hi!! my name is mae!! :)) im 19 from north carolina. im attending college to become a pediatric nurse!!
writing has been my passion for yearsss along with singing and acting. (fun fact- i did commercials as a kid!)
onto the real writingâŚ
MDNI!!!! this is not for you!!!
masterlist - where youâll find all of my work! (fandoms i write for and specific characters) - if a character from one of my fandoms isnt listed but you have a request, send it anyway! i might do it!! :))
fandoms im in/things i enjoy: criminal minds, wicked, wednesday, taylor swift, sabrina carpenter, pjo, harry potter, marauders, crk, star wars the acolyte, and manyyy others!
DNI/THINGS I WILL NOT WRITE
- underage characters/minor+adult writing
- scat
- vomit
- animals, animal play
- if i think of anything else OR if i get an ask or request that makes me uncomfortable i will not write it!
anyways, thank you for checking out my page! im super excited to start writing!! C: my asks are always open!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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i dropped out of college, moved in with the boyfriend i broke up with then got back together with, then he cheated on me and now im back home with my parents!! so sorry guys, moving across the country twice in the past few months has been crazy.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
i'm not sure if requests are open but please disregard this if it isn't SJSJSJSJ
i'd like to request a spencer x single mom!bau reader where she took her baby to quantico and the kid wouldn't leave spencer's side but reader and spencer aren't dating but he likes her???? <3
LOCKDOWN. /spencer reid/
how do you navigate a total lockdown with a toddler that hates change? with a whole lot of help.
single mom!reader fluff 8.5k masterlist.
AN | one day late is close enough-
Youâre standing with your arms folded, eyes fixed on the board, trying to force patterns to emerge through sheer will alone.
Itâs been three days. Too many near-misses. Too many dead ends.
Hotch clears his throat. The sound cuts through the room with surgical precision.
âWe need to reconsider victimology,â he says, voice level but tight around the edges. âUp until now, weâve assumed convenience.â
You glance over, already frowning. âBut thereâs nothing convenient about these locations. Theyâre spread too far apart. Different jurisdictions, different routines.â
âThatâs what didnât sit right with me,â Garcia chimes in from behind her laptop, fingers hovering uselessly above her keyboard. âIâve been cross-referencing work histories and⌠well. Thereâs a common thread,â
Everyone turns.
She swallows, suddenly less playful. âTheyâre all federal employees. Not all agentsâbut all connected to the Bureau in some capacity. Analysts. Support staff. One retired agent,â
The air shifts. You feel it in your chest, the way you always do when a case stops being abstract and starts becoming personal.
Morgan exhales sharply. âYouâre saying the unsub is after FBI employees specifically?â
The room goes very quiet.
Spencer, whoâs been standing near the edge of the group with his arms folded tight to his chest, speaks up, voice measured but strained. âTargeting FBI agents would indicate a grievance-based offender. Possibly someone with prior contactâdisciplinary action, perceived injustice, or delusional belief of persecution,â
âRevenge,â Rossi mutters. âThatâs never good,â
Your stomach twists. You think of badge numbers and names, of routines you know too well. Of desks left empty. And then, your mind jumps tracks entirelyâto the small, soft weight that had been sprawled across your chest when youâd left the house that morning, warm and sleepy and blissfully unaware.
Hotch is already moving. âUntil we know more, weâre initiating lockdown procedures at Quantico.â
You straighten. âLockdown?â
âNo agents leave the grounds. No non-essential personnel enter,â he continues. âImmediate family members are to remain on-site for their safety.â
You open your mouth, then close it again, jaw tightening. âMy sonââ
âYou can bring him here,â Hotch says, not unkindly. âIâll be doing the same with Jack. This isnât negotiable.â
You nod, because you understand. Because youâd make the same call. Because inconvenience and overstimulation are a small price to pay compared to a body bag.
Still, your chest aches.
â
Traffic crawls, taunting you, every red light another minute Percy gets closer to waking up fully. Heâs already half-stirring in the back seat, a low, unhappy whine curling out of him like smoke.
âMama?â he mumbles.
âIâm here, sweetheart,â you say quickly, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror. His hair is flattened on one side, curls going wild on the other, cheeks flushed with sleep. âWeâre driving, I picked you up from dadâs house whilst you were sleeping,â
âGoing home?â His eyes blink open, confused. âBed?â
âNot yet,â you admit softly. You hate that part. âWe have to go to mamaâs work for a little while,â
His face crumples instantly. âNo.â
You sigh, already tired to your bones. âI know. I know, sweetheart,â
By the time youâre wrestling duffle bags out of the trunk and herding a fully awake, fully furious four-year-old into shoes, Percyâs mood has deteriorated from disgruntled to apocalyptic. He refuses the coat you hold out, flops dramatically onto the sofa when you try to get him dressed, and dissolves into tears when you mention leaving again.
Youâd packed on autopilot. Pyjamas. Favourite dinosaur jumper. Snacks. The stuffed rabbit with the missing eye that he refuses to sleep without. Two duffle bags because one is never enough, and because experience has taught you that forgetting one small, stupid thing will somehow become the end of the world.
âI donât wanna go. I donât like your work. Itâs loud.â
âI know,â you murmur, kneeling to tug his shoes on before he escapes his car seat. âI know it is,â
âYou said today was park day.â
Guilt bites hard. âIâll make it up to you. I promise,â
He doesnât believe you. He never does when the promise involves maybes.
By the time you actually make it out of the car, dusk is bleeding into night, and Percy has worked himself into such a state that his crying has gone hoarse and quiet, like his body is running out of fuel. You haul the duffle bags over your shoulders, one strap digging painfully into your collarbone, Percy clinging to your leg like heâs afraid youâll disappear if he lets go.
The guard at the gate gives you a sympathetic look as he waves you through.
Inside, the building feels harsher than usual. Brighter. Louder. Footsteps echo. Radios crackle. People move with urgency, purpose sharp enough to cut.
Percy freezes the moment you step fully inside.
His fingers tighten painfully around your hand.
âNo,â he whispers, voice trembling. âMama, no.â
âIâve got you,â you say, immediately crouching down to his level despite the weight dragging at your shoulders. âIâm right here,â
But itâs too much. The lights. The unfamiliar faces. The noise that never quite stops. His breath starts coming too fast, little hiccuping sobs wracking his body as he presses his face into your leg.
