#i know exactly what's wrong with him. you could avoid so much grief if you communicated dumbass

[tillsfan]

a dive into Till’s feelings regarding Ivan and Mizi!

ivantill’s whole thing is being INSANELY complicated. i am a full on believer that they have mutual (unrealized) feelings, but i think the word “love” is definitely too vague to properly describe what they have. vivinos said a “deep LOVE/HATE” relationship for a reason.

i think till both genuinely feeling love for ivan yet hating him at the same time is absolutely reasonable. ivan has pushed and pulled till his whole life. till never felt secure near ivan, as much as he cares about him. but, ivan was always there. till felt comfort with ivan’s presence despite the lack of security he gave. till heavily valued ivan’s opinion, getting upset when ivan implied he didn’t see till as a friend. he trusted ivan enough to attempt to run away with him, and he potentially would have spent the rest of his life with ivan if they actually escaped.

i while love mutual love ivantill as much as the next guy, saying their feelings were 100% romantic is wrong. their emotions towards one another being so raw is something that defines them, which is why it’s difficult to put their mutual feelings into a specific box.

another thing we need to take into account is that neither of them know what love really is. they inhabit a world that isn’t MEANT for humans to love. they were never taught what love is and how to feel it. this is part of the reason they could never develop properly. they live in a world where the concept of romance and relationships aren’t properly established between humans.

but, i do believe like they could’ve had a chance under different circumstances. they were a slowburn that was never able to properly develop because, again, they lived in a world that didn’t allow them to, and they both ruined things for themselves. ivan had a huge tendency to self sabotage because of his severely low self esteem. he convinced himself that his feelings were shallow, and projected that onto till through his actions, confusing and distressing the latter. in addition, till was avoidant of the reality in front of him, ivan. due to till feeling such a lack of security with ivan, and never being able to understand ivan, he avoided intimacy with him altogether. till also just has a fear of intimacy in general. there was a significant amount of miscommunication between both parties.

in addition, saying that till didn’t love mizi is just. false. he dedicated all of his life to her, she was literally his muse. he loved her in his own way, even if he had to put her on a pedestal to do so. yes, he didn’t know anything about her as a person, but that doesn’t mean his feelings weren’t real. saying he never truly loved her undermines so much of his character.

mizi was till’s coping mechanism, yes. he adored her from a distance. he liked the idea of her and not her as an individual, but that doesn’t make his feelings any less real. he loved and cared for her. we saw how torn he was after mizi disappeared in round 5. he almost DIED because of his grief, before ivan ‘saved’ him. his feelings towards her were as authentic as they could be for someone who kept everyone at a distance.

while you could say till’s love for mizi isn’t inherently romantic, the same can be said for ivantill. nothing stated in the patreon confirmed what EXACTLY till felt towards mizi besides her being a fantastical figure to him. and his “love” towards ivan doesn’t HAVE to be romantic (even though i believe it is), it could very much be platonic. vivinos is purposefully vague with what kind of love each character feels because, as i said, feelings aren’t something that can be properly established in this universe.

hope u guys enjoyed my rant Yay 🌹

[rindomness]

did you guys know i really love the eah dndads au. it's so silly. it's so fun. (kicking the horrific things we've been doing to the oaks behind my back) nothing bad ever happens in the eah au. just lark beefing with a rabbit. and losing

[aliteralsemicolon]

Wait until you like me again - 18+

See part 1 | Part 2 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 3

The decision to resign puts a lot of weight on your shoulders. A takedown gone wrong makes it the least of anyone's concerns, especially Spencer’s. You’re not willing to let him back in; it feels too little, too late.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. Part 2 was highly requested and I’m sorry it’s taken so long to finish.

WARNING Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, drugs (GHB), Case details (very poorly thought out). Violence: canon typical - strangulation, drugging, guns/gunshots. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The most annoying part about making a decision in haste is the clarity of the situation when the dust settles. It’d taken Hotch just over two minutes to message you after you’d sent your email. 

From: Boss Man 🕶 👔 My office, first thing tomorrow. 

You didn’t take into account that you’d have to explain your sudden resignation to your unit chief, or that you’d need to think of a good enough goodbye to lessen the hurt of abandoning your friends. These are people you consider your found family; you’re leaving behind years worth of bonds with no proper warning or closure, in a measly few weeks. Your reasoning had to be good enough to convince them that this was for the best. 

To convince you that this was for the best. 

You’d spent the whole night in tears, racking your brain for an excuse, because ‘the person you care most about in this world and unrequited love of your life telling you that he didn’t want to see your face was a pathetic reason for discarding your life’s work. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t think of adequate justification. Even as the sun rose and you made your way through your pre-work routine, nothing came to mind. 

“You can’t love me.”

Any time you tried to conjure up a defence your thoughts would wander back to Spencer. Too many words had been exchanged between you and your former best friend in the span of four months and not a single one of them properly explained why he was so butt-hurt. He loves you too much, but doesn’t want you to love him? That’s your understanding, at least. 

“Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

Since you’d left his apartment the previous night, you’d been cycling through all the stages of grief in record time. Spencer once told you that people tend to remember more negative memories than positive. He was right. You couldn’t recall a lot of your happier memories with him. All you could think about was the two conversations where he’d hurt you in ways you never imagined he would. 

You’re not sure exactly what part of you snapped at that moment, all you knew was that you were done making him the centre of your universe. Spencer Reid played no part in your decisions moving forward. He was not the reason for your departure with the BAU, a lie you made sure to relay to Hotch during your meeting with him.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Where is this even coming from?” He inquired from across you, hands folded neatly against his desk.

“I just think it’s time for me to try new things, you know?” It was a pathetic excuse, but less pathetic than the actual reasoning. 

“I try not to interfere with the personal lives of the team, but this is just so…sudden. I have to wonder if this has to do with Spencer?”

“This has nothing to do with him.” You go out of your way to avoid saying his name, suspecting you might taste poison. 

Hotch’s brow raises, as if his brain has been alerted to key information, head marginally tilting to the side like it does when he catches a lie. He doesn’t say anything, eyes narrowing in on you in stoic fashion. You feel like a petulant child that’s about to receive a scolding from their father. 

“Hon–Honestly…Hotch, I just–”

Three rapid knocks cut you off, the door to the office swinging open without waiting for a reply. 

“Sir, Hello, I’m sorry to interrupt but it’s an emergency. That case we were consulting on for Anchorage PD?” Garcia bursts into the room, slightly discoloured and more panicked than normal. “Well, five more bodies were discovered. Two of them pre-date who we initially thought was the first victim.”

“Garcia, tell everybody to meet on the jet ASAP. We’ll debrief on the flight.” Hotch orders abruptly standing from his seat. “You and I can finish this meeting later. This case is now our top priority, wheels up.” 

Emily, Rossi and Derek were already in their seats when you boarded. You secured your go bag in one of the overhead compartments and temporarily took a seat next to Derek. 

“How bad do you think this one is gonna be?” Derek sighs, dreading the horrors that await your arrival. 

“We’re up to thirty six bodies and counting. Whoever this unsub is, they’ve been at it a while. So, bad.” You answer honestly. 

“Speaking of bad, is everything okay?”

“That was not even remotely smooth.” You scoff. 

“I’m just asking as a concerned friend.” He shoots his hands up in defence.

“What happened to the days where we at least tried to mind our business. You know, at least asked each other about our weekend plans before jumping into interrogation mode.” You roll your eyes and smirk. 

“Heyyy, woah– no one’s interrogating anyone.” Derek chuckles. “What are your plans for the weekend?”

It wasn’t long before everybody had made their way on the jet, Spencer being the last one. You didn’t notice his arrival, too engulfed in your conversation. He definitely noticed you though. The sound of your giggles caught his attention the second he was in ear shot. He didn’t like how warm he felt at the sight of your smiling face. What he disliked more was that he could instantly tell that it wasn’t a genuine smile. 

He quietly made his way to his self assigned seat on the couch, trying his hardest to focus on anything but you. Every laugh that Morgan coaxed out of you bothered him. Spencer’s agony only ended once the jet had successfully taken off. 

“Alright let’s get started.” Hotch declared and everybody moved to gather around. 

With all the details laid out by Garcia through the monitor, everybody began stating facts and suggestions. You wrapped up soon enough and retreated to an isolated seat in the back of the jet. It was an almost eight hour flight, seven of which you were planning to use to come up with a solid plan to announce your departure. Life always has to throw a wrench in your plans though, because the lack of sleep from the night before caught up to you and you dozed off almost immediately. Had you any energy left in your body, you might have been privy to the eyes that were on you. 

“She didn’t say anything as to what the meeting was about?” JJ hushedly pries from her raven haired co worker in the cramped kitchenette.  

“No, but Garcia said that ‘the air in his office was really tense’.” Emily relays, her fingers mimicking quotation marks. “Did Hotch say anything?”

“No. He just gave me his usual dry look and told me to focus on the case.” JJ rolls her eyes at the thought and leans back against the counter. 

Despite being the FBI’s most decorated task force, the agents of the BAU weren’t strangers to workplace gossip. You’d just entered the bullpen this morning when Hotch frantically summoned you to his office, not even giving you time to set your things down at your desk. Witnessing the events sparked a guessing game sparked amongst the team. 

“Is it something we should know about?” Sitting across from Hotch, even Rossi succumbed to his curiosity. 

“Dave you’re not normally one to pry.” Hotch smirks, keeping his eyes on the case-file laid out in front of him. 

“No I’m not. But with the events of the past few months...” Rossi sips his coffee, staring at his younger superior expectantly. “...there’s been some talk Aaron.”

“Talk?” Hotch meets Rossi’s eyes.

“Mhm.” Rossi nods. “Apparently you’re transferring one of our two youngest members because they haven’t been able to put their differences aside.”

“I’m not transferring anyone. Where did this come from?” The alarm in his tone makes Rossi snicker.

“Office drama. You know how it is. And while you may not be transferring anybody,” he sets his mug down and looks towards where you’re sound asleep. “I’m guessing somebody is leaving. Hence this morning's meeting.”

“We’re not supposed to profile each other, you know.” Hotch sighs. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep this contained. I haven’t had a chance to properly discuss this with her yet and I think she’d prefer to break the news herself.” 

As you had predicted the case was by no means an easy one. On the first day everybody was split into groups to follow up with the M.E, victims’ families and examine the crime scenes. All the evidence and information gathered wasn’t enough to narrow the profile any more than the generic: male, mid thirties to early forties, hates women. You were now three days in with no viable leads. 

You were especially frustrated because you felt that you weren’t working as well as you could. The stress of your announcement was taking its toll, you were unable to properly converse with your team out of guilt. Hotch sent everyone back to their hotel rooms with the idea that you would start fresh tomorrow. Normally you would room with Spencer, but lately JJ and Emily have been taking turns rooming with both of you. This time you were with Emily.

