#but with a happyish ending?

[spicynoodlehouse]

Delphini succeeds during the third task & goes back to the present with Scorpius. Things get worse then somehow get better.

Against my better judgement I wrote another fic. This time it is twisted and just a little bit too ansgty. And I lost sleep over it.

End me now. I think I like the bitch. And she makes the boys suffer so much.

[asterifish]

Hi could I request a Pervy domtop yandere soobin x sub male.reader? And the rest can be up to you

Hellooo! Im so sorry this has taken so long I've been busy with finals and personal stuff 😭

i hope this is what you wanted, i made soobin a bit of a stalker, and it took a big turn at the end.

Following you.

*****************************************

M/n always had tue feeling that someone was following him, but wvery time he looked around, nobody was there.

As the months passed, m/n because more and more cautious of his surroundings. He moved apartment buildings twice, and for a while it got peaceful. One day as m/n was leaving his college campus to go to work, he got the dreaded feeling again. Rushing to the Café he worked at, he almost slammed the door behind him, scaring a nearby customer. Apologizing silently, m/n rushed to tell his boss that he was clocking in so he could get to work.

An hour passes, and that dreaded feeling is still lingering. As m/n walks around the Café, he can feel someone staring ar him. Walking back to the counter, he quickly scanned the Café, his eyes meeting those of a man. The man was sitting all the way in the corner of the café. M/n recognized him as a man he'd served at the beginnung of his shift.

After telling his boss he was taking a break, m/n walked over to the man in the corner. Sitting down, he frowned. "Can I help you with anything? You keep staring at me... Its making me a bit uncomfy." M/n tried to keep the frown off his face, but he knew that it was still prominent on his face.

The male aceoss from his smirked and leaned foward. "I cant help it baby, you're just so pretty.." M/n almost jumped out of his seat, but stopped himself. "I'm taken, sorry." He lied, and then excused himself from the table. Before he could get very far, a voice stopped him cold in his tracks.

"Dont you ever wonder... What that feeling is? That dreaded feeling of someone following you? Who it could be..?"

M/n turned around so fast he almost fell, but the man was gone. Breathing quickly and quietly, m/n ran to grab his stuff, shouting to his boss that it was an emergency and he had to go. Once on the street, m/n scanned the roads for any sign of the man. Shivering, m/n headed home, makin sure to lock the door behind him.

This, was his first mistake. As soon as m/n turnes around, he came face to face with the man from the Café. "H....how did you get into my-" m/n was cut off by a harsh kiss to his lips, which took him by suprise. Dropping the bag that was in his hand, m/n tried to push away the other, but he was much stronger.

As the stranger led m/n deeper into his house to the bedroom, ge thought about screaming. But the more he thiught about it, he realized how subtly gentle the other was being. The stranger was being rough, but instead of throwing m/n on the bed and ripping his clothes off, he gently put m/n on the bed, and just tugged the clothes off of m/n's body, making sure they didnt rip.

A few minutes pass, and the stranger is licking up and down m/n's chest while playing with his nipples. M/n was almoat lost in euphoria, moaning softly, loving the way it felt. When the man started licking at m/n's nipplez, he lost it, arching his back and letting out a loud moan.

"W..wait.. S-" m/n was about to protest, but stopped himself. The man looked up at the latter, curiosity in his eyes. "Yes love?"

M/n looked closely at the man. The one he'd been running away from for 2 years. That "sweet, caring" man that he'd.... met before? Those eyes were.. Familiar?

"Soobin?"

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HEY!!! woah cliff hanger :/ im about to run out of acreentime, so Im thinking of making this a 2 part req!! Please let me know if you want me to continue this! If not I'll definitely edit this when I get my phone back and finish it :)

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

Works belong to @asterifish | reblogs help me a lot!

2023 | © @asterifish

[musicoftheheart]

hiiiiiiii dori

i’ve written a prompt for you and it feels like something you may enjoy writing so i’m sharing it with you:

“Goodbye, James.”

Thats was the last time he’d heard Regulus’ voice

The first time he saw the Dark Mark across his lover’s arm

And the moment he decided to go against everything he’d ever learned.

Ever treasured.

Ever believed in.