Heads turn. Some soften. Some donât know what to do.
You feel like youâre failing him in slow motion.
âHey,â JJ says gently, appearing at your side. âThis must be Percy,â
You manage a weak smile. âIn all his glory,â
âHeâs bigger than I expected,â she says, crouching a little, careful not to crowd him.
From across the room, Rossi watches with a fond sort of curiosity. Garcia waves enthusiastically, then seems to think better of it when Percy wails louder at the sudden movement. Morgan offers you a grin thatâs meant to be reassuring but doesnât quite land.
And then thereâs Spencer.
Heâs standing slightly apart, as he often does, hands fidgeting at the sleeves of his cardigan. Heâd heard about your son, of courseâheard the stories in passing, the offhand mentions of childcare logistics and emergency pick-upsâbut seeing Percy in the flesh is something else entirely.
He stares.
Not rudely. Not intentionally. Just⌠openly stunned.
Because the resemblance is undeniable.
Percy lifts his head just enough to glare at the room through watery eyes, bottom lip wobbling, and for one strange, suspended moment, Spencer feels like heâs looking at youâshrunk down, softened around the edges, all the same expressions copied and pasted wholesale.
The same furrow between the brows. The same stubborn set of the jaw. Even the way his nose wrinkles when he cries.
Itâs uncanny.
Itâs like you performed mitosis and Percy came out the other side.
Spencerâs chest tightens painfully.
For half a heartbeatâa dangerous, traitorous half-secondâhis mind goes somewhere it has no right to go. To a version of reality that never existed. To a life where that resemblance might mean something else entirely.
And then reality snaps back into place, sharp and unforgiving.
Not his. Never was.
He swallows hard, forcing his gaze away just as Percy lets out another heartbroken sob.
You scoop your son up despite the awkwardness, despite the bags sliding off your shoulders. He wraps himself around you instantly, arms and legs locking tight, face buried in your neck.
âI donât wanna be here,â he cries. âI wanna go home.â
âI know, baby,â you whisper, pressing your lips into his hair. âI know, Iâm sorry,â
Spencer watches you hold him, watches the way your body shifts automatically to support his weight, the way your hand rubs slow circles into his back without you even thinking about it. Thereâs something achingly intimate about it. Something that makes his chest feel too small for his heart.
Hotch steps in to direct you towards a quieter corridor, but Percyâs crying doesnât stop. If anything, it ramps up, distress feeding on itself, the unfamiliarity pressing in from all sides.
You feel eyes on you. Feel the pressure of being both an agent and a mother, both expected to cope flawlessly.
Spencer hesitates. Then, quietly, he steps forward.
âIâum,â he starts, voice softer than usual. âIf youâd like⌠I could try to help?â
You look at him, surprised. Really look. He looks nervous, hands clenched, eyes flicking between you and Percy with careful consideration.
âThatâs very kind,â you say honestly, âbut he really hates new people,â
Spencer nods, as if heâd expected that. âI know. I justâsometimes children respond better to someone who isnât⌠emotionally charged,â
You huff a weak, humourless laugh. âYouâre saying Iâm making it worse,â
âIâm saying,â he corrects gently, âthat youâre his safe place, and that means heâs allowed to be emotional around you,â
Something in your expression softens. You hesitate, just for a second.
Percy peeks over your shoulder, eyes red and suspicious, and stares at Spencer like heâs trying to decide whether heâs a threat or merely an inconvenience.
Spencer crouches slightly, keeping his distance. âHi,â he says, simply.
Percy says nothing. He presses his face back into your neck.
âIâm Spencer,â he continues, unperturbed. âItâs very nice to meet you, Percy,â
Thereâs a pause. Then, in a tiny, furious voice muffled by your jumper, Percy declares, âI donât like it here.â
Spencer nods solemnly. âThatâs fair. New places can be very overwhelming,â
Percy still doesnât look at him, but his sobs quiet, just a little.
Spencer doesnât rush it.
He stays exactly where he isâcrouched, a careful distance away, hands loose at his sides as if any sudden movement might spook Percy beyond repair. The crying has ebbed into something quieter but no less intense, those sharp little breaths catching in Percyâs chest every few seconds like he canât quite remember how to breathe properly.
Youâre still holding him, arms starting to ache, shoulder burning where the strap of the duffle bag digs in.
âI can take one of those,â Spencer says softly, nodding at the bags.
You blink. âOhâno, itâs fine, Iââ
âI really donât mind,â he adds quickly. âAnd it might⌠help. Sometimes reducing sensory input can make transitions easier,â
You hesitate, then sigh. âRight. Yes. Thank you,â
He takes one of the duffle bags from you with careful hands, as though it might be fragile, and slings it over his shoulder. The gesture is so gentle, so earnestly practical, that something in your chest loosens despite yourself.
Percy remains unconvinced.
He keeps his face buried in your neck, fingers fisted tight in your jumper, but his sobs are quieter nowâmore exhausted than panicked. You feel the way his body trembles with every breath.
Spencer watches closely, mind ticking away, cataloguing signs the way he always does. Overstimulation. Fatigue. Loss of routine. Heâs read the studies, memorised the developmental psychology, but standing here, confronted with a very real, very distraught four-year-old, theory feels woefully inadequate.
Still, he tries.
âPercy,â he says gently, keeping his voice low, steady. âCan I tell you something interesting?â
Percy does not respond.
âThatâs okay,â Spencer continues, unfazed. âYou donât have to answer. You can just listen if you want,â
You shift your grip slightly, adjusting Percy on your hip. He whimpers but doesnât protest.
Spencer glances up at you briefly, as if asking permission without quite saying it. You nod, small and grateful.
âWhen people feel overwhelmed,â he goes on, âitâs often because their brains are trying to process too much information at once. Lights, sounds, new facesâitâs a lot of data,â
Percy sniffs.
âOne thing that can help is focusing on one thing. Something that doesnât change.â
He pauses, thinking. Then: âDid you know that octopuses have three hearts?â
Thereâs a beat.
Percyâs grip on you loosens, just a fraction.
Spencer keeps going, encouraged. âTwo of them pump blood to the gills, and the third pumps it to the rest of the body. Which is actually why theyâre so intelligentâthey have excellent oxygen distribution.â
Percy lifts his head slightly.
