the city would evict her because of her hoarding. A widow was tricked into signing away the deed to her late husband’s house by the lie that she could do so despite not being on the deed. One seller was tricked into signing a document he believed to be a home equity loan application, only to discover he had sold his house at a huge discount on its market value. An Arizona woman was tricked into selling her dead mother’s house through the lie that the house would have to be torn down and the lot redeveloped; the Homevestor franchisee then flipped the house for 5,500% of the sale-price.

The company vigorously denies these claims. They say that most people who do business with Homevestors are happy with the outcome; in support of this claim, they cite internal surveys of their own customers that produce a 96% approval rating.

When confronted with the specifics, the company blamed rogue franchisees. But Propublica obtained training materials and other internal documents that show that the problem is widespread and endemic to Homevestors’ business. Propublica discovered that at least eight franchisees who engaged in conduct the company said it “didn’t tolerate” had been awarded prizes by the company for their business acumen.

Franchisees are on the hook for massive recurring fees and face constant pressure from corporate auditors to close sales. To make those sales, franchisees turn to Homevana’s training materials, which are rife with predatory tactics. One document counsels franchisees that “pain is always a form of motivation.” What kind of pain? Lost jobs, looming foreclosure or a child in need of surgery.

A former franchisee explained how this is put into practice in the field: he encountered a seller who needed to sell quickly so he could join his dying mother who had just entered a hospice 1,400 miles away. The seller didn’t want to sell the house; they wanted to “get to Colorado to see their dying mother.”

These same training materials warn franchisees that they must not deal with sellers who are “subject to a guardianship or has a mental capacity that is diminished to the point that the person does not understand the value of the property,” but Propublica’s investigation discovered “a pattern of disregard” for this rule. For example, there was the 2020 incident in which a 78-year-old Atlanta man sold his house to a Homevestors franchisee for half its sale price. The seller was later shown to be “unable to write a sentence or name the year, season, date or month.”

The company tried to pin the blame for all this on bad eggs among its franchisees. But Propublica found that some of the company’s most egregious offenders were celebrated and tolerated before and after they were convicted of felonies related to their conduct on behalf of the company. For example, Hi-Land Properties is a five-time winner of Homevestors’ National Franchise of the Year prize. The owner was praised by the CEO as “loyal, hardworking franchisee who has well represented our national brand, best practices and values.”

This same franchisee had “filed two dozen breach of contract lawsuits since 2016 and clouded titles on more than 300 properties by recording notices of a sales contract.” Hi-Land “sued an elderly man so incapacitated by illness he couldn’t leave his house.”

Another franchisee, Patriot Holdings, uses the courts aggressively to stop families of vulnerable people from canceling deals their relatives signed. Patriot Holdings’ co-owner, Cory Evans, eventually pleaded guilty to to two felonies, attempted grand theft of real property. He had to drop his lawsuits against buyers, and make restitution.

According to Homevestors’ internal policies, Patriot’s franchise should have been canceled. But Homevestors allowed Patriot to stay in business after Cory Evans took his name off the business, leaving his brothers and other partners to run it. Nominally, Cory Evans was out of the picture, but well after that date, internal Homevestors included Evans in an award it gave to Patriot, commemorating its sales (Homevestors claims this was an error).

Propublica’s reporters sought comment from Homevestors and its franchisees about this story. The company hired “a former FBI spokesperson who specializes in ‘crisis and special situations’ and ‘reputation management’ and funnelled future questions through him.”

Internally, company leadership scrambled to control the news. The company convened a webinar in April with all 1,150 franchisees to lay out its strategy. Company CEO David Hicks explained the company’s plan to “bury” the Propublica article with “‘strategic ad buys on social and web pages’ and ‘SEO content to minimize visibility.’”

https://www.propublica.org/article/homevestors-aims-to-bury-propublica-reporting

Franchisees were warned not to click links to the story because they “might improve its internet search ranking.”

Even as the company sought to “bury” the story and stonewalled Propublica, they cleaned house, instituting new procedures and taking action against franchisees identified in Propublica’s article. “Clouding titles” is now prohibited. Suing sellers for breach of contract is “discouraged.” Deals with seniors “should always involve family, attorneys or other guardians.”

During the webinar, franchisees “pushed back on the changes, claiming they could hurt business.”

If you’ve had experience with hard-sell house-flippers, Propublica wants to know: “If you’ve had experience with a company or buyer promising fast cash for homes, our reporting team wants to hear about it.”

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Calgary, Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

[Image ID: A Depression-era photo of a dour widow standing in front of a dilapidated cabin. Next to her is Ug, the caveman mascot for Homevestors, smiling and pointing at her. Behind her is a 'We buy ugly houses' sign.

Image: Homevestors https://www.homevestors.com/

Fair use: https://www.eff.org/issues/intellectual-property

#pluralistic #the rents too damned high #house flipping #llc brain #scams #elder abuse #ripoffs #weaponized shelter #predators #homevestors #we buy ugly houses #ugly houses #real estate #propublica

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cassimothwin · 1 month

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Hellwhalers Tabletop RPG: Hunt a monstrous leviathan in Hell's ocean

Come all ye sinners... ⚓

During a recent Twitch stream, I had the divine pleasure of flipping through Hellwhalers, a tabletop RPG designed by Moss Powers and Thomas Vorderbruggen.

You can watch my flip through here! 👇

youtube

As damned souls brought to life through evocative yet simple playbooks, players follow their captain's orders, collect souls, and repent in hopes of finding their way to heaven. Only once enough souls are fed to the Hellwhale's heart can players attempt to fell the great beast and earn their path to redemption.

What I really love...

Gambling as procedural generation: Players can bet souls on a custom-designed sic bo board, and the GM (or captain) uses that to build out how the next day's challenges will come.

Character playbooks overflowing with flavor: Building a character is quick and doesn't require rolling any stats. The inventory selection for each playbook is precise, with any item offering a wealth of opportunities for backstory.

Clever use of custom and public domain art: The book's layout captures the essence of The Divine Comedy, passing on the gloomy and forbidding tone of its inspiration.

The strong writing: Distilled vignettes, hints of lore, glimpses of setting, whispered voices, and variety haunting epilogues make this game a pleasure to read. It's easy to see how the playbooks, setting, and captain rules can work together to create a focused and thematic game.

The text provides methods for creating a one-shot, few-shot (a few sessions), or full campaign!

The game also inspired this fantastic video essay!!

youtube

#flip through #indie ttrpg #ttrpg #belonging outside belonging #horror #tabletop roleplaying game #Youtube

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theresattrpgforthat · 3 months

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Protect The Child - The Child

This is the final part of a series in which I cover the playbooks of Protect The Child, my Forged-in-the-Dark game about monster baby-sitters (alpha playtest). This week, we're looking at a unique, communal playbook - The Child.

This is your Crew playbook in Protect the Child. Your Child is not played by the players, but by the Game Master. They are the reason all of you are working together, and have unique powers that make them a target, as well as a spectrum of emotions that will push your characters to react.

Unlike Blades in the Dark, you alter pieces of this single playbook, rather than choosing from a list. Most of these pieces are tied to the Child's age.

Your Child will be somewhere between a Newborn and a Teenager in age range. Right now, each age range opens up new special powers, pips in the Child's stats, and broadens the Child's emotional spectrum. Choosing a specific age also defines what Milestones the Child may have already achieved, and which Milestones they haven't met yet. These Milestones are a mark of your Child's progress - and therefore, also the progress of your group.

You can choose to start at whichever age you like - starting with a Baby strictly reduces number of abilities available to the kid at game start, but sets them up for a much more pronounced growth arc, over a long campaign. Starting with a Teenager opens up a lot of abilities for the kid, but reduces the amount of growth that your characters will witness; the Teenager might already have habits they've formed, or talents they've figured out how to use.

The Child is probably the most untested part of this game. How their emotions prompt the characters to act, and how their XP interacts with their growth options is something I'm eager to test, and this means that much of this playbook may change in the future. I'm really looking forward to playing around with The Child, and I'm hoping that to some extent, this playbook bears some resemblance to the growing-up process.

If you'd like to take The Child for a whirl, you can pick up Protect the Child while it's in free play-test and set up a game with your friends! I'd love to hear feedback about how The Child played for you.

If you'd like to see the character playbooks for Protect the Child, I'm linking to all of my previous posts below.