Just to see his lover again.

omg hiii! thank you so much for this, it was so much fun to write <33

word count: 658

“Goodbye, James.”

That was the last time he’d heard Regulus’ voice.

The first time he saw the Dark Mark across his lover’s arm.

And the moment he decided to go against everything he’d ever learned.

Ever treasured.

Ever believed in.

Just to see his lover again.

As much as it shamed him to admit it, James was almost glad his parents weren’t around to see it; to see the deep black ink marring his forearm. He wasn’t sure he could’ve stomached seeing them realise that their son — the boy they’d cradled in their arms, the boy they’d raised to be kind and thoughtful and loving — had branded himself the same as murderous blood purists.

But that was just it, wasn’t it? James had been raised to love and to protect the people closest to him. And nobody had been as close to him as Regulus Black.

He could still feel the ghost of his touch, when he thought hard enough. It was all that kept him going when he’d thrown his first Avada Kedavra; it was all for Regulus. To protect him. To show him that no matter what he did, he was never ‘too cruel’ or ‘too monsterous’ for James. Because anything Regulus had done, James had too, now.

James was yet to see Regulus at any meetings, though. Or missions. Crouch Jr. said it was because James wasn’t very high in the ranks, yet.

So he rose.

He rose and he rose until even Bellatrix Lestrange was beneath him. She feared him, even. The Dark Lord was letting James lead missions; letting him plan them and decide who to bring and who to kill and who to curse until they forgot their own name. It pained him, at first. These were his friends, and he had to treat them like enemies. Marlene, Dorcas. Alice and Frank. Lily, Peter, Remus. Sirius.

For Regulus, James reminded himself, flinging a slicing hex at one of the Prewett brothers.

For Regulus, James thought, using his animagus form to spy on Order meetings.

For Regulus, James thought, facing down children on the battlefield.

He was slowly becoming more and more numb to it. Eventually, he wasn’t sure he felt anything at all.

But then.

It was a meeting like any other. The Dark Lord’s inner circle sat at the table, while lower ranking Death Eaters stood around the room. One seat eternally empty — Regulus’ — between The Dark Lord and Lucius Malfoy, and directly opposite James. James had resigned himself to another hour of missing his love when, moments before the meeting was to begin, the doors swung open.

There, moving across the large manor dining room with the grace and presence of royalty, was Regulus Black. Perfect black curls smoothed back from his face, showing his sharp cheekbones and icy cold eyes and pursed lips.

James couldn’t wait to feel them again.

Regulus didn’t seem to notice him, at first, but James could see it the moment he did. Those gorgeous eyes widened just a touch, his lips fell apart. It took all of James’ self control not to throw himself across the table and invade them with his tongue.

At a guess, James reckoned Regulus took in as little of the meeting as he did himself. Their eyes had locked across the table and it seemed like nothing at all could break their stares, not until The Dark Lord announced the meeting’s conclusion and Regulus all but ran from the room like it was on fire.

By the time James caught up to him, Regulus had hidden himself away in a small drawing room and was pacing, hands tugging at his hair. He turned abruptly when James shut the door behind himself.

”James,” he breathed, running into James’ arms. Everything James had done — the curses he’d thrown, the lives he’d ended — it all fell away into nothing. All that was left was the love cradled in his arms.

”Hello, love.”

[cxanthos]

Coryo's hatred runs so deep for the districts and it's really reflected in his feelings for Lucy.

He spends so much time trying to convince the Capitol that she's not really district in the name of getting her sponsors when the reality is he was mainly trying to convince himself of it.

Claiming that she's really neither district or Capitol, she's Covey. As she says in her own words.

The thing is Coryo needed her to not be district to justify his fleeting, misguided, feelings for her. A Snow couldn't fancy someone from the districts.

Then Lucy mentions how she wishes they would've met under different circumstances and Coryo doesn't picture meeting her in the districts, it's in the Capitol. His sweet little vision of her is at Pluribus's club- he would never fathom running into her anywhere but the Capitol. On the other hand we can assume Lucy meant meeting him in the districts- the horror if he realized what she meant.

In the epilogue his hatred for the districts is so cemented that there's the line about how he could almost forget that the Plinths were district. The 'almost' is stressed.