“I think this may be the first night we’ve gotten to turn in early.” Emily yawns as she dramatically stretches her limbs.

“I’m just glad we got to turn in at all, for a while there it looked like we may have to pull another all nighter.” You force a giggle, exasperated.  

“You okay?” She doesn’t miss a beat, taking the opportunity to ask about your uneasiness. 

“Yeah, fine.” You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“You’re going to snap at some point, you know?” She examines your closed off posture, trying to figure out a way to get you to open up. “Something’s clearly wrong. Talk to me.”

“We’re all on edge right now. It’s this case.” You hope that you’re being convincing enough. 

“It's more than that. You’ve been distant from everybody.” Emily briefly thought back to the Ian Doyle debacle, recognising all the signs of somebody preparing to run away at any given moment. 

“I’m aware that I’m not working to my full potential–”

“That’s not what I mean and you know that.” She steps closer to you. “I can’t force you to tell me whatever’s actually on your mind, but I would really appreciate it if you would. I hate seeing you so…detached. Not just from us, but from yourself.”

It’s the empathy in her voice instead of the usual sympathy that finally cracks you. Tears pool your eyes and you sink to the floor. Emily sits down next to you without a word. She tries to pull you in for a hug but you push away. 

“Please don’t.” You sob. “I’m sorry.”

She squeezes your knee to relay that she understands and retracts her hand. Your discomfort with physical touch was another thing you had in common with Spencer. It was just a personal preference for you, unlike his germophobia. He was the only person you were actually comfortable with in terms of touch, but you couldn’t fault others for not respecting that boundary when you’d never verbalised it. 

“I’ve been trying to figure out the right way to tell you guys, but I don’t think there’s any way this gets easier.” You recompose yourself after a moment. “I’m, um, leaving.”

You expect her to get upset with you, but find her unfazed. 

“You don’t look surprised.” 

“Well it’s not entirely surprising. I mean given everything that’s happened.” 

“So you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” She leans back with her mouth slightly open. 

“Because I feel like I’m abandoning you guys.” You heavily exhale. 

“You’re not abandoning us. You’re doing what you feel is right for you. I mean, am I happy about it? Definitely not. But I know better than anyone why you feel like you need to do this. And it’s not a decision you have to justify to anybody.” Emily reassures you. 

“How do I tell everybody else?” You push for more advice.

“However you feel most comfortable doing it. It doesn’t have to be some big announcement. You can casually break it to them whenever you get the opportunity. They’ll understand.” 

“Thank you, Em.” You genuinely smile this time, eternally grateful that she’s managed to take some pressure off your shoulders.

“Now while you’re in a mood to share…if you wanna talk about something else–” She attempts one last time to get you to talk about Spencer, sensing that the mood lightened a bit. 

“Nice try.” You laugh as you rise to your feet, offering your arms out to her to help her stand.

The following two days were a lot easier on you, mentally. You took Emily’s advice and disclosed your news individually to each team member, each of them more understanding than you’d anticipated. You were surprised to learn that Rossi was already aware, assuming that it came with being a profiler for as long as he had. Derek and JJ did try to talk you out of it initially, but accepted your decision in the end. You still had to talk about this with Garcia, but felt a lot more at ease with mostly everybody knowing.

Except Spencer.

That thought lingered in the back of your mind. You still love him, it’s not something you can just turn off. You shake it off and divert your full attention to the case. Four more bodies had been discovered and with them, a new pattern to the killings. The unsub was devolving. You and Spencer were the only ones at the precinct when the last murder was called in. Meaning you were stuck working on the geographical profile with him while the others were out chasing new leads. 

Realistically, only one of you was needed to build the profile and decided you were going to let him do it. You quietly sat in the furthest seat possible, trying to make yourself invisible and hoping that this would keep him busy enough to not talk to you. The whole week, you hadn’t uttered a single word to him unless it was absolutely necessary for the case. It was as if he didn’t exist, even if he was standing right infront of you. Spencer, on the other hand, spent the whole week prodding you for any reaction he could get. Anytime you made suggestions and he happened to be in the area, he tried to one up you.

At times it felt like he was purposely seeking you out, despite his brutal proclamation five days ago. Every attempt to rile you up failed. The most acknowledgement he got from you was a few scoffs and glares. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it, until Derek asked him point blank what his problem was. He didn’t have an answer, but now that he was aware of it he tried to go out of his way to avoid it. 

That didn’t last more than a few hours. The fact that he had to consciously avoid talking to you pissed him off, especially because he couldn’t stop. You pretending like he didn’t exist pissed him off even more. The one time he took his eyes off the board in front of him they landed on you. You were busy scribbling words in a file, trying to get a head start on your paperwork. 

“Do you plan to help at all?” He sneers, noticing that you looked a lot more relaxed than you did at the start of the case. 

You snap your head towards the board behind him. A rough venn diagram was drawn on a map of the city, small tacked notes labelling prominent buildings in the area. 

“How am I meant to help?” You question, darting your eyes between him and the board out of confusion.

“You’re asking me how to do your job?” He taunts, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.

You dramatically groan, throwing your head back. 

It’s hard to believe that he’s a man of logic in moments like these. There have been far too many in the last few months. You bounce off your seat and head over to the board. Spencer stays glued in his spot and your body accidentally brushes against his as you try to get past. He watches you take off some notes and add on new ones but doesn’t register what you’re doing at first. He’s too intoxicated by your scent. His hand runs through his hair as he steps back in an effort to regain his composure. His teeth grit and his jaw tenses momentarily, he hates that you have the ability to do this to him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” The pitch of his voice raises and his ears are burning.

“What do you mean?” You roll your eyes, shrugging your arms, sarcasm laced in your words. 

“Don’t try to act all dumb!” He berates, shaking his head. 

“Don’t try to act all smart.” Your eyes roll again. Spencer was slowly starting to wear down your apathy. 

“I am smart.” He scoffs. Your blood boils, this trump card is becoming too repetitive.

“Savour that, it’s the one good thing you’ve got going for you!” You finally snap. 

“You’re UNBELIEVABLE! The first time you bother to answer me all week and it’s just to argue?” He’s trying his best to refrain from yelling.

“Oh! You’ve been trying to start an argument all week and now that I’m giving in you can’t take it?! Actually, why have you been trying so hard, Doctor? I was under the impression that you can’t even stand to look at my face!”

He dryly swallows, unable to respond immediately. The reminder of his words makes him internally cringe. He never meant to say them. It was the most efficient way he could think of at that time to hurt you. Spencer hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of will power it would take to stay away from you. You seeking him out made it infinitely harder. His fake disdain was a defence mechanism, he was hiding behind hatred to get the job done. 

“YOU–”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hotch loudly cuts him off. 

Neither you nor Spencer noticed the teams return during your squabble. You’re slightly embarrassed, wondering how much they’ve witnessed. Spencer turns away from you and looks to the blank wall on the other side of the room. You look to the floor and bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Care to explain what’s going on?” He grills and you feel like a petulant child receiving a lecture from your father. 

“She wasn’t doing her job!” Spencer complains. “And when I brought it up she messed up my profile!”

“God you’re insufferable! It’s called ‘narrowing the profile’, Spencer. Maybe if you did it properly, I wouldn’t have to.” You retort. 

“Hey!” Hotch scolds.

It falls silent for a second, awkward glances finding their way around the room. Rossi breaks it first. 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were bickering toddlers instead of FBI agents.”

You make eye contact with Morgan trying to hold in a laugh and it makes you snort. 

“We will discuss this later. Let’s focus on the updates we’ve gathered.” Hotch dismisses due to more pressing matters at hand. 

“After talking to friends of the latest victims, I can confirm that they were all last seen in the same club.” JJ pipes up first.

“And the dumpsites are all less than twenty minutes away from there. He’s definitely not holding them anymore.” Morgan adds.

“That has to be where he’s choosing his victims. Did the medical examiner find anything new?” Hotch asks.

“Traces of GHB.” Emily replies. “We don’t know how he’s administering it into their systems, but my guess would be through the drinks.”

“Gamma-hydroxybutyrate, mostly known as GHB, is a party drug that produces feelings of euphoria, confidence, relaxation and sociability. Side effects of GHB can include drowsiness, vomiting, mood swings, dependence, as well as more serious symptoms of unconsciousness. When mixed with alcohol the risk of overdose increases as it can cause respiratory collapse leading to coma or in extreme cases death.” Spencer’s about to continue but quickly recognises that it’s a tangent he needs to cut short. 

“Wait JJ what club were the victims last seen in?” You inquire, walking closer to the map.

When she relays the name it clicks. 

“That’s smack in the middle of the comfort zone.” You point at a small red note labelling the building. 

“So how do we catch this guy? I mean the club would be packed and we don’t know what this guy looks like. The profile tells us that he would blend in, nothing would stand out about him.” Morgan subtly suggests a string operation.

“Except for when he’s alone with the object of his rage. Which in our case would be the women he’s using as surrogates. He'd be possessive, become clingy, hold on too tight and once those advances are rejected he’d fly into blind rage.” Spencer exclaims without realising the weight of his input. 

“Yeah…but he has a very specific type.” Rossi hesitates. 

A fact that everybody had been avoiding the case because of how close it hit to home. 

You’re his exact type.

“No.” Hotch shuts down.

“Hotch, think about it. I mean this guy is not slowing down. A sting might be our best bet to stop him before he kills again.” JJ shares Rossi’s hesitation.

“It’s too risky!” Spencer blurts, making it clear he’s against the idea. 

Everyone begins to chime in with their input, but you stay silent and think it over. None of them wanted to put you in this position, but you’d seen the bodies and what he’d done to those women. What he’ll continue to do to other women if he isn’t stopped. It was a no brainer on your end. 

“I’ll do it!” You announce amidst the chatter.

It comes to an immediate halt, all eyes shifting on you.

“What?” Spencer scoffs.

You can tell that he’s genuinely surprised by the small hitch in his voice. Emily sceptically calls your name, posing it as a question. 

“I’ll do it.” You reiterate, taking care to seem as confident as possible.

“Absolutely not! The odds of this going wrong are way too high!” Spencer howls with a little too much passion. 

“Reid’s right. The unsub is way too unpredictable.” Hotch debates.

“JJ has a point, think about it!” You argue. “We know for a fact that he’s going to strike tonight. Sending me undercover as bait is better than staking out the place and waiting for him to target a civilian!” 

“Okay so let’s send somebody else!” Spencer contests, his tone prayerful. 

For a split second, you see your best friend again. He’s showing more regard for you now than he has in months and it makes your heart sink knowing it won’t be forever. Still, you try to reason with him while he’s there.

“There’s no time! I fit his type. This is our best option.”

“No, this is stupid and dangerous. You’re not going in there!” He’s gone again. 

“That’s not your call to make!” You snap. 

“Hotch no!” Spencer tries again.