The Bruiser-Brute

The Business-Beast

The Hearth-Heart

The Meddle-Mentor

The Outlaw-Outcast

The Rogue-Renegade

The Trick-Taker

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #protect the child #mint creates

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19burstraat · 6 months

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I think often of the last chapter of crooked kingdom. not the one everyone considers the last chapter, the last last chapter, the pekka chapter. weeks (months?) after kaz scared him out of ketterdam, pekka starts making moves to salvage his businesses. not much, just reading papers and correspondence, maybe answering letters. and that very night, like he's summoned her, inej appears to warn him off. if he ever thinks of coming back to ketterdam, she says, they'll meet again so she can make the second cut. I love love love it. we know that kaz didn't send her ('I have my own message to deliver'), so her knowledge of pekka's attempt to return suggests she's been keeping tabs on him for her own means. or she has supernaturally good intuition, which is probably the sort of thing she'd want pekka to think-- he worries that maybe she isn't entirely human after all. but regardless, this scene serves a couple of purposes-- it hammers home exactly how scared the slavers should be of inej (very lol), it illustrates the contrast between the complacent old ketterdam (pekka & jan van eck) and the frankly feral new one (kaz & wylan), but I think it also draws a pointed line under the closeness of kaz and inej that we saw in the last chapter.

the only witnesses to the kaz-pekka showdown were pekka's men, and inej. we know that pekka's men will have taken pekka's weakness & kaz's monstrosity from it, but what did inej take from it? because put mildly, kaz lost his absolute shit in that chapel, and let slip more than he probably would have done if he'd just been talking to inej alone. inej, at that point, had been aware for a while how obsessed kaz was with rollins, but that probably put into a hard perspective exactly how badly his presence and involvement affects kaz. kaz describes it as a 'dark door' that's opened in him; if rollins was to come back, there's a good chance kaz would be dragged back into that (to use an inej phrase) undertow, of obsession and revenge and irrationality. they don't really discuss it, and we don't get much of inej's perspective on it, but I think it's not surprising that she wants pekka out of kaz's way permanently. he's a threat to any progress she has made or might make with him. he's the tangible reminder of the worst and least reasonable side of kaz that always teeters on the edge of going where inej can't follow.

so yes, we talk a lot about how inej influences kaz... but maybe less about how kaz has influenced inej. inej takes a page out of the kaz playbook, here, probably because she's doing this for him (even if I'm not entirely sure he even knows that she's gone there). she gets into pekka's head, plays on the potentially supernatural and the impossible, sets up a 'what if?' and plants a seed of paranoia. she uses the nickname kaz gave her, 'the wraith', and rollins thinks of her as kaz's 'wraith queen'. kaz says to her that 'sometimes fate needs a little assistance', and clearly she took that to heart. we know that when kaz needs extra morality, he often draws on inej; but when inej needs extra monstrosity, she often draws on kaz.

#mm idk I really like the scene. pekka's pov shuts us out from the truth of it which is nice #six of crows #not sure if this makes sense but anyway #crooked kingdom #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #kanej #pekka rollins #my post

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teyamskxawng · 1 year

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Say It

Lo'ak Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

The rundown: Lo'ak just wants you to swallow your pride and spill all of your desires.

Warnings: 18+ content, language, sprinklings of fluff and stupidity, lowkey no plot just smut, characters are aged up, minors do not interact!! please

WC: 5.0k

A/N: There’s really no excuse for this, it’s about 5% plot and 95% shameless smut before I potentially drop a messy little love triangle fic... My @ is crying out for help lmfao I swear I have solo Neteyam fics in the works!!

Much to your delight, dinner with Lo'ak's family had become a frequent event ever since the two of you started courting. The Sullys captured your heart, and you definitely weren't going to say no to a meal that required no effort on your part, so it was a win-win situation. You were more than grateful for the family's unwavering generosity and found yourself regularly lounging around in the Sullys' tent after the meal was said and done.

Today was no different. As the aromas of the evening's feast lingered in the air, intermingling with the pleasant sounds of easy-going conversation, you felt completely content.

Further into the tent, Neytiri busied herself with cleaning the remains of dinner–collecting plates and bowls ready for washing. Meanwhile, Kiri assisted Tuk in getting ready for bed by dragging a wet cloth across the girl's lively little face, which somehow (always) ended up smeared with food after mealtimes.

You had to stifle your laughter as you watched Kiri struggle to pluck a morsel of food from one of Tuk's braids. The sight caught Lo'ak's attention, who teasingly nudged you underneath the thick woven throw-over that covered your adjacent legs from your shared spot on the ground.

Sitting across from you were Jake and Neteyam. After every one of your dinner visits, Jake would somehow find a way to bring the three of you together to discuss whatever warrior matters were on his mind that day. And Neytiri would always roll her eyes at her husband's relentless enthusiasm, claiming he wasn't raising an army, but you found it all endearing nonetheless.

Jake was clearly just excited to rant about military tactics and strategies with the three of you, who had all matured into warriors and were no longer clueless little kids. He valued your thoughts and opinions on new training methods, upcoming missions, and strategic planning–topics that were far over your heads before you reached adulthood.

That evening, Jake seemed especially excited about a new gadget he explained he'd get to pick up from the avatar camp the next day. It was called a three-dee-geo something. You honestly had no idea what it was, and you didn't really care. It sounded like something straight out of the RDA's playbook; therefore, you didn't give a shit.

However, Neteyam clearly did.

He was entirely captivated by his father's description of the strange device's use, nodding along to every word and firing off a series of probably very perceptive questions. Every inquiry received Jake's full attention; it was clear that he respected his son's keen interest in the matter.

You'd assumed that whatever Jake and Neteyam were discussing had to do with the current, or possibly future, affairs of the olo'eyktan. Whatever their discussion, it had nothing to do with you, so your mind began to wander for some semblance of entertainment elsewhere. Unsurprisingly, your gaze drifted toward Lo'ak, who sat beside you, wearing an expression that screamed boredom. And you could definitely fix that.

A quick scan of the tent assured you that everyone else was preoccupied, lost in their own activities.

As casually as you could, you slid closer to Lo'ak's side and gently placed your hand on his knee underneath your shared covering. With a feather-light touch, your finger traced small circles near the bony joint–a seemingly innocent, unordinary gesture.

But your little game was far from over. With a final little drum of your fingertips on Lo'ak's knee, you subtly let your hand shift, continuing its journey up the expanse of his leg.

Lo'ak managed to maintain his composure with admittedly impressive skill, but a barely perceptible catch in his breath betrayed his unbothered demeanor. Your hand continued its path until it stopped just shy of the edge of his loincloth; only then did Lo'ak shoot a questioning glance your way, trying to decipher precisely what the fuck you were doing through some form of telepathic guesswork.

Feigning innocence, you flashed him a sweet smile. "You okay, Lo'ak?" you asked softly, reveling in your momentary distraction. Obviously, there was no way you would escalate the situation any further underneath your shared blanket. Not with Lo'ak's entire family in the tent and Jake going on and on to Neteyam about something or the other that Norm had said earlier that day. You weren't stupid–you had enough sense to recognize the limits.

But still, you couldn't resist letting your fingers continue leisurely tracing little patterns on Lo'ak's thigh, or allowing your free hand to linger just a tad too long to be considered innocent as you reached out to brush aside a stray braid from his purpling face. It wasn't that cruel.

Clearly, Lo'ak seemed to think otherwise. It couldn't have been more than a minute or two later that he stood up from the spot you two shared on the floor. Pulling you up by your arm, he made a half-hearted excuse about helping you with some non-existent chore at your tent before the day ended. Left with no other option but to play along, you were honestly surprised that nobody even raised an eye at the pair of you as you trailed behind Lo'ak, stepping out of the tent into the cool embrace of nightfall.

Lo'ak began walking in the direction of your tent without uttering a single word, and you had to jog a few paces to catch up with his quick stride. He was walking like he genuinely had somewhere to be, though you knew he didn't. You finally reached his side, trying and failing to bite back your smile as you watched his stony profile. Deciding to play innocent, you remarked, "I didn't know I had chores to finish back at my place."

Lo'ak kept a straight face for about two seconds before his little facade broke. He let out a snort of laughter, shaking his head at the path in front of him. Besides that, he remained quiet all the way to your tent before hastily entering on his own.

You remained standing there, just outside the threshold, giving yourself a moment to compose yourself for what you knew was coming. Then, trying not to give away just how eager you felt about Lo'ak's impromptu night visit, you bit the inside of your cheek as you peeled back the enclosure to your tent.

The moment you stepped inside, Lo'ak was on you with a searing kiss. The sheer intensity of it all stole the air from your lungs and made you stumble backward a little, but Lo'ak was swift to steady you with a firm hand on your waist. He was literally devouring you, his lips seeming to consume yours entirely, and as much as you were trying to pretend otherwise, you were already so far gone.

Once Lo'ak released your lips, he didn't waste any time laying a trail of fiery kisses from your jawline all the way down to your neck. The sensation of his touch coaxed an unexpectedly loud moan to escape from deep within your throat. You tried to play it off, because you were supposed to be the one leaving him all disoriented–not the other way around. But as Lo'ak's teeth grazed the curve of your collarbone, you found yourself struggling to regain control over your breathing.