It makes me wonder what ended up happening to Ma and Strabo.

[mugloversonly]

Right Next to You

@steddiesongfics for March's "free space" prompt fic | rating: G | tw: unhappy ending, canon level violence, main character death | wc:1149 Song: Die with a Smile by Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars (Don't be mad at me my d6 decided.) Summary: Steve and Eddie fight to distract Vecna. AO3

Steve watched Eddie’s chest rise and fall, a slight he’d never tire of. He remembered the first time they’d geared up for a fight against Vecna; how they lost and Eddie was unconscious, covered in blood. Thankfully, most of it wasn’t his, he’d killed dozens of demobats before they fell to the ground, but he’d been so dehydrated from the week o the run that he’d passed out.

Steve admitted his crush on the other boy that night and the two have been together since. He was pulled from his reminiscing by his boyfriend’s quiet voice.

“You’re staring.” he smiled.

“You’re pretty.” Steve replied. Eddie climbed out of his sleeping bag, and wiggled into Steve’s, sliding closer until his face squished into Steve’s chest. The tent wasn’t exactly spacious, but Steve still sighed happily at the closeness.

“You thinking about tomorrow?” Eddie whispered.

“Yeah.” He said. “Just thinking about how much I don’t want to lose you.” Eddie pulled back enough to stare at him.

“That’s not going to happen.” He promised.

“How can you know that?” Steve asked.

“Because this time we’re fighting side by side. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” Eddie grinned. Steve pulled him close, holding tight just in case.

“Let me hold you a while?” He asked.

“Of course. Never let me go, Harrington.” Eddie laughed as he shuffled into the warm circle of Steve’s arms.

“I love you, baby.” He whispered.

“I love you, too.”

~~~

The next morning, the party split into their teams. The plan was pretty similar to the first one, but with more players. Topside, Argyle, Will, and Mike watched over Eleven’s body as she went into the void of Max’s mind to fight Vecna.

Dustin, Lucas, and Erica were in the hospital with Max, to make sure nothing happened to her while she was still in her coma. They were prepped with Kate Bush, just in case.

The Upside Down team, sent Nancy, Robin, and Hopper to the Creel house to attack Vecna’s physical body. This time armed with axes and more guns. Jonathan, Joyce, Steve and Eddie were to distract the hive mind by wreaking as much havoc as possible on the vines.

When everyone was in position, Joyce swung her ax into the nearest vine. A roaring demogorgan ran through the brush, forcing the four apart. Joyce and Jonathan ran one way, Eddie and Steve ran the other, a loud pack of demodogs hot on their heels.

They ran through dead forest, swinging and ripping through as many vines and creatures as they could. Once they had a decent trail, Steve boosted Eddie up a tree and scrambled up after him. His foot nearly got bitten off but Eddie yanked him up by his shirt collar in the nick of time.

“Thanks.” Steve panted.

“Anytime, baby.” Eddie said pressing a kiss to his temple. The demodogs clawed at the tree, with a few making their way up the trunk. Eddie and Steve were able to bat them back down, keeping themselves relatively out of harms way.

The plan was to wait out the demodogs until Hopper raised the all clear; but the dogs all seemed to perk up at once like they heard an alarm and they scattered much to Steve’s confusion.

“What was that?” He asked as they climbed down.

“No idea.” Eddie replied. “Should we try to get them back over here?” Steve took his bat to a nearby vine but there was no sign of the pack returning. He shrugged.

“Maybe it’s over.” He said hopefully.

A screech cut through their relief.

“Fuck.” Eddie swore. A giant could of demobats flew toward them, fixed on their location.

“Run.” Steve whispered. He pushed Eddie’s shoulder to turn him away. “Run!” He shouted as he took Eddie’s hand pulling him along while he sprinted. There was an open clearing ahead where Steve figured they could make a better stand. But once they got there the pack of dogs entered in from the other side.

“It was a trap.” Eddie gasped as he clung tightly to Steve’s hand. Steve squeezed it reassuringly before turning his back and putting it up against his boyfriend’s.

“We got this.” He promised. Eddie took a deep breath. “Okay, we got this.” Eddie repeated as he pulled his spear and shield off his back.

The upside down creatures rushed at them from both sides; Steve took a few down with his nail bat as Eddie spun on his heel to block them with his shield. Wave after Wave, the two moved as one, demobeasts fell at their feet. They were standing on a mountain of corpses, giddy and determined; until, a demodog got through their defenses and yanked Eddie to the ground; his cries of pain lost in the sea of screeches.

Steve’s eyes widened as he turned to knock the dog off as others pounced on Eddie; but a demobat’s tail wrapped around his wrist stopping him mid-swig. Another wrapped it’s tail around his throat and he stumbled to the ground.

“Steve!” Eddie cried as he thrashed against the dogs. No matter how they struggled; they were outnumbered. Out matched. The swarm tore into their flesh, chunks flying out, their blood pooling between them; leaving them in pieces. Lighting lit up the sky, a piercing wail rang through the air, and the beasts finally fell still.

Vecna was dead.

“Steve.” Eddie whispered as blood filled his mouth. He turned to see Steve barely breathing. With herculean effort, he dragged his shredded body toward his boyfriend until he used the last of his strength to pull him into his arms.

“They did it, Eddie.” Steve breathed.

“We did it, Stevie. Let’s rest for now.” His lungs protested, but Eddie held Steve tightly to his chest.

“Hold me? Just for a while. Then we’ll find the others.” Steve leaned up as best as he could, Eddie leaned down the rest of the way to meet his lips for a final time.

“I’ll never let you go.” Eddie whispered as his breaths turned shallow.

“I love you.” Steve choked out, as he smiled at his boyfriend for the last time.

“I love you, too.” Eddie returning Steve’s words with a smile of his own, as his eyes slipped shut.