“Kid, relax! This isn’t her first undercover mission.” Morgan attempts to calm Reid. “Plus we’ll all be there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Statistically–”

“For God’s sake forget the fucking statistics! People’s lives are at stake!” You loudly end his tangent before it can begin. 

“Alright, everybody calm down!” Hotch speaks up, making it a point to stare down Spencer. 

He’d made his decision and Spencer can only stare back in disbelief, too breathless to argue. 

‘Like Morgan said, we’ll be there watching over you, along with some local law enforcement. You won’t be wired, but we’ll have a fail safe just in case you need backup earlier than expected. We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to work.” The unit chief asserts. 

Before anyone can make any further moves, Spencer storms out of the room. JJ runs after him, assuring Hotch that she’ll take care of it. The rest of you break off to your assigned tasks, preparing for the operation that night. 

“Spence! Slow down!” She yells, chasing him all the way outside the precinct. 

He’s breathing too fast, practically on the edge of hyperventilating. He pushes his hair back with both of his hands, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. 

“Spence what the hell is going on with you?” JJ pants, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“Me?!” Spencer yanks himself away from her. “What the hell is going on with all of you?! You’re all insane for allowing her to do this!”

“She’s a grown woman and a trained agent! This is her decision. She knows what she’s getting herself into.” JJ reminds him. 

“Well it’s not a very smart decision! She shouldn’t be making decisions this…this reckless!” He shrieks. 

“Okay you need to calm down!” JJ sternly states. 

“Jennifer, do not tell me to calm down! She’s about to make herself a direct target for a psychopathic sadist and you’re all just letting it happen!”

“So what? Should we let some innocent woman become his next target?” 

“No! I’m not saying we should– just– why does it have to be her?!” The emphasis on his last word gives him away, JJ picks up on it instantly. 

“That’s what this is about? C’mon you know better than this.” She relaxes her shoulders. “Spencer, we all care about her. We all want her to be safe. And she will be as long as we separate out feelings from–”

“Feelings? This has nothing to do with how I feel–”

“Okay stop! Stop! God!” JJ huffs with pauses between her words. “I am so sick of this! This is clearly about your feelings. The past four months have all been about–”

She smacks her hands against her face as she takes a deep breath, a display of frustration. 

“Listen to me.” She commands, exhausted from the back and forth. “It’s clear that you two care deeply for each other, whether you’re willing to admit it or not. Neither of you will talk about whatever it is that’s caused this rift– fine! But don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet now that she’s leaving?”

Spencer freezes. 

“...Leaving?” He repeats, taken off guard. 

JJ takes a moment to read his expression. 

“She didn’t tell you?” JJ mutters, still scanning his face. 

“What– what are you…” He can’t find the words, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to process her words.

“She’s resigning, Spencer. She’s leaving the FBI.” JJ can’t hide how she’s surprised that you haven’t shared this with him. 

“No, that's not possible. She loves this job. Why would she leave?” Denial is his first response.

Spencer thinks over your possible motivations and can only land on the obvious. You’d only leave if you grew to hate the job. 

Did he do this? Did he make you hate it?

“We were all surprised when she first told us, I mean, it came out of nowhere.”

“We?” He rubs his temple, anticipating a possible migraine from the bomb that just dropped on him. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you guys known?” He balefully sighs, trying his hardest to not misplace his anger. 

“It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

He had no one to be angry at, but himself.

“A day? Maybe two? She told us individually. Honestly with this case I haven’t had time to wrap my head around it.” JJ honestly reveals. 

So not long. Maybe you were still making your way around to telling him? You wouldn’t just leave without so much as telling him, would you?

A few months ago, Spencer would’ve confidently answered no. Today he was sure that you would. He so badly hoped that he was wrong. 

“Spence, look, we can talk about this later. But right now, you need to make sure you’re able to stay objective. Can you do that?”

He nods relentlessly, tucking his hair behind his ears. A habit he adapted early in life. It was an indicator of the gears turning in his head. JJ gives him a few more minutes outside before guiding him back in to help with preparations. Spencer absentmindedly performed his tasks, but all he could think about was you. 

You’re leaving and he’s the only person you hadn’t disclosed this information to. Abandonment was a feeling he was all too used to, but he never imagined that you’d abandon him. He knows that he can only blame himself, but he still can’t help the irritation that’s creeping in his veins. 

Even as he straps up his hidden bullet proof vest hours later, he can’t push the sentiment away. You were setting yourself up as bait for one of the most dangerous types of serial killers. On top of purposely putting yourself in direct line danger, you were leaving without telling him. He would’ve showed up to work one day and you’d be gone.

Right now he stands just a few feet away from you and you don’t look toward him once. No one would be able to guess that you’re undercover. It’s amazing how you’ve managed to transform yourself from supervisory special agent to a regular socialite and party girl in a couple of hours.

If he could overcome the hurt he feels at the moment, he might see how breathtaking you look. Then again, you always appear breathtaking to him. Before he knows it, he’s walked right up to you. You don’t feel his presence looming behind you until you bump into him when you turn around. 

“Shit Spencer!” You jump, mostly because of the nerves from the upcoming night. 

He’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“Don’t start! I’m not in the mood.” You brush him off and disappear out of sight.

It was like that for much of the preparations. He’d muster the courage to try and talk to you, and you’d walk away. Much like how Spencer would avoid you when your friendship first fell apart. 

“Everybody in position?” Hotch inquires through his ear piece. 

“Affirmative.” Morgan gives the greenlight for your entry into the club. 

You made your way to the bar, making it a point to sit alone. You didn’t have to wait long. Archie Carter, 36, cheated on by his ex fiance before their wedding. She ran away with another man because Archie failed to keep his sadistic traits hidden and it scared her off. Torturing and murdering women who looked like her was his way of giving her a real reason to be scared. 

This was all information Garcia found after it was nearly too late. He’d managed to get you on the dance floor, subtly injecting you with the GHB. You didn’t even feel him do it. To everybody else it just seemed like you were playing your part really well on the dance floor, when in reality you were struggling to stand up. You couldn’t give out any signals and he was able to slip you away into the back alley under the noses of five FBI agents. 

It was Spencer who’d found you fighting for your life against Archie’s grip around your throat. Spencer, who put the bullet in Archie’s head after being unable to talk him down. Spencer who kneeled above you, begging you to come back as he began CPR. If he’d found you any later you might’ve been gone for good. 

Pissed was an understatement.

At the piece of shit that almost ripped you away from the world. At Hotch and the team for not listening. At himself for being right. Not you though, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t pissed at you. He was terrified. Both for you and for almost losing you. 

You had to stay a few extra days in Anchorage, bound to your hospital room. The team refused to fly back without you, each of them taking turns to keep you company. They all felt an immense amount of guilt but you reassured them that it wasn’t their fault. Your tongue grew tired of reminding them that this was a part of the job. Rossi joked that it was a good thing you were leaving it all behind in that case and it stung more than you were willing to admit. 

In your brush with death you came to the revelation that you didn’t want to leave, but hearing Spencer’s voice lull you back to him confirmed that you needed to. You couldn’t bring yourself to hear him talk everyday and not be the person he was talking to. It was why you had basically barred him from visiting you during your recovery there. Seeing his face was more than you could handle at the time. Not seeing yours weighed on him, because he needed to see if you were okay.

Physically, he knew you’d be fine once the doctors confirmed it. Mentally, he knew all too well of the repercussions that came with almost dying directly by the hands of an unsub. You’d been discharged and cleared fifty eight hours after you were admitted, and the team was ready to fly back a few hours later. All the signs of being less than okay were there. He recognised them as soon as he saw you board the jet. 

Besides the obvious bruises collaring your neck, there was some minor swelling that lingered. That wasn’t his biggest concern. It was the smile plastered on you when you put on your ‘I’m okay’ act for the others. Your eyes, like always, gave you away. You were already trying to sweep everything under the rug. Less than a few minutes after take off you isolated yourself in the back. You’d been doing that a lot in your recent cases. 

It irked him how everybody just let you. He decided right then that he wasn’t going to. He didn’t care how much you hate him, he was going to ensure that you came out of this truly okay. You were mindlessly staring out the window, counting the clouds, listening to the music playing through your headphones. You tried to ignore the feeling of being watched. You’d felt like that since you came to, in the alley. 

It took you a second to understand that you were actually being watched, turning to find Spencer in the previously empty seat across from you. 

“You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me.” You snark, ripping off your headphones, still recovering from the small jump scare.

“Sorry.” He chuckles out of habit.

You unintentionally smile at the sound and find yourself staring in his eyes. 

“Are–” He falters as he thinks the question over in his head. “Is there anything I can get you?”

You’re taken aback, not expecting those words. You had a script prepared to waive off questions about your well being. He knows you better than that, throwing you off course as usual.

“What do you want?” You grumble, accepting that you couldn’t get past him.

“I want to know if there’s anything I can get you.” He repeats in a low tone. 

There he is again. The Spencer you know and love. Your heart threatens to leap.

“If this is to clear some guilty conscience, don’t bother.” You verbally guard yourself. “I’m fine.”

It would be a lie if he said his reasoning was completely selfless. He was hardly able to keep away from you without feeling like he was drowning, but it was nothing compared to how he felt when he thought he may have lost you forever. The feeling didn’t last very long, he was able to revive you within a few seconds, but never feeling like that again would be too soon. 

Spencer believed in two things; statistics and facts. One fact he refused to ignore any longer is that he couldn’t live without you. He quietly opened that satchel that still clung across his torso, fishing out some pain killers and an unopened water bottle. 

“I know you probably forgot to take yours out of your bag.” He ignores your previous comment and slides the items across the table to you. 

Your gaze lingers on the items in front of you, but your hands stay folded in your lap as you piece everything together. 

“You know.” You whisper. 

“Were you going to tell me?” He gulps after a beat of silence. 

“Does it matter?” You're quick to respond.

“I wanna hear it from you.” He’s just as fast. 

You look up from the leaf of pills, he’s already surveilling you. It’s a short lived staring contest because your focus shifts behind him to Hotch, who’s observing this encounter from the kitchenette on the other end. Spencer continues waiting on you for a response but you stand up, ready to walk away. It dawns on you when you see your supervisor that technically you hadn’t officially resigned yet. The paperwork never got started because this case took priority and that was a detail you needed to sort out right away.

“Don’t go.” Spencer pleads when you take your first step.

Was it a request to sit back down or to stay with the BAU? You didn’t bother to clarify, he had no right to ask for either. 

You let out a deep, exasperated sigh as you lie curled up in your warm sheet, scowling at the floor beneath you. It seemed that the universe (your friends) had it out to delay your departure as much as possible. It’s been four days since your return from Anchorage and you’ve been stuck in your apartment since Hotch dropped you off here. He’s ordered mandatory time off for your recovery, meaning the paperwork has to wait. 