âThree hearts?â he croaks, voice wrecked.
âYes,â Spencer says, immediately softening. âAnd blue blood.â
âBlue?â Percy repeats, suspicious.
âMhm. Because itâs copper-based instead of iron-based,â
You feel Percy shift, turning just enough to peer at Spencer through swollen eyes. His lashes are clumped together with tears, cheeks blotchy and flushed. He looks furious and fragile in equal measure.
Spencerâs heart gives an uncomfortable little lurch.
âThere are also frogs,â Spencer adds carefully, âthat can freeze solid in the winter and then thaw out again in the spring,â
Percy frowns. âTheyâd be cold,â
âExtremely,â Spencer agrees. âBut they produce a kind of natural antifreeze that protects their cells,â
Percy considers this, thumb creeping into his mouth without realising. His breathing starts to slow, the hitching sobs fading into uneven but manageable breaths.
Spencer straightens a little, still careful not to crowd him. âWe can go somewhere quieter,â he suggests. âThereâs a small office near the conference room. Less noise. Fewer lights,â
Percy looks up at you then, eyes wide. âYou coming?â
âOf course,â you say instantly. âIâm not going anywhere,â
That seems to satisfy himâfor now.
The walk down the corridor feels longer than it is, Percy clinging to you like a koala, head heavy against your shoulder. Spencer walks just ahead, opening doors, glancing back to make sure youâre still there. The building seems to quiet as you move away from the bullpen, the noise fading into a distant hum.
The office is small but mercifully dim, a single desk, a chair, a low lamp casting warm light instead of harsh fluorescents. Spencer flicks the overhead lights off immediately.
âBetter?â he asks.
Percy nods faintly.
You ease down into the chair, Percy still in your lap, his body slackening now that the worst of the panic has passed. Heâs so tired it borders on painful to watch.
Spencer hovers awkwardly for a moment. âI can⌠keep talking, if you think itâll help,â
You smile weakly. âI think he likes your facts,â
Spencerâs ears go pink.
He resumes, voice soft and rhythmic, facts spilling out in a gentle streamâabout stars that are bigger than the sun, about ants that farm aphids, about how wombats have cube-shaped poo. Percy lets out a weak, surprised giggle at that one, the sound startling in the quiet room.
You watch them, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in your chest. Percyâs breathing evens out, eyelids drooping, thumb still tucked firmly in his mouth. Spencerâs voice never wavers, never rushes, filling the space with something steady and safe.
Eventually, Percyâs grip on your jumper slackens entirely.
Heâs asleep.
Properly, deeply asleep.
You donât move for a long moment, scarcely daring to breathe. Percyâs weight is heavy and comforting, his small body warm against yours. His face is relaxed now, mouth slightly open, lashes resting dark against his cheeks.
Spencer notices first.
âOh,â he whispers, reverent. âHeâs out,â
You nod, throat tight. âThank you,â you murmur. âI donâtâhe doesnât usually⌠thank you,â
Spencer shakes his head quickly. âIt was nothing. Truly,â
It doesnât feel like nothing to you.
Carefully, slowly, you manoeuvre Percy off your lap and onto the small sofa tucked against the wall. He stirs briefly, frowning, then settles again when you tuck his rabbit under his arm.
You straighten, joints protesting quietly, and turn back to Spencer. âI canât tell you how much I appreciate that.â
âIâm glad I could help,â he says, earnest to the point of painful. âHeâs⌠a remarkable child,â
You smile, tired and fond. âHe gets that from me,â
Spencer huffs a quiet laugh before he can stop himself.
You both glance at Percy, asleep and blissfully unaware.
âWe should get back,â you say reluctantly. âThe case wonât solve itself,â
You leave the office with a lighter step than you arrived, heart still aching but soothed by the knowledge that Percy is safe and resting.
â
Percy wakes disoriented, rabbit half-slipped from his grasp, the room unfamiliar in that hazy, post-nap way that turns everything slightly unreal. For a moment, he just lies there, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to orient himself.
âMama?â he calls softly.
No answer.
He pushes himself upright, confusion knitting his brows together. The chair where youâd been sitting is empty. The room feels too quiet. Too still.
âMama?â Louder this time.
Still nothing.
The panic blooms fast and brutal, the way it always does with children that ageâno gradual rise, no logic to temper it. Just a sharp, terrifying certainty that something has gone wrong.
That heâs been left.
He slides off the sofa, feet hitting the floor with a soft thump, and pads towards the door. Itâs ajar, light spilling in from the corridor beyond. He hesitates only a second before pushing it open and stepping out.
The corridor is big. Bigger than it was before.
People move past him, tall legs and unfamiliar shoes, voices echoing in ways he doesnât understand. He turns in a slow circle, chest starting to hitch.
âMama?â His voice wobbles.
No one answers.
He spots the conference room next, glass walls revealing familiar faces inside. Relief surgesâsurely youâll be there.
He pushes the door open and stumbles in.
The room goes silent.
Everyone turns at once.
Percy scans the table desperately, eyes skimming over Hotch, JJ, Morgan, Rossi, Garciaâfaces he barely recognisesâuntil the realisation hits him square in the chest.
Youâre not there.
His face crumples.
The sound that comes out of him is raw and immediate, a wail ripped straight from his chest, loud enough to make more than one agent flinch.
He bolts forward, hands grabbing at the nearest chair, then another, sobs shaking his entire body. âMamaâMama, where are you? You left me! You left me!â
Hotch is on his feet instantly.
âHey,â he says gently, rounding the table, hands up in what he hopes is a calming gesture. âPercy, right? Iâm Aaron. Your momâs just stepped out, thatâs all.â
Percy doesnât hear him.
Heâs crying too hard, breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps that donât seem to be doing much good. Tears streak down his face unchecked as he backs away from Hotch, shaking his head violently.
âNo! No, sheâs gone! Sheâs gone forever!â
Garciaâs hand flies to her mouth. JJ looks stricken. Morgan mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like shit.
Hotch crouches down, trying again, voice softer now. âPercy, listen to me. Sheâll be back. She didnât leave you.â
âYouâre lying!â Percy screams, voice cracking. âYouâre not my mama!â
Hotch wincesânot because heâs offended, but because he knows that tone. Knows that look. Jack had cried like that once, years ago, after Hotch been called into office overnight for a case. He remembers the way Haley called him just so Jack could be reassured that he hadnât been abandoned.