~~~

It’s Hopper who finds them in the end. Their arms locked together so tightly there’s no hope of separating them. He checked for pulses, just in case but unsurprisingly finds none.

He never really believed in love, in the long run he figured it could only ever hurt you. But, here in the Upside Down, he saw two boys so in love they died in each other’s arms with a smile on their faces.

He made a vow that he’d get them buried together in the same position, so they’d be locked in an eternal embrace, and whatever waited on the other side, they’d face together.

tags

@katyawriteswhump

buy me a coffee

[snakemoltsiren]

The Reunion

pt 1

Ténacité received exceptional damage in a dragon siege not long after the Battle of Carteneau. Losing both legs and suffering from burns and numerous broken bones, she was nearly forced into retirement. A gracious anonymous donation provided her with prosthetics and accommodation in order to help her return to training her fellow dragoons, though she would never see intense battle again. Erembourc traveled far once they'd heard of their former betrothed's accident. Though the pair hadn't seen much of each other in nearly two decades, the reunion was sweet.

[watchthisqqq]

My conclusions from episode 7 of 4 minutes

Clearly Tyme does remember Great from when they were kids and that is why he is so attached to him? Otherwise slightly confused.

That's the same kid from Century of Love right? The kid who played young San?

We are doing Tyme's timeline next.

I think there is going to be a "happy" ending in some format. I don't think it's going to be super bleak.

[lenaloodle]

Can't believe they killed off my girl amy lou wood

[infinity-on-ri]

THAT WAS THE END OF THE SEASON???

[always-a-joyful-note]

After finishing the SS story, it really is so funny to me that these boys all managed to pull off a wildly convoluted plan to take down the various threats to their industry with zero prior or concurrent communication. No wonder Gatekeeper told Seiya that idols were insane and he is not touching the industry with a ten-foot pole. Imagine how powerful ES would be if the idols liked each other actually properly talked to scheme their plans

[jsealand]

Trying to organize my season 4 Umbrella Academy thoughts (easier said than done with my audhd brain) and this is what I’ve got:

There were actually moments I enjoyed, but I think the things I didn’t like far outweighed the ones I did. Other people have covered those things pretty extensively—dropped storylines that don’t make sense to have been dropped (it’s kind of tradition in this show to drop some things, but there are others that at least need to be addressed if they aren’t going to be shown), characters acting entirely out of character (and not in a ‘people are complex and full of contradictions’ kind of way, but in a ‘the writers/creators wanted to force a storyline and it really shows, and also they straight up told us so’ kind of way), etc—so I won’t go into those.