You could be using this time in a more productive manner. You could be searching for a new job. And a new place to live. You should be trying to figure out where this new place would be. You never actually thought that far ahead. In your haste to run away, you forgot to plan your next steps. You’ve convinced yourself that you can’t do any of it until the forms are filled out. 

The ‘universe’ isn’t the only thing delaying you. 

If you really wanted to, you could have everything emailed to you. You can have it done online, but there are two major problems. The first is pretty straight forward; you’re not ready to leave. You know that this is the best course of action for everybody, but your brain and your heart are at an impasse. You’ve dedicated years to this job because you love this job. Unfortunately, you love Spencer more, which means that staying is going to drive you to hate your job. 

The other reason is slightly more nuanced and you don’t want to think about it, opting to let your impasse be the reason for your lack of motivation to do anything other than bed rotting. It’s not as bad as it seems, it’s more self care than anything. Your body’s telling you it needs to rest and you’re simply obliging. Plus, it couldn’t be that serious if you still had bursts when you had to keep up appearances. You have to be okay if you’re able to force yourself to open the front door for your coworkers when they come to check on you. You really weren’t that miserable if you managed to smile and laugh for their short visits. 

And it’s not like you’re truly rotting. You showered quite often, you actually just had your second one today. You were definitely okay if you could manage to keep up with hygiene. It’s not excessive, you need to scrub the purple away. You know that’s not how it works, but you can’t stand to look at the parts of your neck where his hands were wrapped around. If you close your eyes for long enough you can still feel him squeezing until–

You’re okay.

No, you’re irritated. The incessant knocking on your front door won’t stop no matter how much you ignore it. You were relieved when evening came. It meant that normal visiting hours were over and you could rest today. If it wasn’t any of your usual visitors then it had to be stranger. The thought made you uneasy, you hesitated to answer it at all. 

You can’t live in fear all the time. 

The door eventually opens and Spencer sees you for the first time in days. He actually tried to check on you earlier, but Penelope insisted everybody stick to her roster so you don’t get overwhelmed. The circles under your eyes were almost as dark as his, you hadn’t been getting much sleep. The swelling around your throat was almost all gone, but the bruising wasn’t healing like he expected it to. 

“Spencer…what are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse. 

“I brought take out.” He gently dangles a bag of food in front of him, his voice high, but quiet. 

You can practically smell the contents of the bag, nostalgia hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was your favourite thing to order on the days he’d come over for movie nights. Before Spencer showed you a side of him you didn’t know existed. It felt like a taunt, like he was twisting the metaphorical knife he plunged in your heart. It made you sick.

“I already ate.” You lie, mustering a dull smile on your face.

Spencer swallows and bites the inside of his cheek, not taking his eyes off you. Trying to think of the best way to call you out without causing you to shun him. 

“We can do something else until you’re hungry again.” He gives a tight lipped smile and raises his furrowed brows, like he’s pleading for you to accept his offer.

“I don’t think I’ll be hungry anytime soon.” You awkwardly laugh– well it’s close to a laugh if not for your strained vocal chords. 

“Can I come in anyway? We can put on a movie.” He’s using the voice he used to when trying to comfort you or convince you of something. Soft, low, steady. It’s a stark contrast to the voice you’ve been hearing for the last ten days. 

Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.

Tears threaten the composure you’re working so hard to maintain.

“Why are you really here?” You sigh, unable to stick with the pleasantries. 

“I told you.” He emphasises the bag of food in his hands again. “Take out. Maybe a movie–”

“Cut the shit.” You assert, harshly. “You can tell Penelope that you came to see me so she gets off your back, but please stop pretending like you care.”

“That’s…is that why you think I’m here?” His shoulders drop.

“Isn’t it?” You bite, your door now wide open as you lean against it for support. Your legs are aching to curl into your chest again. 

“No.” His reply is short and clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Why? There’s nothing in it for you.” You scoff, blinking from confusion. “Unless…is this some sick game? Seeing me like this– knowing that I’m– are you trying to gloat?”

“Gloat?” He repeats in almost a whisper, the hurt in his voice evident.

“Relish, rejoice, rub it in, I don’t know. You’re the walking thesaurus.”

He can tell from your lax posture that you're amused. Your back is against your door, hands behind your back and you’re leaning forward a bit as you stare at the ground. Not caring that your words cut deep.

Is this how low you think he is?

“Why would I be enjoying this?” His hopeful smile drops entirely as he tries to understand you. 

“Call it epicaricacy.” You shrug. 

“Epicaricacy?” He mumbles in a whispered tone, like he’s trying to process what you said.

Deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others.

Your eyes roll from how slow he’s acting and you have to hold yourself back from repeating the definition out loud.

“Do you honestly think I enjoy seeing you like this?” The change in pitch stings a bit. 

“No, I don’t think you like seeing me at all.” You half smirk up at him, sadness evident in your eyes. “Which brings us back to…why are you here Doc?”

“That’s not true.” He cringes, ignoring the second part.

“Not true?” You wiggle your brows sarcastically. 

“Not true.” He reaffirms, sighing deeply. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry.” You scoff again, shaking your head.

“I know that I’ve been unreasonable–”

“Unreasonable?” The tip of your tongue rolls against the back of your teeth, bewildered at his sheer audacity. 

“A dick! I’ve been a dick.” He corrects himself, desperate to have you hear him out. 

You tighten your jaw, inhaling lightly through your nose and your brows are raised as high as they can go. 

“I was hurt. Okay? I wash lashing out, but, I–” He takes a deep breath to stop himself, wanting to get to the point. “I know that I’ve been acting otherwise but, I care about you. And when I found you back there…I just…I know what you’re going through, even if you won’t admit it. I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

Your expression softens as he speaks. Of course he knows. He knows you better than anyone. For a moment you consider allowing yourself to break down in his arms, like you would have once. It’s jarring, Spencer reverting to his former self after he saved your life. The comfort swiftly bubbles into anger. All your attempts for reconciliation were met with so much hostility before. It took you almost dying for him to care. It feels too little too late. The only thing you can think of as he stands next to you is all the ways he can further hurt you if you let him. You push off your door and stand straight, giggling bitterly. 

“Spencer, go home.” You say with the same bitterness. 

“Please–”

“Go home! I don’t want your pity!” You yell. It feels alleviating. “Do you honestly think that  anything changes just because you saved my life? Do you think it erases everything that’s happened in the past few months? Because it doesn’t! Things can’t go back to how they were simply because you feel bad that I almost died. It’s not a flip you can switch. You don’t just get to start caring!” 

You're heaving and he can only stare at the ground. He knows you’re right, except for the one crucial error in your speech. 

“I never stopped caring.” He mumbles.

This fucking idiot.

Enraged, sad, frustrated, confused; all emotions you’ve been suppressing that are now fighting to show at the same time. You take a step closer to him and he meets your eyes again. You can see that he’s holding back tears, same as you. It fuels you in a twisted way. You have an opportunity to hurt him the way he hurt you and you don’t let it go to waste.

“Don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work to see your face at work, I don’t want to see it in my personal time too.” 

You can’t stay to see the effects of his words thrown back at his face, your heart’s threatening to burst from how fast it’s racing. His jaw locks from how tense he is. He knows exactly why you said it, but it’s still hard to hear. You turn around and rush into your apartment, shutting the door on his face, leaving him standing there. You don’t make it too far inside, collapsing on the wooden floor with a choked sob. 

That didn’t make you feel as good as you thought it would. You hoped that maybe if you could make him feel at least a fraction of you’re feeling, you’d hurt less. It was more than just getting back at him for everything he’s done. You were unknowingly trying to punish him for what Archie Carter did too. It didn’t make you hurt any less, but at least you felt less alone in your hurt. 

He didn’t come back for the rest of your time off. Everybody continued to follow the roster, showing up on their days and bringing you ‘get well soon’ goodies. Penelope even invited herself over for a night's stay once. You didn’t have the heart to say no, but you found yourself counting the hours until you’d be alone again, free to wallow. The only respite you got for the next week was on Spencer’s days. You could expect to be left mostly alone, only a bag of take out accompanied by an eerily fitting quote sitting outside your door. 

You hate to admit that those were your favourite days. You had a chance to breathe and he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. You gave the food away in protest and the quote would go straight in the bin (once you read it). One final psych evaluation later you were cleared to come back. Not that you needed one since you didn’t plan to stay for long. It was really just a formality. By the time you returned only a few faded bruises remained, easy enough to cover with concealer. 

“You’re back! Ooh, it’s so good to see you!” Garcia was the first with a warm greeting and a tight hug. You reciprocated to the best of your ability. 

“Good to have you back, Pretty Girl.” Derek’s second, walking you through the bullpen as you make your way to Hotch’s office.

“Enjoy it while you can.” You giggle in reply. “Is Hotch in yet?”

“I see someone can’t wait to leave us.” Emily jokes, feigning a hurt look. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, he’s expecting you.” JJ laughs, slapping Emily’s arm playfully. 

“Thanks JJ!” You smile and they all watch you disappear behind the door. 

“So it’s official? She’s really leaving?” JJ questions through a half-hearted smile. 

“I asked Rossi and he said that Hotch is gonna ask her to stay until we find a replacement.” Emily replies, still eyeing the door. 

“How did you get Rossi to admit that?” JJ turns to the raven head, questioningly, and Emily smiles coyly giving no response. 

“Am I the only one who thinks this whole thing would end once they make up? I mean come on, we all know she’s leaving because of him, right?” Morgan looks at Spencer, who’s nose deep in a file at his desk. 

“Yeah, but we can’t help if they refuse to talk to us about it.” Emily sighs, hanging her head back. 

The three dive deeper into their discussion and you’re none the wiser from inside the cream-coloured walls of Hotch’s office. As per protocol, he’s just finished informing you of what’s next and you’re kind enough to accept his request to stay until they find a replacement. You definitely said yes because you want to make the team’s transition easier, not for any self indulgent reasons such as you not being ready to leave. 

“Just return this to me once you’ve filled it out.” He instructs as he hands you a file containing your resignation forms. 

“Thanks Hotch.” You smile, grabbing the file. 

You begin heading towards the door when he stops you by your name. 

“I understand that you’re set on this decision, but I am sad to see you go.” It’s insane how many emotions this man can get across while maintaining a blank expression. “However, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” 

“Thanks Hotch.” You playfully scoff, appreciating that even he has to try at least once. 

If one more person tries though, you might scream. It wasn’t easy, pretending that you weren’t crumbling inside. The extra pressure doesn’t make it any easier. You leave his office, closing the door behind you and approach your desk. The resignation forms are put aside for later as you still have to finish your case report from Anchorage. Part of you wanted to put it off until the last minute, the other part wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. 

“Coffee?” Penelope chirps, holding out a mug filled with the hot beverage. 

“Thanks Pen.” You smile up at her, taking it out of her hands. 

“No problem.” She smirks mischievously and trots off. 

A strange lady, but your strange lady.