This is different, though. Percy isnât Jack, and Hotch doesnât know what to do.
Hotch reaches out carefully. Percy slaps his hand away with surprising force.
âNo!â He scrambles backwards, nearly tripping over a chair leg. âI want my mama!â
No one quite knows what to do.
JJ looks helpless. Garcia looks ready to cry. Rossi rubs a hand over his face, clearly out of his depth. Morgan glances towards the door, clearly considering going to find you, but Percyâs distress has escalated too quickly to leave unattended.
The screaming ramps up, loud and relentless, words dissolving into sobs.
And thenâ
âPercy.â
Spencerâs voice cuts through the noise like a blade through water.
Percy turns, startled by the sound of someone saying his name like thatâsomeone safe.
Spencer stands in the doorway, breath slightly uneven, eyes wide but focused. He takes in the scene in a split second: Percy in full meltdown, the team frozen, Hotch halfway to kneeling and clearly at a loss.
Spencer doesnât hesitate.
He steps into the room and crouches immediately, bringing himself down to Percyâs level but staying well out of armâs reach.
âHey,â he says gently. âI was looking for you,â
âI know it feels like that,â Spencer says quietly. âBut she isnât. She just stepped out for a moment. Sheâll be back very soon,â
Percy shakes his head, sobbing harder. âButâwhat if she stays away forever?â
The question lands heavy and awful in the room.
Spencer swallows.
He doesnât lie, instead, he reaches slowly into the pocket of his cardigan.
âI was going to save this,â he says conversationally, âbut I think now might be a good time,â
He pulls out a chocolate bar.
Percy stares at it through his tears, confusion briefly cutting through the panic.
âChocolate?â he sniffles.
âYes,â Spencer says solemnly. âItâs scientifically proven to help in high-stress situations,â
That gets a weak, hiccupping laugh out of Garcia despite herself.
Percy takes a hesitant step forward.
Spencer holds the bar out but doesnât push it into Percyâs hands. âIf you want some, you can come and get it. No pressure,â
Percy hesitates, glancing back towards the door as if expecting you to appear at any second. When you donât, his lower lip trembles againâbut he shuffles closer, fingers closing around the chocolate.
The crying doesnât stop immediately, but it dulls, sobs breaking up as Percy focuses on the familiar wrapper, the crinkle grounding him in something tangible.
Spencer stays exactly where he is.
âYour mom told me chocolate is one of your favourites,â he adds softly.
Percy frowns. âShe did?â
âShe did,â Spencer confirms. âShe also said youâre very brave,â
Percy considers this as he fumbles with the wrapper. âI am,â he says quietly.
âYou are,â Spencer agrees without hesitation.
The chocolate is half-melted by the time Percy manages to get a bite, but it doesnât seem to matter. He chews slowly, shoulders still hitching but no longer shaking uncontrollably.
Spencer glances briefly at Hotch, a subtle Iâve got this passing between them.
Hotch steps back.
The rest of the team exhales as one.
Percy sinks down onto the floor, cross-legged, chocolate clutched tightly in his hands. Spencer mirrors him, settling opposite, maintaining that careful distance.
âShe promised sheâd come back,â Percy says after a moment, voice small.
âAnd she will,â Spencer says firmly.
Percy looks up at him, eyes red and glassy. âYou?â
Spencerâs chest tightens.
âYes,â he says. âIâll stay,â
Thatâs when you burst back into the room.
The sight hits you like a punch to the gut. Percy on the floor, face tear-streaked, chocolate smeared at the corner of his mouth, the team standing around looking shell-shocked, Spencer crouched in front of him like a quiet sentinel.
âOh my god,â you breathe. âPercy,â
He looks up instantly.
âMama!â He scrambles to his feet and barrels into you, arms locking around your waist with desperate force. âYou came back! I thoughtâyou were gone!â
âIâm here,â you say, voice breaking as you scoop him up. âIâm here, sweetheart. I just went to the bathroom. Iâm so sorry,â
He clings to you, burying his face in your shoulder, body trembling now with leftover adrenaline rather than terror.
Percy sniffles and pulls back just enough to look at Spencer over your shoulder. âYou didnât leave,â
âNo,â Spencer says. âI said I wouldnât,â
Percy studies him for a long moment, then nods decisively. âYouâre my friend now.â
Spencer blinks. âIâwell. Iâd be honoured,â
â
Percy stays glued to your side for the next half hour, fingers knotted in your jumper like nothing short of divine intervention could prise them loose. You donât try. You wouldnât. You sit with him tucked into your lap at the edge of the conference room while the team gets back to work, his rabbit clutched tight, chocolate wrapper crumpled in his fist like proof that something good had happened in the middle of all that fear.
Spencer sits opposite you, legs folded awkwardly beneath the table, notebook forgotten in front of him. Every so often, Percy peeks up at him through his lashes, checking.
Still there.
Spencer always is.
Eventually, Percy wriggles. Just a little.
âI need to pee,â he announces loudly, because of course he does.
You sigh softly, already shifting him off your lap. âAlright, come on then,â
Percy slides downâthen immediately turns, marches straight past you, and grabs Spencerâs hand.
âOkay,â he says firmly. âLetâs go,â
The room stills.
You blink. âPercyââ
âHe said heâd stay with me,â Percy insists, chin tipping up in a way that is painfully, unmistakably yours.
Spencer freezes, eyes flicking to you in alarm. âIâI canââ
You hesitate. Weigh your options. Choose the path of least resistance, because the last thing you want is another meltdown in the middle of a murder investigation.
âAlright,â you say finally. âBut just to the bathroom,â
Percy chatters the entire way down the corridor, voice echoing off the walls. âDid you know I can count to one hundred? Mama taught me. But I always forget seventy-seven. Why is seventy-seven so many sevens?â
âThatâs an excellent question,â Spencer says earnestly, adjusting his stride to Percyâs much shorter legs.
You trail behind them, arms folded, exhaustion tugging at your bonesâbut thereâs something else there too. Something strange and warm and utterly unexpected.
You watch Percy swing Spencerâs hand as they walk, utterly unselfconscious, as though this arrangement makes perfect sense.