(Here there be SPOILERS)

What I do want to explore my feelings on is the ending. It bothered me in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on until I saw someone point out that it basically says ‘you were born wrong and the world is better off without you’, which is going to resonate in a familiar bad way with a lot of fans in a lot of marginalized groups.

I understand that because of the way the story began, the ‘born wrong’ part is true in a literal sense, in that dozens of people were forced to give birth, suddenly and violently, with no way to consent to any part of the process. Not the fault of the kids in any way, EDIT: but not really an acceptable way to end the series, either. [Actually, I take this back, because on further reflection it would mean arguing that children born from tragic or violent circumstances just shouldn’t exist. I can argue that we need to work toward a world in which those circumstances don’t happen anymore, but I won’t accept that people who already exist because of it should cease to exist. Fuck that noise. Move forward and work with the present, don’t try to change the past. And I get how with a time travel show that seems contradictory, but it isn’t: they already exist, therefore they deserve to *have existed*]

The ‘world is better off without you part’ is complete and utter bs—better off without marigold, yes, but not our beloved misfits—but I can’t think of a feasible way to have them in the world without their traumatic marigold births (it’s always bothered me in shows/movies when a character visits another timeline and sees their kids as someone else’s biological kids—NOT how it works—so I don’t think we could see them walking around in that park after having been born normally and living normal lives).

So, I understand why we got the basic plot of the ending. I don’t like that it’s the answer, but I understand it. What I absolutely *hate* is that we don’t have any positive resolutions for the Hargreeves. I think that’s the one thing the vast majority of fans could agree that we wanted from the ending and we really didn’t get it. (I’m sure there are people out there making arguments about how they at least went out together or the flowers popping up was a nice homage or something, but that’s not enough of a payoff of watching them go through hell for three and a somethingth seasons.)

Hence, my idea for what could have salvaged at least some of our feelings for season 4 (but not the fivela: that can rot in the rubbish heap of forced and unnecessary plotlines from which it sprung): we have the park scene and see our fan favorites enjoying their normal, peaceful lives—with the addition of some that were snubbed for whatever reason—and then we zoom out to see that this is being watched on the tv in Klaus’s afterlife (recognizable somehow, but maybe a little cozier and prettier) and there are the siblings all hanging out together, happily sharing pizza and squabbling cheerfully, and as we slowly zoom out further we see other people—Dave, standing behind a couch, hands Klaus a soda or something; Sloane leans over Luther’s shoulder and kisses his cheek; the other Sparrows are playing Twister or something else physical but fun; Grace and Pogo are laughing together as they… play chess, maybe? And even Reggie and Abigail are there, off to the side, smiling (Abigail benevolently, Reggie wistfully because he hasn’t quite earned a spot in the crowd yet—but we’ve seen glimpses of his ability to, so I think he’ll get there someday, especially with Abigail’s guidance). We continue to zoom out and we see all the people who might have been, but never were, and they’re together and happy. (The precedent was set in s3, after all, with Klaus’s mom having watched him all his life, despite not having even been his mom in that particular timeline.) And maybe we zoom back in to just our Hargreeves, and a teenage girl in a striped dress is sitting on a bike and looking at Klaus with annoyed resignation, but when he waves her over and offers her some pizza, she pauses for a moment, looks around at the others who are also offering—a soda, a spot on a couch, some chips, etc—and then smiles a tiny, barely-there, reluctant smile, and joins them for lunch.

[danidoesathing]

"I didn't want you to find me."

Leigh Green

[prentissluvr]

AUR EM GEEEEE bro i just finished the first draft of my boy only breaks his favorite toys and it definitely needs editing BUT OH MY GODDDDD the angst is angsting. really hard.

[philhoffman]

[beesbeesfearfear]

After thinking thoughts and feeling feelings about the end of the game, I realised something. I romanced Halsin and am very happy with it, but I chose to go down to Avernus with Wyll and Karlach. Karlach who I dumped to go romance Wyll. Wyll who I dumped to go romance Halsin.

I'm in hell with 2 exes.

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.