Upon your first sip you almost choke it out. It was perfect. Exactly to your liking. Which would be a good thing, except only one person knows exactly how you like it. Back when you first joined, you learned how popular coffee was with all the employees. You felt out of place because you weren’t a massive fan of the drink and you avoided too much sugar because it made you feel sick. You soon discovered that you liked it a lot more with honey instead. It was a weird preference, but it worked for you, making it sweet without overpowering your senses like sugar did. 

You never declined a cup when offered by your colleagues, not wanting to dishearten them. It was Spencer who caught you sneaking honey into your cup when you thought no one was paying attention. He never mentioned anything to you, but the next time he returned with a cup to offer, you couldn’t help but the smile that adorned your face for the rest of the day. It was why you dedicated yourself to morning breakfast runs for him, memorising his coffee order as a silent thank you. Neither of you ever talked about it. 

You spin your seat around to find Spencer engaged in conversation with Rossi. You consider walking past him and dumping the beverage in the sink to make a point, but it was a welcome energiser for the dreadful task at hand. Plus you aren’t wasteful. You spin back around and decide to accept it just this once. 

When he’s sure you’re no longer looking he sets his sights back on you. A small smile forms across his lips when he sees you drink the coffee. He honestly expected you to throw it away. He feared that if he was the one to deliver the mug, you’d throw it on him. It was why he convinced Garcia to do it, bribing her by promising to buy a round of drinks on the next night out. 

“Kid, are you even listening?” Rossi scolds in an incredulous way. 

As the hours pass, your frustration grows. You couldn’t get yourself to write the details of the case. Your mind refused to think about it. You had hoped that taking breaks would make it easier, but everytime you returned to the page your head went blank.

“Need some help?” Spencer asks, spawning next to you.

“Christ, Reid!” You blurt, startled. “I thought I told you to stop doing that.” 

“Sorry.” He chuckles as if on cue. 

You glare at him expectantly. He doesn’t say anything, glancing between you and the unfinished case file, waiting for an answer. 

“No thanks.” You keep it short, hoping he takes the hint. 

“Let me know if you do.” He doesn’t. 

“You wouldn’t even be the last person I’d ask if I did.” You snark. 

“But you would eventually?” He stays calm, almost playful. 

Smart ass. 

You choose to ignore him, be the bigger person and all that. Even though he wasn’t antagonising you. 

“Thanks for the coffee.” It’s forceful gratitude. You weren’t feeling grateful, but you still had manners. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Don’t make it again.” 

“I will not.” He grins and walks away to his desk. 

You act like you don’t know he’s watching you work. Looking up often to find you stuck on the same page. Even if he knew that you know, he didn’t plan to stop. What he does know is that you’d never directly let him help you. He doesn’t care. There weren’t any new cases this week, so a ton of paperwork was to be expected. It’s taunting enough to write down details of your own assault, the extra paperwork would only add more stress. You’re too busy trying to push through the mental blockade to notice the sudden influx of files on his desk and the efflux on yours. 

What you didn’t miss was how the next cup of coffee you were offered was just as perfect as the one from before. 

“I thought I told you to stop with the coffee, Reid.” You lightly slam the paper cup on Spencer’s desk. 

He leans back in his seat and chews on his lip with an entertained smirk. 

“And I did. That’s not from me.” He’s earnest with his response.

“Oh, so JJ just happens to know my coffee preferences all of a sudden?” You sarcastically retort, crossing your arms.

“No.” He crosses his fingers across his lap. “I told her how you like your coffee when she said she was going on a coffee run.”

“And why did you do that?” You play along, unenthusiastically. 

“Because you told me to stop doing it.” He states in the most casual way possible. 

This was getting you nowhere. It was naive to think he’d let you spend your last few weeks here peacefully. Scratch that– he was being peaceful. Too peaceful. A new tactic to get under your skin?

“Stop. It.” The delivery of your words is slow and emphasised. 

“Stop doing exactly what you’ve told me to?”

You bite your tongue and glare at him. His face, shoulders, arms, everything, is relaxed. You can’t even argue with him. You take a moment to consider how bad it would be if you bashed his head in with the back of your gun. Then you take another to critique how easy it is to pass the psych evals. They should really think about the consequences of using questions the BAU wrote on actual BAU agents. 

After that day you went back to ignoring him. Any time coffee was offered you’d decline altogether. If he attempted to try and talk to you, you’d respond with yes or no for the sake of professionalism. This didn’t deter Spencer though. He gave you your space but kept a close eye on you, continuing to try and ease your burdens from afar. Exactly how he used to. 

This only lasted until the next case came in. Specifically until you were back out on the field, where he perceived you to be in high amounts of danger. You tolerated it because it gave you comfort, not that you’d ever tell him. Having Spencer by your side made it easier to deal with the reality that there’s little you can do if another incident like Anchorage occurred. 

Plus focusing your energy on ignoring him kept the flashbacks away. Or it did, until the take down. You once again found yourself in danger from an unsub, only this time the situation was controlled. All guns were pointed at the killer, except for the one that was pointed at you. The plan was simple: you talk down the unsub, take him back to the station and talk him into exposing his partner. 

Everything was going according to plan, until Spencer realised that one of the cops in the room was his partner and he was about to shoot you. Nobody understood what happened before the situation calmed down. Spencer had fired the first shot towards the dirty cop and immediately tackled you to the ground, shielding you from the hail of bullets that followed after. All you remember clearly is freezing up, clinging to the man on top of you. One moment you were screaming out, trying to make sure that he was okay and the next you were back in the alley behind the bar, fighting for your life. 

You didn’t comprehend anything until the panic attack subsided but Spencer was fine. His vest caught the bullets. Both unsubs were dead. Rossi and Prentiss came to the realisation the same time as Spencer and were quick to react. And you weren’t in the alley. You were in Spencer’s arms as he led you away from the scene when it was safe. 

When you snapped out of it the medics had cleared him of any injuries. He tried to approach you during your check up, but you shoved him away, unable to even look at him. The only thing you remember clearly is Hotch sending you all back to your hotel rooms before tomorrow’s flight back. You should be asleep right now, if not from the exhaustion of today’s events alone, then from how long you spent reassuring everybody that you were okay. 

You couldn’t sleep. Not when so many thoughts were occupying your headspace. This is the second time Spencer’s saved your life, in the span of roughly a month. The first time he’s put his life in direct danger to save yours. Had it not been for his vest he would be dead. The more you linger on it, the angrier you’d become. You were also wearing a vest, you would’ve been fine. What he did was unnecessary and reckless. 

What if the bullet missed the vest? Entered through the side? What was he thinking?

You were mentally fighting the urge to barge into his room and yell at him for his stupidity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go to him. What happens to him is not your problem anymore. You aren’t going to let your guard down just because he’s an idiot.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, Reader almost dies, Reader and Spencer are pissing me off, bc they’re so dumb, angst, hurt no comfort, Reader gets a little revenge.

AN - Before you comment ANYTHING, there is one more part. It’ll be posted a lot sooner than this one was. Writing this made me realise how limited the English language is. There’s only so many words to use and ways to write them. If either part sounds repetitive at times, it’s not my fault!!! Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

If you comment you garner good karma for yourself and that could lead to you meeting MGG someday (I’m not liable if this never happens), think about that... 

Thank you for reading!

[bokutosbabe]

It Always Leads To You

( bllk boys as situationships )

a/n — girl whose never had a situationship writing about them? what could go wrong? (they progressively get longer lol)

content — some nsfw but not explicit, pining, GN! reader, some characters repeated, all characters are 18 or 18+

synopsis — what kind of situationship the bllk boys would be

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' and the heart i'm breaking is my own ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' but you're best friends! '

you'd rather spend money on a hotel than stay at home 24/7 for the next week. how could you walk into your house when you knew he'd be there, chatting with you family as if nothing had changed?

maybe you should've pretended you had to work.

that would have saved you the grief of having to see, who was supposed to be, your best friend. how could you face him when the last thing you two talked about was being a couple and that...not going as planned.

well, maybe that wasn't the last thing you two talked about with each other. however, does defiling your families bathroom really count as 'talking'? ( most awkward easter ever afterwards ) you didn't really think so.

whatever, he was a pro-soccer player now, he may not even be at home this christmas. you'd just have to put up with his family, who you'd always loved, and then you could go home and avoid the situation until the next big holiday.

but of course, when you stepped into your childhood home you realized that you'd never get that lucky. there he was, just as handsome as ever, sitting on your families couch.

in your eyes, he looked like he belonged with your family more than you, but you supposed he earned that. he came home every holiday, unlike you who continuously came up with different reasons to stay as far away as possible.

if you left now, maybe no one would know you'd even shown up-

" woah, y/n! it's you! " or...maybe not. " i haven't seen you in forever, what have you been up to? " the voice that plagued your every waking thought crashed its way into your ears.

your best friend ( could you even call him that anymore? were you still his best friend? ) got up from his spot on the couch to come wrap his arms around you in a hug that felt more like home than home did.

" i've missed you, ya know? " he whispered in your ear, hands caressing your back in what felt like much more than what a 'friends' hug would be.

just a week. you could survive and coexist with him for a week. your resolve to never sleep with him set in stone now.

you just wished your resolve wouldn't have crumbled only two days later while your family was downstairs watching christmas movies.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ REO MIKAGE, isagi yoichi, AIKU OLIVER, rensuke kunigami, TOBITO KARASU

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the ' you cannot date them '

you’re a good person... or at least, you want to believe that. But how can you when your best friend sits in front of you now, talking about their ex?

she’s raving about how much she misses him, how everything fell apart at the worst time, how she’s still holding onto the hope that maybe they can fix things.

you try to smile and nod, pretending that you’re not dying inside. how can you even look her in the eye when he’s blowing up your phone right now? when you know exactly how he feels about you?

“it’s just so messed up, right?” she laughs nervously, like this is all just a bad breakup, nothing that can’t be smoothed over. “i’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

she doesn’t know that you already did something. You already did the one thing that could ruin everything. the one thing that she told you you could never do.

your phone continuously buzzing while she's talking, hoping she wouldn't notice you reach for it to silence it while she takes a sip of her drink.

your phone vibrates again, and you try not to look at it. you’re not sure if you’re worried that she’ll see, or that you’ll see what he’s saying. you’re scared of both.

him <3 ; are we still on for tonight? can’t wait to see you.

that familiar ache forms in your chest, and you can feel the betrayal to your friend, the confusion about your own feelings, but worse—there’s nothing you can do about it. you keep smiling, even though it feels like your heart’s sinking with every word your friend says.

" god, if you don't want to listen to me, just say so. " your friend says coldly. " i would have turned off my phone if it was you crying right now. "

" sorry, it's just my mom...talking about some new present she wants to get my brother. " you apologized. "oh, okay. is your brother a cutie?" you didn't even have a brother, showed how much she knew about you.