With a shaky breathlessness laced in your voice, you managed to ask him, "Eager?" Yet there was no break in Lo'ak's dedication as he continued at that sensitive spot on your neck. Nonchalantly humming an affirmative "mhm" in response to your question, his hands glided up from your waist and along the small of your back, drawing you closer to the warmth of his embrace.

Instinctively, your body arched into him, desperate for more of the intoxicating touch that left your skin tingling in its wake. Then, half-teasingly, half out of genuine curiosity, you asked, "Is it your rut?"

You knew there was something different about Lo'ak. His actions were notably more assertive and touchy–his hands roaming eagerly and his motions feeling swifter than usual–so it wouldn't have been a shock if he'd confirmed that it was indeed his rut.

But he didn't. Instead, he offered another low rumble: "nuh-uh," still sincere in its denial but masking any deeper thoughts he might've secretly harbored.

As Lo'ak's hands brushed under the delicate beaded fabric of your top, his fingers skillfully cupping your breasts, you shuddered under the pleasant sensation. His thumbs glided delicately across your nipples while his lips graced your chest with a flurry of soft kisses. Driven by passion, he didn't even bother to remove your top. It was like he was determined to press his lips against any part of your body within his reach. And you were losing your mind trying to suppress your noises of pleasure.

Lo'ak rarely acted this way. The Lo'ak in front of you–silent and all-consuming in the heat of the moment–was a stark contrast from his usual approach. Though he'd never admit it, Lo'ak was usually so soft. He'd still worship your body like he was now, but he'd treat you with gentle tenderness, whispering sweet praises and little declarations of love into the nape of your neck. You liked both manifestations of his affection equally and couldn't imagine favoring one over the other. Regardless of the approach, he still brought you over that edge of ecstasy each time, no matter what.

But at that moment, you honestly weren't even sure if Lo'ak was going to do something or if he was just planning on mercilessly teasing you after your little stunt back at dinner. Just the thought of being left high and dry was too much for you. Embarrassed by the broken noise that echoed from within your soul, you reached out for Lo'ak—your fingernails digging into his arms with a force probably teetering on the edge of pain. You couldn't hold back anymore; curiosity and desire were tugging at your every sense.

"Lo'ak?" Your voice quivered with impatience as you finally broke the silence. "Do you plan on using actual words anytime soon?"

You were tired of his elusive little games–you needed him so badly, and he knew that. With every fiber of your being shouting out for that connection, it felt like nothing was more important than fulfilling your insatiable hunger.

Lo'ak suddenly halted his fervent attention on your chest, and you were kind of really sad about that. Without his electrifying touch, you felt completely bare, an emptiness begging to be filled. Almost instinctively, your hand reached out to draw him close again, yet his following words stopped you in your tracks. It was like he could read your mind. Or he was just equally as horny as you were. "Do you want me to fuck you?" Lo'ak inquired, his voice raw and unrestrained. His dark, dilated pupils seemed to pierce straight into the depths of your soul. Your response came in the form of a frantic nod, any semblance of composure vanishing just like that. Lo'ak's wide grin conveyed his satisfaction.

For a fleeting moment–the briefest of hushed pauses–Lo'ak softened, leaning in and gracing your lips with a gentle kiss that sent waves of warmth radiating throughout your body. The tender playfulness with which he nipped at your bottom lip left you feeling all weak and pliant in his embrace, like you were melting into his touch. He pulled back just enough to gaze at your face, and you didn't even want to know what you looked like.

Lo'ak's teasing question broke through the haze: "But I'm the one who has to use their words?" His eyes danced with mirth as they met yours.

Your automatic response of "shut up" was practically involuntary, like a knee-jerk reaction. Lo'ak gave you a quizzical look at your continually contradicting words before chuckling softly, shaking his head in bemusement, and hungrily seeking out your lips in another deep kiss—passionate, messy, and so fucking good. Caught up in his intoxicating lips, it felt like there was nothing but the two of you. Everything else had been washed away by the intensity of the desire burning within you. There was no room for thoughts or hesitation, only instinct.

Eager to be even closer to Lo'ak, you sought any friction that would alleviate the intense feeling between your legs. Lo'ak, knowing you inside and out, recognized your need almost instantly. He nestled his leg right between your thighs, giving you the pressure you so desperately sought. As your lips separated from his, your mouth fell open in a silent moan, surrendering to the blissful sensation.

Your fingers eagerly searched for some kind of purchase on Lo'ak's back. Rubbing yourself against the firm muscle of his thigh, you became completely lost in the exquisite buildup of pleasure. It wasn't long before you absentmindedly felt Lo'ak's rigid length pressing into your stomach, followed by another press–the second time a bit more deliberate than the first. "Shit, y/n," Lo'ak groaned, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he dipped his head back in pleasure. Both of your breaths grew shallow and rapid, filling the tent with a symphony of pants and gasps.

"You feel what you do to me?" Lo'ak asked in a low voice, highlighting his words by slowly grinding his hips into you. It was a stupid question because you could obviously feel every inch of him. It'd be impossible not to. It felt like a third arm with the way it was poking into you. But your ability to form any kind of snarky response dissolved as soon as Lo'ak locked your lips together again, his tongue licking in your mouth with practiced ease and stealing away what little breath had returned to your lungs.

The atmosphere inside the tent was electrifying; both of you were entangled in a whirlwind of carnal desire and overwhelming passion. The intimacy between you two intensified with every lingering touch and slide of your bodies, making it feel like time had stopped just for that beautiful moment of raw connection.

Lo'ak tugged you down with him in a single swift motion, your back gently meeting the ground beneath you. He positioned himself above you, the intensity of his gaze sweeping over every inch of your body. His curiosity seemed endless as his hands leisurely explored their way up your legs, his fingers playfully brushing against the tender insides of your thighs.

The tantalizing dance his hands performed was agonizingly teasing; you could feel his touch so close, yet so far from where you truly desired him. Unable to endure it any longer, you called out to him firmly, "Lo'ak."

"Yeah?" he asked in reply, even though he knew damn well that your utterance of his name didn't warrant an actual verbal response. As your heart pounded furiously within your chest, you watched Lo'ak through half-lidded eyes. A tiny smirk adorned his face as he deliberately, teasingly, squeezed the soft flesh of your thighs.

"Come on," you implored him impatiently, reaching to tug at his loincloth in an attempt to speed up the progression of events. However, Lo'ak had other ideas in store for you. He intercepted your advances by grasping your hands with his and then sitting upright on his knees, towering over your prone figure and leaving your body void of his touch.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he said, and you had to resist the urge to kick him in the stomach. Your jaw clenched as you breathed out a heavy, frustrated sigh, your eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment. You brought your arm up, covering your face with the crook of your elbow. You hated Lo'ak.

"Stop it," you mumbled into your arm, your voice coming out all muffled from how tight your face was pressed against your skin. Despite the lack of clarity in your words, Lo'ak heard your plea as loud as day, evident by the huff of laughter that escaped his lips. Taking your request literally, he released his grip on your hands and began straightening himself from his position on his knees.

Your heart practically skipped a beat at the thought of being left there; all wound up and unsatisfied. Panicking, you hastily sat up and met Lo'ak's gaze with wide eyes filled with trepidation. "No! Just—" your voice trailed off as soon as his intense stare locked onto yours. It was impossible not to avert your gaze from his piercing eyes; you knew that in this game of wills, you were on the losing end.

As eager as you always were for intimacy with Lo'ak, admitting that aloud turned you into a helpless wreck each time. Lo'ak knew that fact all too well (and secretly really loved it), using it as an opportunity to make you confront your own wishes—encouraging you to become as confident and bold with yourself as you always were when interacting with him.

He always managed to coax out what he wanted to hear from you—unearthing those hidden desires nestled beneath your embarrassment—and tonight would be no different.

With heaving breaths and only the slightest hint of hesitation, you finally mustered the courage to meet his piercing gaze. In an almost inaudible voice, you admitted, "I want you inside me." The heat that immediately surged to your cheeks was impossible to ignore, but your determination didn't waver. And it paid off. Lo'ak's eyes sparkled with delight as he gently chided, "You could've just said that earlier." All the while, he reached for your lower half and skillfully undid the knots holding your loincloth in place. Despite the mounting tension, he continued to move at an irritatingly slow pace, obviously enjoying the opportunity to tease you for being so hard-headed.

As he carried on with his taunting antics, Lo'ak continued, "Didn't have to do all of that back at dinner," his hands lingering on the now loose ties of your loincloth. He seemed to be relishing in the disheveled state you'd found yourself in. You were a mess, even though he barely laid a hand on you. Growing impatient with his antics and eager to hasten his movements, you reached up and removed your top, baring your chest completely before him.

Lo'ak's eyebrows shot up at the sight, pleasantly surprised by your sudden move. It seemed your decision had spurred him into action; there was a noticeable shift in his demeanor as he finally picked up the pace. Without further delay, he pulled off your loincloth and tossed it carelessly somewhere off to the side. His full attention was now focused on you—your body exposed under his intense scrutiny.