In the bathroom, Percy barely lets go even long enough to wash his hands.
âYou can wait there,â Percy instructs, pointing at Spencer with authority usually reserved for heads of state.
Spencer obeys.
He stands there awkwardly, staring resolutely at the ceiling tiles while Percy narrates every step of the process at full volume. You catch Spencerâs eye over the top of the cubicle door and mouth Iâm so sorry.
He smiles back, small and genuine.
When Percy emerges, hands damp and shirt sleeves soaked, he latches onto Spencer again without hesitation.
From that moment on, Percy refuses to be more than three feet away from Spencer Reid.
Coffee runs become a joint expedition.
Spencer barely makes it three steps out of the conference room before Percyâs voice rings out behind him. âWhere are you going?â
âUm,â Spencer says, startled. âTo get coffee,â
Percy gasps, scandalised. âWithout me?â
âIâwellââ
âI wanna come,â Percy declares, already tugging on Spencerâs sleeve. âMama says Iâm not allowed coffee but I can smell it,â
You throw your hands up. âFine. Go. Justâdonât let him drink it,â
âI wonât,â Spencer promises immediately, like this is the most serious vow heâs ever made.
You watch them go, Percy bouncing at Spencerâs side, questions firing off like a machine gun.
âWhy is coffee brown? Is it made of dirt? Why do grown-ups drink it if itâs yucky? Why does Mama say she needs it to live?â
Spencer answers every single one.
Patiently. Thoughtfully. Occasionally far more in-depth than strictly necessary.
By the time they return, Percy is clutching a cup of hot chocolate Garcia has procured from somewhere, cheeks flushed with excitement, while Spencer looks faintly shell-shocked but strangely⌠content.
Attempted naps fare no better.
You manage to coax Percy back into the small office during a lull, dim the lights again, tuck him in with his rabbit. He lies there for exactly thirty seconds.
Then his eyes snap open.
âWhereâs Spencer?â
âHeâs just outside,â you say soothingly. âYou can rest,â
âNo,â Percy says flatly. âHe has to be here.â
You pinch the bridge of your nose. âPercyââ
The door opens quietly.
Spencer peers in. âEverything alright?â
Percy bolts upright. âYou left!â
âI was right outside,â Spencer says quickly, stepping in. âI promise,â
Percy studies him, then pats the sofa decisively. âSit,â
Spencer sits.
Percy curls right up against him like this has always been the plan, small body warm and solid at Spencerâs side, one hand fisting the fabric of his cardigan. He sighs, deep and content.
You should say no. You should insist on boundaries and propriety and not imposing your child on your colleague who did not sign up for this.
Instead, you watch Percyâs eyelids droop, his breathing slow, his body slacken in a way that only happens when he feels truly safe.
You swallow. âYes,â you say quietly. âItâs okay,â
Percy doesnât fall asleep properly this time, but he restsâhead heavy on Spencerâs arm, thumb in his mouth, eyes half-lidded. Spencer doesnât move for nearly forty minutes.
When Percy wakes again, he does so with questions.
Endless, relentless questions.
âWhy is the sky blue?â
âWhy do people die?â
âWhy do dogs not wear clothes?â
âWhy does Mama have a gun?â
That one makes you choke on your water.
Spencer answers what he can, deflects gently when he should, and admits honestly when he doesnât know.
âWhy do bad people hurt others?â Percy asks quietly at one point, voice softer than usual.
Spencer pauses.
âThatâs⌠complicated,â he says carefully. âSometimes people are hurting themselves, and they donât know how to make it stop,â
Percy considers this. âThatâs sad,â
âIt is,â Spencer agrees.
Some questions stump him entirely.
âWhere do thoughts go when you stop thinking them?â
Spencer opens his mouth. Closes it again. Blinks.
âI⌠donât know,â he admits.
Percy looks delighted. âMama! He doesnât know!â
You laugh, the sound surprising you both.
As the day stretches on, the team adjusts.
Morgan starts referring to Spencer as the âwork dadâ.
Garcia brings Percy stickers. JJ sneaks him biscuits. Hotch watches it all with a quiet, thoughtful expression, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
Through it all, Percy stays exactly where heâs decided he belongs.
One hand in yours. One hand in Spencerâs.
As if thatâs simply how the world works now.
And the strangest partâthe part that catches you off guard every single timeâis how natural Spencer looks with him there. How instinctively he shifts to accommodate Percyâs weight, how he lowers his voice without thinking, how he listens.
You let it go on longer than you probably should.
Thatâs what you tell yourself later, anywayâthat you indulged it, that you didnât step in soon enough, that you allowed Percy to get too attached because you were tired and grateful and desperately in need of the quiet relief Spencerâs presence seemed to bring him.
But standing there now, watching Percy perched on the edge of Spencerâs chair while Spencer explainsâat Percyâs insistenceâwhy planes donât simply fall out of the sky, the guilt finally outweighs the relief.
Spencer hasnât had a moment to himself in hours.
He hasnât gone anywhere alone. He hasnât finished a cup of coffee. He hasnât even stood up without a small hand immediately latching onto his sleeve, a bright voice asking where are you going?
And while he never complainsâwhile he smiles and answers and adjusts and accommodatesâyou see it. The subtle stiffness in his shoulders. The way his eyes flick briefly around the room, calculating, before settling again on Percy with unwavering patience.
He didnât sign up for this.
You swallow, heart sinking, and step forward. âAlright, Percy,â you say gently, crouching down. âWhy donât you come sit with me for a bit, yeah? Spencer needs to do some work,â
Percy turns slowly.
His expression darkens with alarming speed.
âNo,â he says.
âI know youâre having fun,â you continue carefully, âbut Spencerâs busy. You canâtââ
Spencer freezes mid-sentence, eyes widening a fraction.
âPercy,â you warn softly, already bracing yourself. âWe donât shout.â
âI want him!â Percy insists, gripping Spencerâs sleeve with both hands now, knuckles white. âYou said I could!â
âI said for a little while,â you reply, keeping your tone even though your chest is tightening. âThis is too much. Youâre beingââ
The word unfair never makes it out.
Percyâs face crumples, and suddenly heâs screamingâproper screaming, the kind that comes from deep in his chest and rattles on the way out. He stamps his foot, tears spilling over as he yanks at Spencerâs sleeve.