“whatever, what should i do?" your friend asks, her eyes bright with hope (or maybe delusion). "do you think I should text him? do you think we could still fix things?”

you want so badly to tell her the truth.

you want to be honest, to say what she needs to hear so that she doesn’t get her hopes up.

you want to tell her that he is already texting you, that maybe you are the reason he won’t talk to her.

but instead, you bite your lip and offer a shrug. "i don't know, honestly. maybe he needs time to figure out what he wants too."

"he doesn't need time. he needs me." she mused, staring at you like your answer was just the stupidest thing she'd heard all day. "no wonder you've never dated anyone, who'd like a ditz like you?"

The whole time, your phone is buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, like a constant reminder of your lie.

you; see you tonight :)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ OTOYA EITA, ikki niko, RANZE KURONA, reo mikage, RYUSEI SHIDO

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧the... ' you'll never be first '

he's leaving soon, and you feel like you're dying.

you’d known for a long time that ‘casually’ seeing a pro soccer player would only lead to being left alone, especially someone like him—someone whose work always came first, and whose heart was as unreachable as the trophies he collected.

he’d said it more times than you could count: “love doesn’t come before soccer. It never will.” and you’d laughed, maybe even agreed at some point, understanding it was just the way things were.

so why does it feel like you’re drowning now, with him leaving just around the corner.

it doesn’t make sense. you’d known the deal from the start.

still, here you are—sitting in his bed, in the quiet of his room, the familiar hum of the city outside reminding you of how little time you really have left with him.

his suitcase is by the door, already half-packed, his jersey draped over the chair where he’d left it, as if he couldn't get out of here fast enough.

you’re almost sick to your stomach at the thought of him walking out that door in just a few days, never looking back.

you’ve spent enough time with him to know that when he leaves, he doesn’t look back. he doesn't look back at stadiums once he walks out, and he wouldn't look back at you either.

"it’s only a few months," he’d said, trying to make you feel better when the topic of him leaving first got brought up. “i’ll be back before you know it.”

but that’s not the point.

it’s never been the point.

you know he’ll be busy with games, traveling, sponsors,...women, all the things that make him too far to reach.

and yet, here you are, sitting in his bed, heart pounding, overwhelmed with the thought of it all ending. you thought you could handle this.

you thought you could be just another notch in his belt. but the truth is, you’ve been fooling yourself. you care too much. you’ve fallen for him, hard, and the worst part is—he doesn’t even realize it.

or maybe he does. maybe he’s known all along, and you were too scared to admit it.

the sound of his voice pulls you from your thoughts.

"hey, you okay?"

you glance over at him, watching him fiddle with his phone, one hand propped up on the headboard. his eyes meet yours, something in them that almost makes you believe he could stay. maybe, you're enough of a reason for him to stay where he is now.

but he won’t. you know that. his life is bigger than you. bigger than this city, this bed, and every memory you’ve shared together.

you nod, forcing a smile, trying to keep the strange bitterness from slipping into your voice.

"yeah, just thinking."

"don’t think too much." his lips curl up into that calming grin that’s made you feel better on several occasions. how could something that used to calm you make you feel like your heart was in your throat? “you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

it’s easy for him to say that. he’s used to moving on. he’s used to leaving. you? you're used to him being here.

his fingers tap absently against the screen of his phone. you can see the notifications lighting up—his agent, a few teammates, probably his parents, all reminding you of the inevitable: he’s leaving soon.

you want to scream. you want to ask him why he doesn’t care. why it’s so easy for him to slip away from everyone who loves him.

but instead, you pull your knees to your chest and keep your eyes fixed on him, as if the longer you look, you could magically gain telepathy to make him want to stay with you.

"how’s your flight looking?" you ask, hoping his answer would be that he cancelled it.

"all set."

and you can't breathe.

the casualness in his voice is what stings the most. the way he talks about leaving as if it’s just another day at the office, another game to be played.

he doesn’t get how you feel. maybe he can’t. maybe he’s just too busy not feeling anything.

The silence is deafening.

"do you... do you ever wish you could just stay?"

It’s a question you didn’t mean to ask, but it escapes before you can stop it.

You wish you could take it back the second it leaves your lips.

he looks up at you, and for the briefest moment, his eyes soften. for one second, he looks like he is completely and utterly yours.

he sets his phone down, sliding it onto the bedside table, then turns his full attention to you.

"i told you, didn’t i? love doesn’t come before soccer."

The words hit you like a train, but it’s not the truth that hurts—it’s the way he says it, like it’s not up for debate. as if it’s always been this way, and it always will be.

why can't he just try? just try to come home every so often...to you.

you feel like a fool. as if you've put your heart on display for him just to not even glance your way.

you know where you stand, even if it’s tearing you apart.

he doesn’t lie to you, doesn’t promise you things he can’t give, and maybe that's why you fell for him in the first place—he was the first person who didn’t play games with you.

"i’m gonna miss you," you say quietly, knowing that admitting it aloud makes it even worse.

his eyes flicker with something, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. he shifts, pulling his knees up to match yours, as if to say he’s close, but still so far. he rests his head back against the headboard.

and for a moment, you almost forget he’s leaving. you forget about the suitcase by the door. you forget about the plane ticket he has. you forget that in just a few days he wont be yours anymore.

"i’ll miss you too," he says softly.

but that’s it. that’s all he says. it’s not a promise, not a declaration. just another passing remark to fill the silence.

he doesn't mean it. it's more of a kindness thing for him to say it back.

you can feel the weight of everything unsaid.

you realize—he doesn’t know how much you care. He can’t understand you.

he’s never been asked to stay.

you’re not even sure you’d want him to. you can’t ask him to change his life for you. and you couldn't keep up with the lifestyle he lives.

the idea of him walking away—of losing him to something bigger, to something you’ll never be able to keep—feels like it will break you.

so you just lie down on his bed, for the last time, you tell yourself.

'after tonight, he'll be free of me'

after tonight, you'd walk out that door and not look back.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ITOSHI RIN, nagi seishiro, SAE ITOSHI, isagi yoichi, RENSUKE KUNIGAMI

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' to leave the warmest bed i've ever known ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

[ + your faves ! ]

again, i've never experienced this, so i hope the research i've done (looking up different types of situationships) has done it justice!

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!

[thatacotargirl]

Hiiiii I love your writing!! May I request Azriel x Reader, where reader gets amnesia. She’s Illyrian and was hurt by Illyrian men, so she’s scared of Az because she doesn’t remember him. Then wonderful angst because he never thought she’d be afraid of him, so he avoids her and is heartbroken. Then something happens, maybe he’s forced to interact with her or he says something specific, and her memories come back, so happy ending! Feel free to ignore if you don’t want to write this, thank you!💙

Hi lovely! Thank you so much for reading my work and for your request! I hope you like the story! 💙

Divider is once again from @tsunami-of-tears, eternally grateful to you for your creativity!

Dazelroot Daze

An Azriel x Reader imagine

Warnings: angst, poisoning, swearing, allusions to abuse / previous SA.

"Rhys, I am not cut out for this kind of mission - why did you not send Nesta!"

You huff to yourself as you climb the uneven stairs through the prison, following closely behind Rhys. You hated coming in here, and hated having to interact with the Bone Carver even more. You patted your back pocket, checking your gifted bone for him was still there, before climbing yet another stairwell.

"Y/n, you know I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't necessary. I can't exactly send Nesta in here even if she's only early in her pregnancy, they would sense it a mile off and she'd be a target. Not to mention, I don't fancy getting pummelled by Cassian for letting his pregnant mate in here".

You knew he was right, but it didn't make this any easier. You struggled through another narrow doorframe, trying to avoid smacking your wings against the wood, and stood in front of a metal gate. You hear Rhys hum to himself.

"What's wrong?".

"I've never seen a gate here before, this should be an open walkway".

You begin to feel uneasy as you see Rhys take a step back.

"Rhys?"

Before you can get another word out, you feel a powder cover your face, filling your nose and mouth, causing you to choke. You try to call out for help, but you can't get anything out, breathing becoming harder and harder. You hear Rhys distantly calling your name but you can't respond, can't move, all you can do is drop to the floor, your legs giving out from underneath you.

"Get Madja, now!"

Rhys' voice bellowed through the River House as he winnowed in carrying your lifeless body and placed your down on the living room sofa. The rest of the Inner Circle descended on the pair of you, including Azriel. When he saw your pale body, arm hanging off the sofa, his heart sank. He grabbed Rhys by the collar.

"What the fuck happened?"

Rhys didn't have time to answer before Madja appeared in the room, pushing everyone to the side and leaning over your body. Silence descended on the room as she ran tests, took bloods, checked your vitals - all the while your eyes remained closed and your body limp.

"She has been poisoned with a plant known as Dazelroot. It is highly toxic and can only be found in some very remote parts of the Spring Court. Thankfully, it looks like this particular strain was either incorrectly handled or extremely dried out, as it hasn't taken hold quite as potently as it should have. She will be ok, in that she will live, but we won't know the consequences until she wakes up".

"The consequences?", Feyre asks.

"I have never seen a person be poisoned with Dazelroot and live to tell the tale. We won't know what it will do to her until she wakes".

Feyre sobbed silently, her shoulders shaking. Nesta joined her, the sisters holding each other through their sadness. Cassian could only watch in horror as Azriel fell to his knees next to your body and cried into your shoulder.

"Madja, what can we do?", Rhys asks, wringing his hands.

"There's nothing, Rhys. We have to let her wake, and see what happens next. I'll be on hand, as will my assistants. Call us as soon as she wakes up".

Rhys shook Madja's hand and allowed her to leave, his grief weighing down on his shoulders heavily. It was his fault that you were in the prison, that he hadn't seen the trap beforehand, that you were the one to be poisoned. He tried to reach for Azriel, but Azriel swatted his hand away.

"Don't touch me", he gritted, his face still buried in your shoulder.

Rhys could do nothing but watch as his family fell apart in front of him.

It took 6 days for you to wake. 6 agonising days of your family watching your chest rise and fall, terrified that you would never again open your eyes. But you did.

Your eyes opened, and fell on Feyre's face.

"SHE'S AWAKE", Feyre called to your family, reaching out for your hand. You let her take it, but she couldn't overlook the confusion she saw in your eyes, the hesitancy of your body to let her touch you.

The room filled with your family and your eyes settled on a pair of Illyrian wings. Male Illyrian wings. Trauma racked through your body, memories of your life at the Illyrian camps, wing-clipping, assault, and you couldn't hold back your scream as you pulled your body up the bed, as close as you could get to the headboard.

"Y/n?", Azriel said gently, attempting to approach you. He froze when he realised it was him that you were trying to get away from.

Madja burst through the door at that moment, having been summoned by Rhys the moment he heard Feyre's shouts. She saw the blankness in your eyes the second she looked at you, and her eyes fell pityingly to Azriel.