The way Lo'ak's eyes roamed over you left no doubt that he was utterly captivated. He studied every inch of you with an almost reverential appreciation: admiring each curve, tracing every stripe with his eyes, lingering over every glowing freckle that adorned your moonlit form. He seemed compelled to commit every minor detail to memory, and the intensity of his gaze was enough to make your heart stop beating.

As Lo'ak's eyes finally returned to meet yours again, he tenderly leaned toward your body. You practically trembled under his touch as his warm breath caressed your skin. His lips began to trace a line up your stomach, its muscles trembling in anticipation. He kissed his way around each of your breasts with such care, and all you could do was stare at the sight of him in awe. It was impossible to look away as you watched him, breathlessly entranced and deeply captivated by love. There was something ineffably beautiful about the way Lo'ak cherished your body, treating it like it was something divine.

Your eyes closed involuntarily due to the sheer pleasure coursing through you, so it was the sound, rather than the sight, of Lo'ak removing his loincloth that caught your attention. The light rustling of fabric, accompanied by its gentle thud against the floor, ignited something primal within the depths of your being. The sensation intensified when he inched closer and nestled between your thighs, softly parting them further with his own knees. You found yourself teetering on the edge of begging for it.

Fortunately, Lo'ak sensed the urgency just as much as you did. He showed no hesitation or restraint, clearly just as fervent and desperate for that intimate connection as you were yourself.

Without wasting any time, he aligned himself with your entrance, his eyes closing as he slowly filled you entirely. A soft moan escaped your lips at the sensation of being filled so wholly—the stretch feeling absolutely exquisite, his length fitting just right. It was as if two parts of one soul had longed to reunite and found solace together at last.

Lo'ak gently leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to your temple, tenderly whispering "so perfect" into the warmth of your flushed skin. And that was the only way you could describe the moment. A few seconds passed before he pulled away, only to get right to it. He withdrew almost entirely before sinking back in with enough force to jolt your entire body.

He continued to fuck you, establishing a steady rhythm as he moved within you. Each calculated thrust left you reeling, a testament to just how much you loved having him. And the love you shared was palpable—your heart pounded fiercely in your chest as if threatening to break free, and you felt like you were going to melt straight through the floor beneath you.

Lo'ak shifted in search of a more advantageous angle to absolutely ruin you. He used an arm to cradle your leg, hitching it higher while simultaneously pressing his chest further into yours—practically folding you in half. The change in position allowed him to pinpoint that sweet bundle of nerves deep within you. With precision. Over and over again. He hit that magical spot repeatedly, each powerful drive into you leaving you gasping for air.

"Lo'ak," you exhaled breathlessly, incapable of forming any semblance of coherent thought as he tightened his unrelenting grip around your waist.

Lo'ak's very essence seemed to engulf you; within and around you, every fiber of your being cried out for him. It was overwhelming in the best way possible. You had to reach out and cling onto Lo'ak's back to ground yourself to reality.

But your body quickly approached its limit. You were so close, and that familiar warmth building at your core began cascading outward, threatening to consume every inch of you.

Underneath Lo'ak's strong frame, you felt feather-light and completely limp. It was like all tension had leeched from your muscles, leaving only a wonderful sense of lethargy. Lo'ak's every movement sent pulsating shivers up and down your spine, stealing your breath away. With each whispered curse and quiet moan into the night air, you could sense the end approaching faster than you ever wanted it to.

"Don't stop," you pleaded urgently, your voice a mere whisper of its usual self. "I'm so close."

Your words seemed to ignite something within Lo'ak as his chest heaved at the sound of them. His already intense efforts intensified further, as if he sought to split you in half with each of his powerful thrusts. As the passion continued to build between you, all that mattered was being there in that moment—raw, intense, and incredibly beautiful. The overwhelming sensation was accompanied by the wet slickness and the obscenely loud noises that intensified and echoed into the night.

It was then that you thanked Eywa–not for the first time–that no close neighbors resided near your home. That would not be an intrusion of privacy anyone would appreciate. That was also the last thing you remembered as your climax approached with lightning speed, everything around you beginning to fade away, leaving behind only an indiscernible haze.

A broken noise rose from your throat and dissolved into nothingness just as quickly as it had appeared. Your vision blurred around the edges, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the beautiful sensations enveloping your body. Every inch of your body tensed at once, except for the rhythmically spasming clench of your walls around Lo'ak's length.

Caught off guard by the sudden intensity enveloping both of you, Lo'ak's thrusts faltered momentarily. He dipped his head forward until it gently rested against yours, his breath coming in rapid gasps at the overwhelming feeling of your tight grip around him as you rode out your high.

"Fuck," was all he could manage to mutter between labored breaths. The warmth of his exhalation tickled your face, sending an army of goosebumps marching down your arms in response.

Lo'ak gradually ascended, firmly hovering above you as his gaze jumped between your euphoric expression and your bodies' intimate connection. He seemed entirely captivated by the sight before him–it was as if he couldn't get enough of the view.

With one final slide inside you, he pulled out, his withdrawal accompanied by a resonant wet pop and a shudder-inducing exhale. His hand instinctively reached down to control the base of his shaft, glistening with your shared warmth. Swift and eager strokes filled the air with urgency while Lo'ak's concentrated gaze danced all over your body.

Although you were entirely spent by that point, you felt your heart skip a beat at the sight of him taking in every inch of you. With considerable determination, you lifted your body upward until you met him on your knees, close enough to lightly reach out and brush a hand against his hip for support.

As your other hand intermingled with Lo'ak's at his base, he reciprocated by tenderly gripping your waist—and not a moment too soon—since he was now leaning down to meet your lips in yet another kiss. The sweet union between the two of you was no less passionate for all its languidness—a hazy melding of mouths and sighs that sometimes sidestepped lips entirely in favor of cheeks or chins. But it didn't even matter. You were both completely entranced within your shared exchange of blissful love.

Meanwhile, Lo'ak's flushed cock pulsed within your grasp; each minute stroke, twist, and squeeze of his length only pushed him further toward the edge.

There was a continuous flow of his arousal gently streaming from his tip. You took the time to gather it up with your thumb and use it to help with the slide of your hand, the sensitivity of your touch causing Lo'ak to release a stream of deep moans. Your smile broadened at the sound. You loved how yielding he always was under your touch.

Lo'ak's reactions captivated you–the clenching of the muscles in his stomach with every labored breath he took, every deft slide of your hand; the way he met your rhythmic pumps with each coordinated thrust of his hips; the way his hand continued to linger at the base of his shaft, his fingers brushing against yours with each stroke. He was practically throbbing in your hand, just begging for release.

A wicked part of you toyed with the idea of getting revenge against Lo'ak–removing your touch and cruelly making him ask you to let him finish. But you ultimately decided to save that devious thought for another day when you'd really need it.

Instead, you concentrated on heightening Lo'ak's pleasure. You increased the tempo of your strokes and focused even more on his sensitive tip, tightening your grasp and flicking your wrist with each upward glide, just the way you knew he liked it. It always made Lo'ak lose his mind, and this time was no different.

His grip on your waist grew firmer; it was clear how much he relished the moment as rough, nearly incomprehensible sentiments tumbled from his lips: "So good, y/n," he said; "Holy shit, you have no idea;" and "Just like that."

As you leaned in closer, you placed a line of soft kisses along the underside of his jaw. He immediately tilted his head back to give you better access, and a content hum escaped your lips as you smiled against his skin, reveling in how the situation had shifted in your favor. Before long, you felt the warmth of his release running down your clenched fist, accompanied by the sound of Lo'ak's breathy moans of pleasure filling the air.

You lovingly continued to stroke him, guiding him through his climax and ensuring every last drop was expertly coaxed out. It wasn't until Lo'ak had to physically reach out and grab your hand that you finally stopped. "Okay. Alright," he managed to say between breaths, with a slight tremor in his voice that didn't go unnoticed by your keen senses.

"You're shaking, Lo'ak," you pointed out unnecessarily, placing your free hand on his chest to feel the rapid beat of his heart. The smile on your face made it clear that genuine concern wasn't the driving force behind your words. Despite all that, Lo'ak appeared unfazed–or at least was doing a really good job of concealing any embarrassment he might have felt. The corners of his lips twitched up in a grin, and you really should've anticipated his next words.

"I don't have to remind you how much you were shaking when I was–"

Not allowing him to finish that thought, you quickly placed a firm hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up. Shaking your head at him in embarrassed amusement, you replied with feigned annoyance, "You're right; you don't."

Lo'ak's laughter bubbled up despite your efforts to hush him, the breathy sound barely muffled by your palm. Although you pretended to be annoyed, his infectious joy was enough to pull a soft laugh from your chest. As the laughter subsided and your shared amusement dwindled down to comfortable silence, Lo'ak gently maneuvered your hand away from his mouth before you accidentally suffocated him to death. He tenderly held that same hand, cradling it with his firm yet gentle grip.