âYouâre mean! You always take people away! I hate it here!â
The room goes still.
Again.
Your stomach drops straight through the floor.
âPercy, thatâs enough.â You reach for him, mortified but stern. âIâm sorry, Spencer, heâs just-â
âHey.â
Spencerâs voice cuts in, gentle but firm.
You stop mid internal meltdown, breath catching as he turns fully towards you.
âItâs alright,â he says quietly. âReally.â
Percy is still crying, clinging to him like a lifeline, but Spencer doesnât try to disentangle himself. Instead, he shifts slightly, grounding Percy with one steady hand at his back.
âYou donât have to apologise,â Spencer continues, eyes on you now, earnest and calm. âHeâs not a burden,â
You shake your head helplessly. âHe is. Heâs loud and heâs clingy and heâsâhe shouldnât be your responsibility,â
âHe isnât,â Spencer says immediately. âHeâs just overwhelmed, and honestly I get it,â
Something in his tone makes you pause.
Spencer glances down at Percy, lowering his voice instinctively. âPercy, can you take a big breath with me?â
Percy hiccups, then mimics him reluctantly. One shaky breath. Then another.
The crying ebbs, leaving behind sniffles and the occasional angry huff.
Percy glares at you over Spencerâs shoulder, lower lip jutting out. âYou were gonna make him leave me.â
âI wasnât,â you say softly. âI jdonât want you to think that,â
Spencer looks at you, and then Percy. âYou shouldnât say things if you donât know theyâre true,â He shakes his head gently towards Percy. âYou need to listen to others too, okay?â
âButââ
âIs your mom ever really mean? Or does it just feel mean?â
Percy frowns. âI donât want you to go awayâŚâ
âIâm not going anywhere, promise,â
You stare at him, searching for any hint of obligation, any trace of polite discomfort.
Thereâs none.
âHe asks interesting questions,â Spencer glances up towards you, a small smile tugging at his mouth. âAnd heâs very honest. Thatâs⌠refreshing.â
Percy perks up at that. âI am honest.â
âYou are,â Spencer agrees solemnly.
Your chest aches.
âI just donât want to take advantage,â you admit quietly. âYou already do so much,â
âYouâre not, I can assure you of that.â
You donât hear the rest of it. You canât.
But Spencer does.
He feels it settle somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and warm all at once.
Because Percy isnât just a child whoâs chosen him at random.
Percy is yours.
Every inflection in his voice, every stubborn tilt of his chin, every dramatic flare of emotionâSpencer sees you in all of it. Like youâve been distilled down into something smaller and brighter and unguarded.
An extension of you.
And the fact that Percy seeks him outâtrusts him, clings to him, feels safe with himâdoes something profound to Spencerâs insides. Something he doesnât quite have words for yet.
It feels like being allowed close to you in a way he never thought heâd be.
Not romantically. Not yet. But intimately. Meaningfully.
Like being handed a fragile, living piece of your world and being trusted not to drop it.
Spencer swallows, pushing the thought down before it can overwhelm him.
Percy finally loosens his grip enough to look at you properly. âI donât wanna stop being with him.â
You sigh, all the fight draining out of you. âAlright,â you say quietly. âBut we take turns, okay? You canât yell like that.â
Percy considers this, then nods once. âOkay.â
He turns back to Spencer immediately. âYou stay.â
Spencer smiles. âIâm not going anywhere,â
Percy relaxes against him again, crisis apparently resolved.
You straighten slowly, rubbing a hand over your face. âIâll⌠Iâll get him a snack,â you mutter, needing an excuse to step away before your emotions get the better of you.
Spencer nods. âGood idea,â
As you walk towards the kitchenette, you risk a glance back.
Percy is chattering again already, volume creeping steadily upward as he launches into a story about a pigeon he once saw that looked âmeanâ. Spencer listens like itâs the most important thing in the world.
For a fleeting, treacherous moment, the image feels domestic. Intimate. Like a snapshot from a life that could exist if circumstances were different.
You push the thought away and keep walking.
Behind you, Spencer shifts slightly so Percy is more comfortable, heart thudding a little harder than usual as he does.
â
By the next morning, itâs no longer a question of if Percy will be attached to Spencer.
Itâs simply a matter of logistics.
The lockdown stretches on, days blurring together in that strange, suspended way that happens when the world narrows to a single building and a single purpose. The case grinds forward in fits and startsâprofiles refined, leads chased, dead ends discardedâbut underneath it all, a quieter routine takes shape.
A new normal.
You notice it first when you walk into the conference room one morning with Percy half-asleep against your shoulder, his hair sticking up in odd directions, his rabbit dangling limply from one hand.
Spencer is already there.
He looks up the moment he hears Percyâs voice, eyes lighting instinctively before he can stop himself.
âMorning,â he says softly.
Percy perks up immediately. âSpencer!â
He wriggles out of your arms with surprising speed and toddles straight over, grabbing Spencerâs hand like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
You open your mouth to protestâthen close it again.
Spencer squeezes Percyâs hand gently. âGood morning, Percy. Did you sleep well?â
Percy nods enthusiastically. âI dreamed about a shark with four eyes.â
Spencer blinks. âFour?â
âYes. It was illegal.â
You snort despite yourself.
From that moment on, the pattern is set.
When youâre pulled into a briefing, Spencer keeps Percy occupied with puzzles and whispered facts.
When Spencer needs to consult a whiteboard, Percy trails after him, marker in hand, contributing enthusiastic but entirely unhelpful scribbles.
When youâre on the phone with Percyâs father trying to explain that no, you canât just drop Percy off for the afternoon, Percy sits on Spencerâs foot and hums tunelessly while Spencer pretends not to notice the pins and needles creeping up his leg.
They eat together. Walk together. Exist in the same orbit.
Spencer never assumes. Never oversteps.
But heâs there.
Always there.
Percy still comes to you first when heâs tired, when heâs hurt, when he needs comfort that only his mother can give. He curls into your side during late afternoons, thumb in his mouth, eyes heavy, murmuring half-formed thoughts into your jumper.
But nowânow thereâs a complication.
Because when Percy reaches for you, he reaches for Spencer too.
He insists on it with startling determination.
âNo,â he says firmly the first time you try to guide him away. âBoth.â
You look down at your sonâat his earnest expression, his unshakeable certaintyâand then at Spencer, who looks like heâs been asked to handle something infinitely precious.