"Hi y/n, I'm Madja, a healer here in the Night Court".

Your family looked at each other in pure confusion. You knew who Madja was. She'd been the family's healer for centuries. Why was she acting like you'd never met before?

Madja carried out her assessment before providing you a sleeping tonic. Once your body settled back into the pillows, looking more at peace than you had when you had woken up, she turned to Rhys.

"The Dazelroot has caused amnesia. She doesn't remember anything after her life after the Illyrian camps".

Rhys shook his head. "Ok, but when will her memory come back?".

Rhys saw the look on Madja's face and his stomach somersaulted.

"Will her memory come back?"

Madja placed a hand gentle on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry Rhys, there's no way to know".

She turned to Azriel, tears falling down his cheeks. He had realised that you had forgotten him, forgotten your mateship, the love you had shared for centuries. You only remembered the trauma you had faced at the hands of Illyrian males, males that bore the same wings as him. He had realised, seeing the look on your face, that you were afraid of him.

"You can try to offer her gentle reminders. It might break through the amnesia cloud. But there's nothing more we can do".

Madja departed, leaving your family to process the news. You didn't remember any of them.

17 months later

It had been 17 months since the incident, and your memory hadn't come back.

Feyre, Nesta, Elain and Mor had made it their mission to rebuild the friendship that you had had with them - regularly taking you out for brunch, shopping, and nights out at Rita's. Over time, you developed a new bond with them, and had started to trust them.

You had also re-kindled your friendship with Rhys and Lucien, the males giving you distance but engaging with you as often as possible, mostly through Feyre and Elain.

But Azriel and Cassian, you couldn't be near. Their wings reminded you too much of the trauma you had faced in the camps. Reminded you that your own wings had been clipped. Reminded you of the males that had used you for their own entertainment. Anytime they tried to approach you, their wings pinned as tightly as possible behind their backs, your body began to involuntarily shake and your eyes would fill with tears.

It had broken Azriel. He had become a shell of the former male he was. He started to withdraw from family dinners, he gave up his morning training. Azriel had slowly started to descend into a downward spiral, feeling the mating bond cold on the other end. His family had tried their best to help, but Azriel wanted for nothing but you. He locked himself in his bedroom most days and nights, seeking solitude in the shadows.

That was why, when his family decided to visit Sevenda's restaurant that evening, Azriel had ignored the inviting knock on his door. He didn't want to make it harder for you seeing him sitting at the other end of the table. He waited for the footsteps to pad away before grabbing a bottle of Whiskey from the shelf and pouring himself a generous glass.

-

Several hours later, Azriel was sat in bed with his book when he heard commotion. It sounded like crying, but it was pained. He sat up, listening out, when he heard it again - this time closer to his door. He thought everyone was out at Sevenda's, or maybe Rita's now, but there was unmistakably someone wandering through the hallway.

Azriel cracked open his door and peered out. At the end of the hallway, gripping the window pane, he saw your small frame huddled over. The scent of blood filled the air. Azriel panicked. He knew how bad your cycles were from the centuries you had spent together, that you needed help desperately, but right now he was the only one in the house with you, and you were terrified of him.

"Y/n?", he called out gently, trying not to startle you with his presence. He watched you turn slowly, your eyes wide in alarm.

"It's ok, it's just your cycle", he whispered, raising his arms to show you that he was not going to hurt you. You whimpered slightly, clutching the window pane so hard your knuckles had gone white.

"Can I help you?", he asked, not daring to move. You looked at him, his wings, your body shaking. But you knew you were helpless, not sure you could get yourself back to your bed even if you tried with all your might. So, you took a deep breath, and gave him a timid nod.

Azriel walked slowly towards you, his hands in front of him, and when he reached you he carefully put a hand forward to touch your shoulder. You shuddered, but didn't pull away.

"I'm going to take you back to your room, ok?". You could only nod as Azriel scooped you into his arms and walked you slowly back towards your room.

He placed you down carefully at your dressing table and silently walked into your bathroom, the sound of running water filling the room. Whilst the bath ran, you watched him strip the soiled sheets from your bed and replace them with fresh ones, putting a pair of your pyjamas neatly folded at the end. He then offered you his hand and guided you to the bathroom.

"Do you need some help?".

You didn't want to admit it, but you did. You could barely stand up under your own weight.

Azriel turned away from you to allow you to undress, holding a hand behind his back for guidance as you carefully lowered yourself into the bath. Once you were in, and hidden under the bubbles, you turned to look at him. At his wings. You had never known an Illyrian male to be so gentle. So calming. Even sat here alone in a bath with him in the room, you felt comfortable. You felt safe.

"Azriel?", you whispered.

"Would you like me to leave you be?" he asked, his back still turned to give you privacy.

"No".

You saw Azriel's shoulders sag slightly with relief, but he still kept his back to you.

"Please could you pass me that bottle over there, the green one?"

Azriel walked over to the counter to pick up the shampoo bottle and attempted to hand it to you behind his back, still not facing you. You giggled as he offered the bottle out to the empty end of the bath.

"It's ok, I'm hidden in the bubbles".

Azriel turned, his eyes not leaving your face, as he handed the bottle to you. You took it, pouring some into your hand, and he watched you wince as you raised your arms above your body to your hair, stretching your stomach.

"May I?", he asked quietly. You nodded, handing the bottle to him. Azriel knelt down behind your head, pouring the shampoo into his hands and massaging it into your hair. The moment his hands touched you, you felt a calming peace descend over you, and you closed your eyes to bask in it. You were about to ask him to rub it into the nape of your neck, your favourite place, when you felt his hands move there instinctively. A jolt went through your body, and Azriel jumped backwards.

"Are you ok?"

You turned to face him, his leathers covered in water, bubbles and shampoo suds, and looked down at his scarred hands. Visions flew through your mind of his hands in your hair, his hands offering to feed you grapes on your honeymoon to the Summer Court, his hands touching your body, his hands placing a ring on yours at your mating ceremony, his hands holding out your cup of coffee to you every morning - black, just how you liked it.

You reached out to take them, feeling every emotion come flooding back to you. A tug at your chest made you look up, as Azriel's filled with tears.

"My mate", you whispered.

"My mate", he replied, his head moving to rest on your forehead.

You held each other, the bath water turning cold and the bubbles melting away, allowing all your love and devotion to flow to each other through the bond. Forgotten, but never gone.

[sabertoothwalrus]

hi !! just curious because i was looking at your adventure time episode guide and i love hearing other peoples adventure time takes !! how come you don't like finn's characterisation in together again?

I've talked about it before here and here!

But also I'm gonna say more and share some art I did in 2021 for a rewrite comic that I never got around to doing

So again to reiterate: Adventure Time is usually VERY good at making it feel like time passes, even when you're not watching. It's something about what they don't show that tells you everything you need to know.

Together Again did not do this.

It really really felt like they were avoiding showing Finn as an adult, as if they wanted to leave his post-show life ambiguous. Which, now that Fionna and Cake has shown us literally that, it makes Together Again feel even more wrong?? Like. imagine you have to pick a moment from your life that represents You™ the most. Together Again said that Finn, after living his whole life and dying as an old man, feels most represented by how he was at 17. I do not buy this. I am 25, and I cannot fathom identifying by my 17 year old self. I was a completely different person then, I was still cooking. I can imagine most people feel the same. And ok, so maybe Finn DOES for some reason feel stuck at 17? Explain to me why!! What needed to happen to him that made him feel that way?

And before you just say "it's because Jake died," there's still too much that was left out. How old was Finn when Jake died? What was Finn like, at that point? What else had they accomplished? What was he doing at the time that was on the forefront of his mind? Where/with who did they spend most of their time? Where were they living after the treehouse got destroyed?

It was like,,, it was like the story Together Again actually wanted to tell was about Finn's grief, and how poorly he copes, and how too much of his identity is tied to Having Jake, and how he struggles to move on. But that's not the story we got. I honestly think-- as interesting as it was-- everything with New Death and Tiffany and Lich just did a disservice to the focus, which was Finn trying to get over Jake.

I think Together Again should have gone like this:

Finn and Jake had always planned that whoever died first would wait in the dead world for the other to die so the two of them could reincarnate. Jake dies first. Jake would be able to "watch over" Finn as he lives the rest of his life, so Jake wouldn't miss Finn as much as vice versa, since he'd feel like he's still there with him. Eventually, Finn dies.

Finn's appearance would change with his emotional state. I thought it'd be interesting to show different phases of his life through the stages of grief.

There'd be a room where they could watch Finn's memories. Finn would walk Jake through the events of his life. We SEE exactly how Finn dealt with grief, with heartbreak, with love, with friends, with community. All the good and all the bad.

By the end of it, Finn is quiet. "Jake... when we reincarnate, will we.. lose all of this?" "Well, do you remember anything from any of your other past lives?" "No.. But that's the point. I don't want to forget you." Finn, despite their promise, despite Jake waiting for him all this time, declines reincarnating. He doesn't want to move on, because that would mean forgetting everything. He wants to say with Jake!! He JUST got Jake back!!

“What if— in the future— what if they forget about us? What if they don’t know about all the stuff we did?” We see Ooo in its current state. It’s changed, but it’s clearly been affected by the two of them. Every person they’ve saved, every civilization they helped build, every hero they’ve inspired. They’ve left their touch everywhere. “They’ll know,” Jake says with certainty. “We’ll know.” We see the future, with Shermy and Beth. We see the Finn Sword, and BMO with all their old belongings. Everything stays, but it still changes. Will happen, happening, happened. These have always been the themes of the show. They reincarnate, together.

[corvidaes-crow]

Deruth Henituse bashing ahead, you have been warned.

I finally figured out why I hate Deruth Henituse. The novel, through Kim Roksu, barely lingers on his failings as a parent. Which, fair enough, I understand from a characterisation perspective why that wouldn't be a main focus. It just means I linger on that in canon's place. Why is Deruth satisfied with giving his child some exorbitant allowance? Why doesn't he ask at any point what it was used for, even when he thinks their relationship has improved? Why can he be a good person to everyone except OG!Cale? What is stopping him except his own cowardice and guilt?

There is not a single thing in LCF that redeems him as a father. We see how Ron grows to care for (KRS!)Cale, as well as Eruhaben and Fredo in their own pseudo-fatherly ways. We see how Deruth has not changed since 'Cale Henituse' improved. If he had been more grief-stricken finding out about Cale on-screen, maybe that would have redeemed him a bit in my eyes, but alas.

I need a scene where Deruth wakes up in the middle of the night heaving, tears streaming down his face when he realises that his son does not exist in their universe any more. When he realises his son has disappeared from their timeline, and likely did so believing everyone would prefer it that way. When he realises that belief is not exactly wrong, because everyone does prefer it this way.