"One day, you're gonna ask for it without my help," he says with absolute conviction as if it's a fact set in stone.

"No, I'm not," you protest with another shake of your head, your voice filled with stubborn resolve.

But there he was, looking at you with his big yellow eyes and wide toothy grin. It was slowly crumbling your composure, and deep down, you knew he was right. It took everything inside you to suppress the lovesick grin that threatened to edge its way across your face.

end

#teyamskxawng #teyamskxawng’s fics #lo'ak x reader #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak fluff #lo'ak fluff #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2022 #atwow #lo'ak x y/n #lo’ak x y/n #lo'ak sully #lo’ak #lo'ak fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #james cameron avatar #lo’ak smut #lo'ak smut

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4ft10tvlandfangirl · 7 months

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Maybe it's because I work in healthcare and I remember vividly during the worst of covid when all medical facilities were under strain, when there were no more beds, no more oxygen & patients were dying while waiting to be seen or admitted that my heart is breaking imagining what its like in the hospitals of Gaza running out of resources.

Add the fact that they are working through constant bombardment and airstrikes, treating horrific amputations and burn injuries with little to no electricity now and no anesthesia. Add the fact that the medics & doctors are seeing their own families brought in terribly injured or dead. They're getting calls while on duty that their families were killed and its suspected they were specifically targeted.

You could tell me the doorway to hell was under these hospitals/schools/mosques/churches/refugee camps and I promise it wouldn't change how I feel about this. Attacking these places filled with innocent civilians is wrong. How can people see the images and footage I'm seeing and say well, if bombing the entire Gaza Strip gets rid of Hamas then the end justifies the means? It can't! The cost of human life is too high! And that's without even accounting for the propaganda and lies in the mix.

Like many above a certain age I watched the events of 9/11 unfold and a lot of us in the global south actually mourned with the American people. And like the American people we too were swayed by the media's lies so we just silently watched the invasion into Iraq and Afghanistan only for the lies to come out years later. 20 years bombing the hell out of those countries and slaughtering the people indiscriminately and it didn't get rid of the Taliban or other terrorist groups. But I bet it helped to radicalise more to their cause.

Israel is using the same playbook and none should be surprised if the result is the same, if any Palestinian children of today become the Hamas of tomorrow after what they've suffered. I don't support Hamas but I can understand why they would continue to exist and why they might get willing support. And even if Hamas is all that the media says they are, it still wouldn't justify the collective punishment being meted out to the Palestinian people. Killing 8 times the amount of people you lost isn't justice!

I genuinely can't understand how so many can't see that. That there are people celebrating this large loss of life.

I do feel some hope that there are so many rallying behind Palestine, that many are trying to learn more and speak out and that in seeking out information about this, many of us have also learned more about other injustices like in DR Congo & Sudan. But I'm also deeply troubled by the lack of empathy I'm seeing and the cruelty being exalted. I'm angry that the so-called leaders of the free world are letting this happen.

I'm gonna keep talking and sharing what I can and I hope those of you who feel similarly do as well. Keep calling for the protection of hospitals as they work to save lives. Keep calling for a ceasefire to stop the bloodshed and so aid may be let in unhindered. Don't stay silent in the face of genocide. Free Palestine 🇵🇸

#social justice #gaza #palestine #vent post #gaza under attack #free gaza #free palestine #free west bank #pray for palestine #current events #indonesian hospital #al quds hospital #al shifa hospital #anti genocide #genocide

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lumosandnoxwriting · 2 months

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carve your name into my bedpost || George Weasley

Title: carve your name into my bedpost Pairing: George x Reader Summary: George is on the cusp of getting everything he’s ever wanted. His plan has been working swimmingly, and as every day goes by he and his fake fiancé edge closer and closer to being something real. Which is a good thing considering George is running out of time. The season is getting closer and closer, and Coach has finally made a decision about the next Captain of the team. George is either about to have it all, the girl and the career he’s been working towards; or he’ll be left broken hearted. Only time can tell. Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI! This includes vagina; sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk and begging. A/N: yay here it is! The next part of hockey!george. I love him so much I’m not ready for him to be over! As always feedback is welcome and appreciated <3

When George wakes up the next morning Y/N is still in his arms and he’s never felt more at peace. He presses his nose to the top of her head and his eyes flutter closed as he takes a deep inhale of the floral scent of her shampoo. Of course his sheets have started to smell like Y/N, and his shower too, but there’s something so intoxicating about smelling her signature scent straight from the source.

In high school they somehow managed to convince their parents that allowing them to have sleepovers was safer than them sneaking out to go off and fool around somewhere, and as he pulls Y/N in closer to his chest George is reminded of those simpler times. Back then everything seemed so easy, he was on his way to being one of the top draft prospects and he was deeply in love with the woman he knew was his forever. He never in his wildest dreams could have imagined that he and Y/N didn’t make it, and now the only reason why she’s in his bed is because of some plan he cooked up that requires her to be his fake fiancé.

No, back then George imagined that by now they would be married, with at least one child and a dog to keep an eye on them while he’s out on the road. After he made that stupid mistake and ended things with Y/N all George’s dreams of a wife and kids flew out the window. If he couldn’t have that future with her he had no interest in it.

Now that he’s got her back in his life? He’s not stopping until they’re living the life they always dreamed of. Having her in his arms only solidifies how much he still loves her and how much he needs to have her in his life permanently.

Because this apartment never really felt like home until he had Y/N to share it with.

She starts to wake then, and George squeezes her waist and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Good morning, baby,” he murmurs, his voice still gravely from sleep.

Y/N lets out a sleepy grunt and burrows her face deeper into George’s neck. “Morning,” she mumbles into his skin.

One of George’s hands sneaks up her back, fingers trailing against her skin lightly as they move. He doesn’t stop until his fingers are tangled in the hair on the back of her head, nails gently scratching at her scalp. A shiver rolls down his spine when she moans, and George wants to bottle that sound up to take with him on the road.

“We’re both off of work today,” he starts, kissing the top of her head. “And we don’t have any plans until the team dinner tonight at Coach’s, which means we’ve got the whole day to ourselves. What do you wanna do?”

She lets out a hum, her lips pressing a kiss to George’s skin. “Doesn’t matter to me, as long as we do it together.”

Today and everyday until the end of time, George promises silently.

They ended up barely even leaving the bedroom. After staying cuddled together until the sound of Y/N’s grumbling stomach got too loud to ignore, George slipped out of bed to make them breakfast which they ate together under the covers. Once they were done Y/N picked her book up off of the night stand, so George grabbed his playbook and they just sat there together, silently reading. Once it was time for lunch they finally got up, but they only made it as far as the living room. They ordered from a place down the block and they ate together on the couch while watching a movie.

It wasn’t until they had to start getting ready for dinner did they separate, not that either of them really wanted to.

In fact they’ve just walked into Coach Morris’ house and Y/N is already counting down the seconds until they can go home and cuddle in bed. She’d even been tempted to ask George if they really needed to come tonight, but she knows this means a lot to him and she’s actually looking forward to spending some more time with his teammates and their partners.

It doesn’t hurt that the dress code is formal and George looks divine in his custom tailored suit.

George leads them over to where Thomas and Adam are standing with their girlfriends, his arm curled around Y/N’s waist to keep her plastered to his side.

“Ah look, hockey’s royal couple decided to finally grace us with their presence,” Thomas teases as they approach, earning him a glare from George and a slap on the shoulder from Olivia.

“Don’t make fun of George just because he did what you’re too much of a pussy to do,” Olivia responds, making them all laugh at the flush coats over Thomas’ cheeks.

“We never even asked last night,” Jenny starts, taking a sip of her drink. “How did George pop the big question? I bet it was super romantic, we all thought he was such a commitment phobe, but I knew he was a big softie. He just needed the right girl to bring it out.”

Nerves bubble in the pit of George’s stomach, out of all the things they talked about they never constructed a back story on the actual proposal. He spares a quick glance at Y/N, figuring she’ll be scrambling just like him. So he’s surprised to see a smile on her face.

“It was simple,” Y/N explains, shrugging her shoulders. “But it was perfect. Everything I would have wanted.” She pauses, looking up at George with a bright smile. “He did it at the ice rink where we met when we were six, and where we went on our first date in middle school. Had our first kiss there too. Basically everything important that ever happened to us happened in that ice rink.”

“And it’s where I broke up with her,” George adds, immediately cutting off the aws some of their audience were in the middle of. Apparently Y/N’s story had attracted the attention of others and they now have quite the crowd, including Coach Morris and his wife. “Also known as the biggest fucking mistake I’ve ever made.”

“You were young, and dumb and scared,” Y/N adds, easing George’s discomfort. “It’s also where we saw each other again for the first time in eight years.”