Slowly, you offer your hand.
Just as slowly, Spencer does the same.
Percy beams.
And just like that, he slots himself neatly between you, one small hand tucked into yours, the other wrapped around Spencerâs long fingers, as though this has always been the arrangement.
The image hits you harder than you expect.
Itâs such a simple thing. Such an ordinary thing. But it lodges in your chest and refuses to move, settling there with quiet insistence.
You walk like that down the corridor, footsteps falling into an easy rhythm. Percy swings your joined hands slightly, humming to himself, blissfully unaware of the way people glance at the three of you as you pass.
Garciaâs eyes soften. JJ smiles faintly. Even Hotch pauses, watching with something thoughtful and unreadable flickering across his face.
Spencer keeps his gaze firmly ahead, jaw tight, heart hammering.
He tells himself itâs just practical. Percy feels safer this way. Children seek symmetry, balance, consistency.
Thatâs all it is.
But the warmth of Percyâs hand in his, the steady presence of you at his sideâitâs intoxicating in a way Spencer doesnât quite know how to handle.
You catch him one evening, long after Percy has drifted off, watching your son with an expression so soft it steals the breath from your lungs.
âHeâs⌠incredible,â Spencer murmurs when he realises youâre there.
You nod, throat tight. âHe is,â
Thereâs so much you want to say. So much you donât dare. Like if you name it, it might vanish.
Still, the symbolism is impossible to ignore.
You and Spencer on either side. Percy between you, anchoring you together with sticky fingers and fierce loyalty. And you canât help but notice he hasnât mentioned his father once since the first day you arrived.
It happens again and againâwalking to the cafeteria, crossing the bullpen, even just standing in place while Percy chatters away. He insists on both of you, insists on balance, insists on together.
And every time, Spencer feels something settle a little deeper in his chest.
A quiet, dangerous thought takes root.
That this doesnât feel like babysitting. That this doesnât feel temporary.
That if this is what proximity to you looks likeâif being near you means laughter and questions and small hands and shared responsibilityâthen maybe wanting more isnât as impossible as heâs always believed.
You feel it too, though you donât let yourself dwell on it.
You feel it in the way Spencer anticipates Percyâs needs before you voice them. In the way he looks at you when Percy laughs, as though heâs seeing you more clearly through him.
For now, you tell yourself itâs survival. Itâs circumstance. Itâs just what works.
â
âItâs over?â you ask, hardly daring to believe it.
Hotch nods. âItâs over. Lockdown will be lifted within the hour.â
The sentence lands differently for you than it does for the others.
Because for the team, it means movement again. Normal schedules. Planes and cases and distance.
For you, it means packing up a life that hasâsomehowâbriefly rearranged itself into something steadier and starting over again.
You look down.
Percy is sitting cross-legged at Spencerâs feet, using Spencerâs tie as a racetrack for a toy car. He makes a loud engine noise, blissfully unaware that the world is shifting again.
âPercy,â you say gently. âWeâre going home now,â
He looks up, face lighting instantly. âHome-home?â
âYes,â you say, smiling despite the ache forming behind your ribs. âHome-home,â
He cheers, loud and unrestrained, leaping to his feet and throwing his arms around your waist. âI missed my bed!â
You laugh, hugging him back. âI know you did,â
Spencer watches from just behind him, something unreadable passing across his face.
You gather Percyâs thingsâduffle bags heavier than when you arrived, somehowâwhile answering half a dozen questions about bedtime and snacks and whether dinosaurs would still exist when you got home.
Spencer helps without being asked.
He folds clothes with careful precision, hands you Percyâs shoes, retrieves the rabbit that had been abandoned under a chair. He moves around you with an ease that feels earned, familiar.
Too familiar.
When everything is ready, when Percy is zipped into his jumper and bouncing on the balls of his feet, you sling a duffle bag over your shoulder and reach for his hand.
He doesnât take it.
Instead, he turns to Spencer.
âYou coming too?â Percy asks, cheerful and unquestioning.
The room goes very still.
Spencerâs breath catches audibly.
You freeze, heart sinking.
âOh,â you say softly. âPercy, sweetheartââ
Spencer crouches instinctively, meeting Percy at eye level. âI canât come home with you,â he says gently. âI have to stay here,â
Percy frowns. âWhy?â
Spencer opens his mouth.
Closes it again.
He looks at you helplessly.
You crouch beside them, one knee on the floor. âBecause Spencer works here,â you explain carefully. âJust like Mama does,â
âYes,â you say, heart cracking a little. âBecause we have the same house, Spencer has his own house,â
Percy processes this in real time. You can almost see the logic wobble and collapse under the weight of it.
âBut Spencer helps,â he insists. âHe stays. He holds my hand.â
Spencer swallows.
âI did,â he says softly. âI do. Just⌠not tonight,â
Percyâs lip trembles.
You know the look. You dread it. âDonât cryââ
âNo,â Percy whispers. âNo, no, noââ Itâs a full-bodied, gut-wrenching sob, the kind that seems too big for his small chest to hold. He throws himself at Spencer, arms locking around his waist, face pressed into his shirt.
âNo!â he cries. âYou canât stay here! You have to come! You promised you wouldnât leave!â
The word leave hits like a punch.
Spencerâs hands hover helplessly for half a second before settling at Percyâs back, holding him close.
âI know,â he murmurs, voice thick. âI know it feels like that,â
You feel utterly useless.
Your chest aches with a mix of guilt and grief and something sharper, something you hadnât prepared for. âPercy, sweetheart, pleaseââ
He shakes his head violently. âI donât want to go if heâs not coming!â
A few feet away, the team pretends very hard not to watch.
Spencer looks up at you, eyes wide and lost. âIâm sorry,â he whispers. âI didnât meanââ
âItâs not your fault,â you say immediately, though your throat is burning. âNone of this is,â
Percy sobs harder, fingers twisted desperately in Spencerâs shirt like if he holds on tightly enough, he can change reality.
You try again, voice soft, steady, even as your heart splinters. âPercy, listen to me. Spencer isnât leaving you. Heâs just⌠not coming with us right now.â
âThatâs leaving!â Percy wails.