George chuckles as he remembers that moment from a few weeks ago. “Yeah and you ripped into me so hard I would have preferred skating suicides until I threw up.”

“You deserved it,” she responds, making their crowd laugh. “I was mad, but looking at you standing there did nothing but remind me how much I still love you.” The honesty in her voice punches a hole in George’s gut. “So when he told me that I was the only woman in the world he could even imagine wearing his ring? How could I say no?”

When she looks up at him again George can’t help himself and he leans down, kissing her softly. Her left hand comes up to rest on his cheek, and George feels his chest swell with pride at her subtle way of showing off the ring he put there.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Coach’s gruff voice calls out, forcing George to pull away from Y/N’s mouth. “Let’s eat.”

While the dinner plates are being cleared away and before dessert is brought out Coach stands up, silently motioning George to follow him out of the room. George sighs, tossing the napkin that was covering his lap onto the table before he leans over to press a kiss to Y/N’s forehead.

“Be right back, baby,” he murmurs before standing up and following after Coach Morrison.

Once the two men have disappeared Olivia is sliding into his empty seat while Jenny and Kate, the wife of one of the defenseman, slide up behind them. When none of the women say anything Y/N shifts her gaze between them.

“What? You guys are kind of creeping me out.”

Olivia grins, waving away her concern. “Sorry, not our intention. We said it the other night at the bar, but we just wanted to say again how happy we are for you and George.”

“Yeah. I’ve never seen him this happy,” Kate adds, briefly squeezing Y/N’s shoulder. “Normally he’d be sitting in a corner pouting at these things. And the way he was looking at you at family skate yesterday? I would have melted if my husband looked at me like that.”

“Really?” Y/N asks, a light blush coating her cheeks.

Jenny nods in agreement. “And how he watched you tell the story of your engagement? That boy is straight up obsessed with you.”

“Seriously, his heart eyes were so big people on the international space station could have seen them,” Olivia adds.

Y/N takes a deep breath, trying desperately to quell her pounding heart. Of course she’s felt the shift in her and George’s dynamic over the last week or so, but to have her thoughts confirmed by those around them? It’s validating as fuck. Not only is their plan to convince everyone that they are fake engaged working, but her plan to get George to fall in love with her for real seems to be as well.

“I can’t even believe that he broke up with you,” Kate says frowning. “Before he said that I thought he’d just been keeping you from us all these years.”

“He was young and dumb,” Y/N explains again, shrugging her shoulders. “And really, I should have fought harder for us. I knew something was wrong, but I just walked away. We’re both to blame for what happened back then.”

“If you ladies are done,” George teases, suddenly appearing behind them. “I’d like to have my fiancé,” he pauses, glaring down at Olivia. “And my seat back.”

With sheepish grins the girls vacate, and Y/N blushes as George sits back down. His arm immediately wraps around her shoulders and she leans in to his touch.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough,” George answers with a grin.

Her blush deepens, and George chuckles as he kisses the side of her head. He knew eavesdropping on their conversation was wrong, but when he came up and heard them talking about him he couldn’t resist. The lines of this fake relationship have been blurred for weeks, and George was not about to pass up an opportunity to find out how Y/N feels about that.

So to hear that she’s truly forgiven him for what happened back then is like a balm that soothes his soul. There would be no chance he’d get her to fall in love with him again if she still harbored any negative feelings about their past. The fact that she not only has forgiven him, but has taken some of the blame as well can only mean one thing: he’s one step closer to getting what he wants.

“So what did Coach want?” Y/N asks, desperately wanting to change the conversation.

“Nothing important,” George answers nonchalantly. “He just wanted to let me know that he’s noticed how much I’ve changed on and off the ice since being with you, and that my effort to step up hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

Before Y/N can ask about the Captain situation a plate with the biggest brownie she’s ever seen is dropped off in front of her. George leans in, and the brush of his lips against her ear sends a shiver down her spine.

“Now be a good girl and eat your dessert so I can take you home and have you all to myself.”

She immediately digs in, not needing to be told twice.

When she wakes up the next morning George is already gone. But considering tonight is their first preseason game she isn’t surprised. Hockey players have always been superstitious, and George is no exception to that rule. He’d warned her the night before that she wouldn’t see him until after the game tonight, and while Y/N had been disappointed, she understood. With the possibility of being named Captain still up in the air, George’s dedication to the team is more important than ever, and she knows he’s doing everything in his power to step up and be a role model for the others.

Thankfully she has a full day of work to distract her from George’s absence, and she’s so busy thinking about what she has to do that she doesn’t notice the gift waiting for her on the kitchen island until she decides to take her lunch break in the afternoon.

There’s a neatly wrapped box that’s just begging to be opened, but she stops to read the note George left for her next to it.

Can’t wait to see you tonight. When I find you in the crowd you better be wearing this

Love, George :)

Y/N can’t contain the smile that spreads across her face as she excitedly tears into the wrapping paper, already knowing what’s waiting for her. Sure enough when she lifts the top off of the box there’s a Rebels jersey neatly folded up, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess what last name she’ll find written across the back.

A waft of George’s cologne comes off of the fabric when she lifts it up, sending a shiver down her spine as her thighs clench. Not only is George claiming her with his name, but with his scent as well. There won’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind who put that ring on her finger when she steps into the arena tonight, and it gives Y/N a thrill knowing that was George’s intention.

She puts the jersey back in the box, pulling out her phone to send a text to George.

Y/N: thank you for the gift. Good luck tonight <3

It’s not until a few hours later, when Y/N is getting ready to leave that she gets a response.

George: you’re welcome, baby - im counting down the hours until i get to see my last name on your back

George: and i don’t need luck when i’ve got you in the crowd cheering me on

His words send a thrill through Y/N and she has to take several deep breaths to calm down. She’s already amped up from the anticipation of seeing George out on the ice for the first time in years, and his text has only brought it up tenfold.

Luckily Olivia’s text letting her know that she’s here to pick her up comes through, breaking Y/N from her thoughts of what her and George might get up to after the game. Because if it’s anything like they used to do in high school, the jersey she’s wearing won’t be staying on for long.

The family suite is already starting to fill up when Y/N, Olivia and Jenny show up, even though there’s still an hour until puck drop. Olivia has insisted they get there in time to watch warm ups, and the idea of watching George practically hump the ice as he stretches was too enticing to pass up.

“C’mon, let’s grab seats up by the glass. I want a front row look at Thomas’ ass in those hockey pants,” Olivia declares with a waggle of her eyebrows.

“Do you ever get jealous that your boyfriend has a better ass than you?” Jenny asks as they weave their way through the crowd towards the front of the box. Both girls laugh at her comment, and Jenny just shrugs her shoulders. “C’mon, we’re all thinking it. I was just brave enough to say it.”

“George does have a nice ass,” Y/N agrees as they claim three seats. “But every time I tell him he just responds by saying how nice my ass is, so no, I’ve never been jealous.”

Olivia laughs so loudly the people surrounding turn to look and Jenny takes the opportunity to slap Y/N on the ass.

“Fuck you, bitch,” Jenny responds, though there’s no malice in her voice. “That’s because you actually have an ass. I swear it looks like I have a piece of cardboard down the back of my pants.”

“And yet two weeks ago Adam ran into a wall because he was two busy watching your ass to pay attention to where he was going,” Olivia reminds her. “It doesn’t matter how much junk is in your trunk as long as your man appreciates what you’ve got.”

All three women agree on that, and they leave their bags on their seats so they can mingle and grab some food and drinks before the action starts. By the time they make it back for warmups the suite is full, and Y/N is practically on the edge of her seat as the players make their way out onto the ice.

Her eyes immediately find George and she watches in rapt awe as he effortlessly moves across the ice. Of course George has always been an amazing player, but it’s clear his time in the NHL has only sharpened his skills, and Y/N is filled with pride as he takes a shot on goal and the puck hits the back of the net with such ease it’s like it took no effort at all.

But then he drops down to the ice to stretch, and Y/N is filled with something else as she watches his knees spread. He bounces up and down slightly as he stretches his hamstrings, and Y/N is practically drooling. Something as innocent as stretching looks downright erotic, and her mind whirls as she imagines laying underneath George while he does those moves.

“You know, I think I get the whole puck bunny thing,” Y/N says suddenly, her eyes still drawn to the way George moves as he starts to skate around again. Her attraction to George never had anything to do with him being a hockey player, the big muscles and brute strength were just kind of an added bonus.

But after watching those big, broad men practically give a magic mike show she can understand why there’s a whole genre of women who’s only goal in life is to fuck as many hockey player as possible. Because god damn, if George wasn’t already coming home with her tonight she’d be formulating a plan to get that man in her bed.

“Same,” Jenny agrees, her voice breathy.

“Is it inappropriate to admit you’re horny while sitting in a room full of people?” Olivia asks, breaking the girls from their trance as they laugh.