You nod, because lying wonât help. âIt feels like that. I know.â
Spencer squeezes Percy gently. âPercy,â he says quietly. âCan you look at me?â
It takes a moment, but eventually Percy pulls back just enough to glare up at him through tears.
âI wouldnât leave you without telling you,â Spencer continues. âAnd I wouldnât disappear.â
Percy sniffs. âBut youâre not coming.â
âNo,â Spencer admits. âBut that doesnât mean this is the last time weâll be together,â
Percyâs face scrunches. âFor real?â
You inhale, then exhale slowly.
âFor real,â you say carefully, âWeâll make a plan, okay?â
Percy looks between you, hope flickering uncertainly. âA plan?â
âYes,â you say. âSpencer can come visit,â
Spencerâs head snaps up.
âHe can?â Percy asks, breath hitching.
You meet Spencerâs gaze, something unspoken passing between you. âIf he wants to.â
Spencer doesnât hesitate.
âI do,â he says immediately. âI definitely do,â
Percy stares at him. âYou promise?â
âI promise,â Spencer says, without a shred of doubt.
Percy considers this. The crying slows, hiccupping into something manageable. He wipes his nose on Spencerâs sleeve without apology.
âWhen?â he asks.
You smile weakly. âSoon,â
âHow soon?â
âVery soon,â Spencer says, a faint smile breaking through his own emotion. âAs soon as your mom lets me,â
âTomorrow?â
You laugh, rubbing tear stains from Percyâs cheeks. âNot tomorrow, next week maybe?â
Percy sniffles one last time, then leans forward to press his forehead against Spencerâs chest. âOkay,â he murmurs. âBut you have to come for real. Not just say it.â
Percy finally releases him, turning back to you with a heavy, exhausted sigh. You scoop him up, pressing a kiss into his hair, holding him tighter than usual.
Spencer stands as you do, hands lingering awkwardly at his sides, like he doesnât quite know where to put them now.
âWell,â you say quietly, voice rough. âThis is it,â
Spencer nods. âYes,â
You shoulder your bags, Percy tucked against you, and take a step towards the exit.
Then you stop.
You turn back.
âThank you,â you say, meeting Spencerâs eyes. âFor everything. IâI donât think I couldâve got through this without you,â
Spencerâs lips part, then curve into a small, earnest smile. âIâm glad I could be here to help,â
Percy lifts his head from your shoulder. âBye, Spencer,â he says solemnly. âDonât forget me.â
Spencerâs chest tightens. âI wonât,â he says. âI promise,â
As you walk away, Percy twists to wave at him, rabbit flopping wildly.
Spencer stands there long after youâre gone, the bullpen slowly emptying around him.
â ââ thank you for reading ! if you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a coffee <3
Hello friend, could I request a dark!Tyler Galpin blurb where Tyler's therapist requests ex-girlfriend!reader to visit him at the psychiatric hospital because he won't stop talking about her.
Thank you!
tyler galpin masterlist | main masterlist
pairing: dark!tyler galpin x ex girlfriend!reader
word count: 618
cw: none, just tyler being dark to make reader scared, no use of y/n
a/n: thank you anon for this lovely request!! i hope you enjoy reading as much as i did writing!! also for future anons you guys can claim emojis/symbols if you'd like!!!!
The room was cold and smelled faintly of mildew, Dr. Fairburn and a guard posted outside the door, and a small red button placed by it in case you felt unsafe. There was a faint hum in the background, but the loudest sound in the room was your own heartbeat in your ears.
At the sound of your footsteps, Tyler looked up from where he was attached to the wall by metal cuffs and chains. A dark, almost frightening smile warped across his face when he saw you, and it twisted something in your stomach. There you were, after months. Exactly where he wanted you.
âSo,â he started quietly, watching you like a predator choosing its prey as you stepped closer. âWhat do you think of the place? Itâs nice, isnât it?â His voice was soft but carried loudly in the small space.Â
He pulled himself off the wall, chains clinking as he moved closer to the gate separating you two. His chest was slick with sweat; whatever shirt heâd been wearing was discarded, leaving his upper half bare. He looked like the same boy you had fallen in love with, just with a darker expression and skin littered with cuts and scars.
âTyler.â Your voice came out soft, almost scared as he stood in front of you now, the only thing separating you being metal bars. âItâs nice to see you.â You tried your best to keep your voice steady as you looked into his gorgeous brown eyes, the ones you used to study so closely.
His smile widened at that. He could hear it, the fear you tried so hard hide. âLiar,â he said gently as if he cared. âBut I like that you try.â His eyes bored into yours. âIâve missed watching you pretend.â
Seeing him like this made your skin crawl. When youâd learned what heâd done, the faces on the news, the numbers, the words victims and culprit, your mind had refused to accept it. Youâd spent months tearing yourself apart, convinced youâd helped create this because you had left him and that had unlocked something awful inside him.
His lips quirked up at your tone as if he could hear the fear dripping from your words. If anything, it excited him more. âIt feels so good to hear your voice. I knew you couldnât resist seeing me again.â He said, staring directly at you.
You swallowed past your fear, putting on a brave front, the same one you used when you knew you needed to end things with him. âIs that the delusion you feed yourself to keep you sane?â
He moved closer to the bars, his smirk dropping into a dark expression. âThe only one lying to themself here is you. You could feel the monster inside me and you fell in love with it. Thatâs why you left.âÂ
You took a step back, unsure of what to say. He was the same, yet completely different, speaking to you in ways heâd once held back. You knew he was right. Deep down, youâd always sensed something lurking beneath the surface, waiting to shock you. You had to escape it. âWell, it worked out in my favor, seeing as Iâm not the one trapped behind bars.â
Tyler laughed at you as you stepped back, and you knew this visit was long from over if you were supposed to be here helping him instead of letting him pick at you.
 âNot yet.â The way he said it made your stomach drop. You quickly realized that for him, this visit wasnât about getting help. It never had been. He wasnât trying to escape the bars- he was trying to crawl back into your head.
okay so my james potter fic was supposed to come out todayâŚbut i havent even startedâŚso it will come out next week! i wanna write a blurb for someone tho so yall should send me requests for anyone on my list đđ
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hi guys i was going to post another story tonight for james potter buttttt we had a family issue come up so im currently in the hospital BUT it will be out tomorrow morning!! so sorry for the delay and merry christmas!!!