“Probably,” Y/N answers, finally tearing her gaze away from the ice as the players head back to the locker room. “But if it’s wrong, well then, I don’t wanna be right.”

Even though it’s only preseason, the game is intense from the first whistleblow. The Rebels are playing the team they’d lost to in the playoffs last season, and from her conversations with George Y/N knows the guys are out for blood. They want every team in the league to know that they’re primed and ready, and they’ll do whatever it takes to make it all the way to the Cup.

The first period is winding down without a score from either team, and Y/N is practically holding her breath as George jumps over the boards to rejoin the game for his next shift. His skates are barely on the ice when Adam passes him the puck, and George takes off towards the other teams’ net.

He passes the puck to Jason, the right wing who was recently promoted to first line, landing it against his stick with ease. George manages to deke around Tampa’s defenseman and he slaps his stick against the ice to signal Jason to pass the puck back.

The second the puck hits his stick George repositions himself and fires it off, and it feels like the entire room is silent as they watch it sail right over the shoulder of Tampa’s goalie and slam into the back of the net.

The suite erupts into cheers as the buzzer rings out, and the girls are shouting as they jump up and down in celebration. George’s teammates on the ice all crowd around him, but as they separate George turns in the direction of the suite, and Y/N swears their eyes connect as he raises his stick, pointing it directly at her.

“What’s he saying?” Olivia leans in to ask as they all watch his mouth move.

And even though Y/N can’t make out the words, she knows without a doubt what George has just said. Because since their relationship began in middle school he’s done the exact same thing after every single goal.

“That was for you,” she answers, voice tight with emotion.

“He dedicated his goal to you? That’s so fucking cute,” Olivia squeals. “Thomas never dedicates his goals to me.”

“That’s because he’s the fucking goalie, Liv,” Jenny huffs.

Y/N ignores the argument that proceeds, too busy watching George battle Tampa’s center for the puck after the face off. She’s in awe that not only did George remember their tradition, but he just did it live on national television in front of a packed audience.

All her fears that George’s blatant display of affection was just a fluke, that he was just caught up in the moment are completely erased in the third period, when after scoring the game winning goal George shakes off his teammates so that he can raise his stick to Y/N and do it again.

After the game the girl’s had met their men outside of the locker room, and when George took Y/N into his arms he’d whispered that he wouldn’t mind missing out on the celebration and he’d take her home instead. And of course Y/N had been tempted, after watching him on the ice all night and dedicating his two goals to her she was more than ready to get him alone.

But the guys who already trickled out of the locker room were calling George’s name, and Y/N knows how important it is for George to be there for the guys both on and off the ice as he strives to be captain.

So instead they’re at Maynards, which after the team’s win is practically at capacity. Fans and puck bunnies are everywhere and Y/N can’t help but feel bothered by their presence. George is hanging out by the pool tables with his team while Y/N has been sitting at the bar with Olivia and Jenny, and every few minutes she can feel her eyes trailing over to him to make sure the women in the bar are keeping their distance.

This is totally new territory for Y/N, and she hates how insecure she feels. When she and George were together before puck bunnies weren’t a concern. George was so focused on his dreams of the NHL and their relationship that he didn’t ever go out with the guys on the team. After a home game he’d end up snuggled in bed with Y/N, and after an away game he locked himself in his hotel room to call her.

It doesn’t help that she knows George has been one to indulge in puck bunnies in the past, not that she judges him for it at all. He was free to do whatever and whoever he wanted while they were broken up. But now they’re in this really weird space. They’re not really together, and George certainly could leave this bar with Y/N and then meet up with some random girl later. She doesn’t think he would do that anyway, considering how well things have been going with them and he didn’t even want to go out in the first place.

But it’s easy to feel insecure when you’re surrounded by beautiful women whose only goal is to get your fiancé in bed.

“Do they ever bother you?” Y/N asks, gesturing around the bar. “All of the girls?”

“Hell yes,” Olivia answers honestly. “Mostly because a lot of the girls don’t give a shit if the player they’re after is in a relationship or not. Like I don’t care if you’re just trying to find some good dick, but at least stick to girl code.”

“Tell me about it,” Jenny adds. “One time a girl tried to stick her hand down Adam’s pants while I was sitting on his lap. Like bitch, read the fucking room.”

Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “Jesus, that’s crazy. So how are you guys so calm sitting over here while the guys are on their own? Especially knowing the lengths some will go to sleep with a hockey player.”

“Trust,” Olivia answers simply and Jenny nods in agreement. “Do you trust George?”

“With my life,” Y/N responds without hesitation.

Olivia shrugs, smiling at Y/N. “Then let the puck bunnies try and get him into bed. Because you know that the only girl he’ll actually be going home with is you.”

Her words do quell some of the nerves rattling around Y/N’s stomach, and she takes another sip of her drink, immersing herself into Olivia and Jenny’s conversation. She even keeps herself from checking on George, trusting that Olivia was correct. Y/N doesn’t have to trust all of those women to stay away from George, she has to trust that George would never give some puck bunny a second glance.

Several minutes later Y/N and Jenny are talking about work when Olivia comes back from the bathroom with a weird look on her face.

“Okay, remember all that shit I said earlier about trust and puck bunnies and whatever.” There’s apprehension in her voice, and all Y/N can manage is a curt nod. “Okay well fuck all of that shit because there’s some puck bunny rubbing all over George and I think you need to go stake your claim on your man.”

Y/N swivels in her seat and anger rises in her throat at what she sees. Sure enough George is leaning against the side of a pool table, and there’s a bottle blonde pressing up against him, one of her hands twirling a piece of her hair while the other rests on George’s shoulder. To be fair to George he’s not touching her at all, one of his hands is gripping a beer bottle while the other rests on the pool table and Y/N can tell by the look on his face that he’s wildly uncomfortable and trying to find some way out of the interaction.

Jealousy quickly overtakes the anger as the puck bunny trails her hand up George’s neck to tangle her fingers in his hair, and before Y/N knows what she’s doing she’s up out of her seat and heading across the bar. Like hell if she’s gonna stand there while some random woman touches what belongs to her. Over her dead fucking body.

Like they’re tied together by an invisible string, George’s eyes snap to Y/N’s as she approaches and a look of relief takes over his features.

“Hey baby,” he greets, and when the woman looks over at Y/N George uses the distraction to push her to the side. “Are you ready to go?”

In lieu of answering his question Y/N shoves herself into the small space separating George from the puck bunny, wrapping one arm around his waist as the other grips his neck and she pulls him down into a kiss. She moans as George kisses her back, but she doesn’t relinquish control. Because this isn’t just a kiss, it’s a message. Y/N wants all of the bunnies to know that George belongs to her, and their days of coaxing him into their bed are over.

When the need to breathe becomes too overwhelming Y/N finally breaks their kiss, but the grip she has on George’s neck keeps their faces close together.

“Take me home?” she asks, just loud enough so the woman who is still hovering nearby can hear.

George is sure that the flicker of lust in Y/N’s eyes is reflected in his own, and he gives her a curt nod. “Of course, baby. It’s time for us to go to bed.”

Too bad sleep is the last thing on George’s mind.

George has her pressed up against the front door as soon as it’s closed behind them.

Neither of them said a word on the drive home, the air was so thick with want they were too afraid words might ruin what was bound to happen once they were home. Because that kiss at the bar was unlike any of the ones they’d shared since this arrangement started, it shattered the line between fake and real that they’ve been skating around for weeks and now there’s no going back.

George has his mouth on Y/N before she even has a chance to breathe. His teeth nip at her bottom lip before his tongue soothes it, hand gripping the back of her neck to angle her head in order to kiss her even deeper. His kiss is possessive, claiming her just as her kiss at the bar had claimed him, and Y/N is sure that without George’s body holding her to the door she’d be a puddle on the ground.

“I can’t fucking get enough of you, baby,” George growls into her skin as his lips kiss and nip down her neck. “I’m fucking addicted to you, Y/N. Your smell, your taste, the fucking noises you make for me.”

“George,” Y/N gasps as his teeth dig into the flesh at the juncture of her neck, his lips sucking hard enough to leave a bruise that is sure to last for weeks.

“My name sounds so good coming from those lips, baby.”

George recaptures her mouth, using the hand that’s not still gripping the back of Y/N’s neck to grab a hold of her thigh. He hitches it up around his hip and does the same to her other leg before placing his hand under Y/N’s ass for support.

She breaks their kiss as George starts to carry them down the hall, her teeth nipping at the skin of his jaw before her lips soothe the pain with soft kisses. As he pushes into their bedroom Y/N’s nose finds the base of his throat and her eyes flutter shut as she takes a deep inhale of his scent. It’s his cologne mixed with something Y/N can only describe as George, and its familiarity instantly soothes any nerves she may have.

It’s a stark reminder that this is George, her George, and she knows no matter what is about to happen she’s in good hands.

George chuckles as Y/N takes another deep breath and he sets her down gently on the end of their bed. “Do I smell bad or something? I promise I showered.”

His tease breaks some of the tension, and Y/N bites her lip as she looks up at George, shaking her head fondly. “Not at all, I was just thinking about how so much has changed and yet you still smell the same.”

George’s hand finds the back of Y/N’s neck again, thumb rubbing circles against the side of her throat. “You gave me that cologne, for Christmas, freshman year of high school. I’ve worn it every day since because it reminds me of you.”

Before Y/N has a chance to respond George is leaning in to kiss her again and she’s thankful for the distraction, since she’s definitely not in the headspace to be uncking that. Nope, George’s revelation will have to wait until tomorrow, when he isn’t kissing her breathless and her cunt isn’t soaking the inside of her thighs.

He pushes her up the bed as they kiss, crawling so that his body covers Y/N’s once he has her laying back against the pillows. Her thighs spread wide, making room for George’s broad frame to settle between them. His cock, hard and pressing against the zipper of his jeans, presses right against her pussy and George just barely grinds his hips to make them both moan.

“Tell me now if you want me to stop,” George pants as he breaks their kiss. He keeps his eyes focused on Y/N’s, needing to see that she wants this just as much as him. “If you don’t want this to happen tell me now and I’ll walk away and take the coldest fucking shower known to man.”

Y/N returns George’s gaze as her fingers twist in the hair on the back of his head and she gives the strands a sharp tug. “Please, George. I need you.”

That’s all the confirmation George needs, making quick work of their clothes. He kisses every inch of skin he reveals to the point that Y/N is writhing underneath him and her pussy throbs, begging for attention.

Her panties are the last thing to go, and as soon as she’s bare George’s fingers find her slit, dragging through the wetness before lightly circling her clit.

“Oh fuck,” Y/N gasps, hips eagerly pushing into George’s touch. “I’m so ready for you George, please.”

George sinks two fingers into her, cock twitching at the way her cunt sucks them in. He curls his fingers, drawing a moan from Y/N’s lips as they brush against her g-spot. “Fuck, baby. I wanted to take my time but I need to be inside of you.”

He sucks the fingers that were just inside Y/N clean, groaning around the digits as he tastes her for the first time in years. “Fuck, you taste,” he trails off, making Y/N whine impatiently.

“Like what?” she pants, dragging George’s mouth to hers so she can kiss him.

“Like mine,” George growls into their kiss, dipping his tongue into Y/N’s mouth so she can taste herself too.

When he goes to reach for a condom Y/N stops him, intertwining their fingers. “I’m clean, and on birth control so you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“Shit,” George groans, his head dropping so his forehead rests against her’s. “You’re telling me I can fuck you bare?”

“Please,” Y/N confirms with a nod. “I wanna feel you, all of you.”

Any fear George had about Y/N not wanting him the way he wants her has been thrown out of the window. She’s the only woman he’s ever forgone a condom with, and it’s going to stay that way if he has anything to say about it.

“How can I say no when you ask so nicely?” he teases, notching the tip of his cock against her pussy. He thrusts his hips gently, making them both moan as he coats himself in her slick. “I’m clean too,” he confirms, nudging his nose against her’s. “You’re the only person I’ve never used anything with.”

Something so simple makes her heart soar, and Y/N tips her chin up so George will kiss her. Knowing that she’s about to have George in a way no other woman has is intoxicating. No matter how many women he’s fucked, Y/N is the only one that he has given all of himself to, further confirming what she’s suspected for days.

Whatever is going on between them has turned into something real, and it’s looking like a real possibility that George loves her too.

“Oh my god,” Y/N moans as George finally starts to slowly push inside, her legs wrapping around his waist to encourage him to move faster. “You feel so fucking good, George, please.”

George groans as Y/N’s cunt pulses around him, her tight heat making his eyes roll to the back of his head. “Jesus christ, you’re so fucking tight baby. This pretty fucking pussy is choking my cock.”

When he’s halfway in his hips suddenly pull back, and the whine Y/N lets out quickly turns into a moan when George suddenly fucks back into her, not stopping until his thighs are pressed against the back of her’s and he’s buried inside of her completely.

His cock presses right against her g-spot, and Y/N feels electric zips of pleasure radiating through her body despite the fact that George has yet to move. Her muscles squeeze around him, and George buries a groan into her neck.

“Fuck, baby. I need a second or I’m going to cum way to fucking soon,” he growls, nipping at her neck. “Your pussy is so fucking tight it’s driving me insane.”

Y/N squirms underneath him, desperately trying to get him to move. “Please George, ‘m so fucking full of your cock, it feels so good. I need you to move.”

“Good fucking girl, begging for me” George praises as he finally starts to thrust, drawing a long, breathy moan from Y/N’s lips. Her pussy clenches as the praise, and George drives his hips even harder. “You like being my good girl, don’t you baby?”

“Yes,” Y/N gasps, her back arching as she starts to meet George’s thrusts. “Wanna be your good girl, George, please.”

George rests all of his weight onto his left arm and presses his thumb against Y/N’s mouth. “Be a good girl and suck my thumb, baby. Get it nice and wet so I can touch your pussy.”

She immediately complies, taking the digit between her lips and sucking hard. Her tongue wraps around it, getting it nice and soaked so George will finally touch her throbbing clit.

“Good girl,” he praises again as his thumb slips from her mouth. He immediately presses it to her clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bud in time with his thrusts.

Y/N’s toes curl where they rest against George’s back, the familiar tingle in the pit of her stomach already building brighter as he inches her closer and closer to her orgasm. “I’m so fucking close, George, please.”

George readjusts so one of Y/N’s legs is slung over his shoulder, allowing him to fuck back into her even deeper. “Go on, baby. Soak my fucking cock with your cum.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before Y/N is falling over the edge, thighs trembling as pleasure rocks through her body. George’s name falls from her mouth before he kisses her, swallowing every single noise she makes so that he can keep it for himself.

“Fuck I’m close,” George growls when their kiss breaks, the way Y/N’s cunt pulses around him driving him towards the edge of his own climax. “Gonna cum inside you, baby. Claim this fucking cunt because it’s mine. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes, yours George, please.” Y/N grabs George’s chin so he can’t look away. “Cum inside me, please.”

Her plea pushes him over the edge, and George buries his face in Y/N’s neck, letting her body absorb his pleasure as he pulses deep inside of her. George sucks and nips at her skin as his orgasm starts to fade, slowly resting his body against Y/N’s as they both catch their breath.

They kiss slowly as George softens inside of her, finally pulling out when the feeling gets to be too much. Neither of them says anything as George pulls away, Y/N watching from the bed as George grabs a cloth from the ensuite. Once he’s back in bed and has wiped their mess away, Y/N still hasn’t found the right words. So she lets him pull her into his arms as they settle under the duvet, the steady pounding of his heart lulling her to sleep.

George lays awake for hours after Y/N drifts off, still wound up from the game and everything that happened after. He kisses the side of her neck softly, dragging his fingers up and down Y/N’s bare arm. He can’t remember the last time he felt this content and he just wants to savor this moment for a little bit longer.

Sex with other women has always been a means to an end for George. He was horny, the girl was willing, and in the end he’d go back home to his own bed satisfied. There was never this connection that he feels with Y/N, this deep need to take care of his partner, this reluctance to let them go. It isn’t just sex with her, as corny as it sounds it’s making love, and there’s no way George can ever go back to the way it was before.

If his plan doesn’t work and Y/N truly doesn’t ever return his feelings, she’s well and truly ruined him for any other woman.

The thought of Y/N walking away from him, from this makes his stomach drop, and he finally has to confront the fact that his time is running out and it’s a real possibility that he may never get to hold her like this again.

Because he lied to her last night.

At dinner, when Coach Morrison pulled him aside he didn’t just want to talk to George about how he’s noticing how different he is now and the progress he’s made. He sat George down in his office to let him know that a decision about Captain had finally been made.

George is officially the next Captain of the Chicago Rebels.

The news had immediately brought a burst of joy to him, knowing that all of his hard work with the team hasn’t gone unnoticed. But it was swiftly replaced with fear and sadness. Because if George is Captain, technically his arrangement with Y/N can end. She’d done what she promised and is free to head back home and live her life as she was before. They can go back to just being a part of each other’s pasts, instead of building towards the future George so desperately wants.

He’s barely put his plan into action, and he’d hoped he’d have more time to get Y/N to fall back in love with him. Even though things between them are clearly going well, and every day their relationship feels less and less fake, he’s not sure it’s enough to get her to stay here with him. George is ready to go to the courthouse tomorrow and turn this fake engagement into a real marriage, but he’s not quite sure that Y/N is on the same page.

Which scares the shit out of him.

Luckily Coach doesn’t plan on making the announcement to the rest of the team until the season officially starts, wanting to present George with a new jersey just before the first game.

He can only hope that’s enough time, because a life without Y/N is no longer an option.

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