That last realisation, he struggles with, because bad parents will never understand what they did wrong without significant internal struggle and a self-driven desire to understand. I need someone (Eruhaben, Ron, or even Violan) to notice his internal conflict and sit him down and ask him, straightforward and simple, "Which one do you prefer?" And they won't let him tell them his answer, that's not for them to know. But Deruth finds himself repeating the question over and over, which do I prefer?

It starts with 'neither, obviously, how could I pick a favourite?' but the guilt gnaws at him; his reflexive answer is not what his son, his sons, deserve. So he disassembles it all from there. What would he feel if they swapped back? What would he do then? Shower Cale with love, of course - but would he? Or would he find himself taking a step back, guilty and avoidant as always when it comes to his son?

And then, why would Deruth feel guilty? Because he hungers after a son who he can interact with without fearing Cale's hatred or resentment. He knows and fears his own inadequacy to heal their relationship. And the new soul doesn't mind it. The new soul, Cale, holds no expectations for him. No resentment. He doesn't know how to reconcile, but is there any need to if Cale is no longer the son he wronged?

So the answer to such a cruel question, which do you prefer, is... this one. The new one. The Cale that Deruth can be a proud father of, that he can hold his head high when talking about and fret over when he coughs blood or faints or leaves for another dangerous mission. The Cale that he knows exactly how to make happy. It's not hard, either, just food, rest and gold.

Deruth will never know how he could have made the original Cale happy. There is too much strife between them for Deruth to dare try to unravel it all, so he'll settle for wishing him all the best in future endeavours. This is penance enough, the guilt he will carry forever for not noticing sooner the loss of his firstborn son.

[alienoresimagines]

Honestly, Crank is such a mood and might just be my MOTA spirit animal

Exhibit A : He is just so done, all of the time it's so funny

1) "What I get a passenger?" Sassy Crank who then decided to sleep through the rest of the briefing because if he has Bucky the Yapper on his plane, he will need the extra sleep if they both want to make it alive to Algeria

2) Any sequence where he is flying and Bucky's behind him and/or asking for updates on Buck. The way he just... closes his eyes like he's praying a higher deity to take the Yapper of his plane before answering is so funny. I don't know if it's because of Bucky's poorly hidden attempt at making it look like he's not asking after Buck specifically by saying "the stagglers" and Crank realising exactly why Bucky "couldn't skip this one" or simply because he's just been through hell and the war wife that yapped his way on his plane won't stop asking is he's a war widow yet but it's funny. Reminds me of a parent who just wants some sleep but their kid keeps asking questions.

3) His "Oh that makes me feel better" when the mechanic tells him of the plane's condition ("won't go very far but you won't need it" because Münster isn't far and not because Crank gets shot down not 20 minutes later mind you). I know he was probably still angry and bitter after his altercation with Bucky and the fact that Crank does Not agree with the mission's order but I just love him. He reminds me of a cranky, wet kitten

Exhibit B : He is hella competent

Every pilot is good, that's a fact. There hasn't been much focus on the pilots except for the Buckies (even though we've never seen Bucky in the left seat except that one time he was smoking in it during his war widow era), Rosie and Curt (a bit of Brady and Blakely too) so there isn't much to say about Crank specifically. BUT when Bucky, lead pilot, goes down, Crank immediately takes the lead to avoid formation going into chaos like was the case during the Bremen mission ("There was a lot of confusion when lead (Buck and DeMarco) went down, it was chaos"). And don't forget that he flew through the Regensburg mission, which was absolute hell!

Exhibit C : He is Not Afraid to speak his mind or call people on their bs

1) Him being the one to ask Bucky how he managed to be put on the Regensburg mission while very clearly already having an idea, only confirmed by Bucky's vague answer

2) Famous moment but his confrontation with Bucky (and Brady) about the Münster mission. Nobody mentioned Buck to Bucky, except Ken, but no one really mentioned the fact that the Münster mission was a revenge mission. Everybody knew it but there was that fear that mentioning Buck would set Bucky off so nobody did. But Crank does, because Buck was also his friend and so is Bucky and neither of them would have approved or encouraged the mission if they'd been here/in their right mind.

Look at the devastation on his face when Bucky tells him that "it's a war and it won't end until they hit them where it hurts". That's the face of someone seeing a friend absolutely drowning in grief turning to revenge to cope.

So Crank says "None of the people we're going to bomb today shot down Buck" and he sees the look in Bucky's eyes and knows that he may have hit the bull's eye, but it was the wrong move. Only accentuated by the fact that Bucky then makes Crank call him "sir" something that he has never done before, clearly separating himself from his friends and Crank understands that this isn't really Bucky, at least not the one he knows. Buck may have been the only one to go down but the truth is, the 100th had already lost the two Buckies

Exhibit D : He loves his people soooo much

1) The hug he gives Dougie when the goblin fort crew comes back from the dead??? Just looking at that hug I could feel how warm and comforting it was. Crank is one of the best huggers of the 100th I bet. Also Dougie being taken aback at the force of the hug that he has to take a few steps back?? Can you imagine how good and relieved Crank must have felt after losing so many friends but, just this time, one crew came back and intel was wrong, they weren't dead!! They came back!!

See Gif below :

Look at his face when he goes to hug Dougie, he can't believe he gets to see them again 🥺

2) The grief on his face when he comes back from Bremen? Not having the words to say Buck went down because they all thought that no one bailed out and the entire crew was dead? He just shakes his head in defeat. All he can think about is that they lost Buck but someone will have to tell Bucky that he lost Buck. Look at his face and tell me he didn't know it'd destroy Bucky.

3) Him calling for Bucky at the fence when the latter arrived at the Stalag. The pure joy and relief on his face ("You made it!!!"), so overwhelming that he has to take his beanie off because he arrived at the Stalag and Bucky wasn't there and he didn't arrive even days after Crank. And if Crank arrived before Brady did, then he must have thought that the entire crew was dead because he saw them go down, even took the lead afterwards. But then Brady arrived, and Bucky wasn't there and that couldn't be because if Bucky's dead then the last time Crank had ever seen him it'd been in anger and for all Crank disagreed with the mission, Bucky's his friend. But then Bucky comes and Crank is so relieved because Bucky's alive and the Buckies are back together so everything will be fine and Crank's with his friends again.

In conclusion, I love my cranky but affectionate Crank from New England, he deserves more appreciation, thank you for coming to my ted talk.

P.s.: I haven't seen MOTA post ep 6 so this post might be edited if the last 3 episodes give me Crank content :)

[mikobeautifulheart]

☆Master list☆

Because my other one is gross and apparently not doing its job. Plus its fully updated.

Rules and about me here

Link to og master list here if u want it ig but its not that different. ML

♧Megumi♧

Drunk Megumi's over due confession

Synopsis: Megumi gets unknowingly drunk on his birthday and spills a secret.

Yuji's little sister

Synopsis: You join Jujutsu high with your older brother yuji, meeting Megumi as well.

The same.

Synopsis: Yuji dies and the weight falls on your shoulders, the only way you thought to take it of was but hurting yourself.

Crying over Megumi

Synopsis: Megumi find you in your dorm after your mission avoiding him.

Pervy Megumi (Thoughts)

Synopsis: Not a fic more just like general ideas of him.

When he finds out you harm yourself

Synopsis: Usually you don't get into much danger when you harm yourself, but his time Megumi found you.

Megumi head cannons (the start of dating

Heired as a secretary

Synopsis: You go for the job for secretary without fully knowing what you got yourself into.

MEGUMI SERIES

Synopsis: Gojo watches as his son grows and is there every step of the way (even if Megumi dosen't know it)

Megumi and get caught up in the moment (And on Gojo's phone)

Synopsis: Megumi gives up on his mind and follows his instincts. And Gojo bares witness.

You and Megumi have your first official date

Synopsis: You and Megumi sneak out at night only for you to be pleasantly surprised by your fist date.

Bed bugs

Synopsis: He could care less about the marks he leaves.

☆Yuji☆

Yuji being horrible at comforting you and getting jealous over a 'guy'

Synopsis: Yuji hears you crying uncontrollably but after he fails to console you Gojo interrupts. which pretty much dose the trick.

Perv Yuji

Synopsis: Just some thoughts, like the Megumi one but *Sweeter* or so I tried to make it.

Toxic bf Yuji head cannons

♡Yuta♡

Nothing yet...which is kinda weird because he's my favorite character.

There is a bit of him in the various fics tho.

♤Toge♤

Nothing yet...

~Gojo~

7 Minutes in panic (College AU) 1700 words EXACTLY.

Synopsis: You go to a party for the first time and run into your Chemistry partner. As luck would have it the night goes wrong when your drink turns out to be spiked and your stuck with him in your closet.

Mafia Gojo needs to go to work but you could care less.

Synopsis: Really short less then 100 words. Gojo has to go to work but you convince him not to.

Assassin partner Gojo tries to make up for his mistakes.

Synopsis: Gojo's made a few mistakes in his job when it comes to you but in the end he knows you weren't one of them.

When you are replaced.

Synopsis: A new transfer teacher comes to Tokyo jujutsu high and she seems a bit to friendly.

He cheats but he still loves you

Synopsis: Yandere Gojo, his pleasure is cheating but that dosen't mean he dosen't love you.

•Geto•

Taken

Synopsis: after moving on you thought the past was behind you. That was until Geto showed up with no warning and kidnapped you.

OR Look at the various or go to the series section for '5 satges of greif'

¤ Nanami ¤

Teen Nanami and the random trampoline

Synopsis: Nanami just feels like a happy kid.

Teen Nanami winning cards.

Synopsis: In a game of cards, Nanami competes for the first prize which you gladly give him.

Jealous of the cat

Synopsis: He comes home after work only to find that there is another burden in your home.

Attempted

Synopsis: after coming back from work Nanami finds you and you dangerously close suicide attempt.

▪︎Sukuna▪︎

Sukuna switching with Yuji when your both asleep.

Synopsis: Sukuna wants a feel of what Yuji gets.

Intervention

Synopsis: You were going to go get married off to the Gojo clans strongest, how ever you disappear when you marriage was announced. The only clue anyone has to your disappearance is the monster lurking in the woods.

Choso

He gets jealous of your new pet cat.

Synopsis: You find a stray cat and Choso is not a cat person.

-Series-

5 stages of grief

1 Denial, Megumi Fushiguro

Synopsis: After Megumi's death you start seeing him everywhere, but every time your reminded that he is dead.

2 Anger, Suguru Geto

Synopsis: After his death you cut yourself off and busy your life with work, however when your called into Shibuya you can't bring yourself to kill him, until he assures you that its okay.

3 Bargaining, Satoru Gojo

Synopsis: After Gojo's death you try everything you can for years but nothing will bring him back.

4 depression, Nanami Kento

Synopsis: In an attempt to be reunited with your dead lover you take the ultimate self sacrifice.

Various JJK men and scenarios:

-Pretending to be your boyfriend and saving you from creeps:

Synopsis: Creep approaches, their there to save you.

Megumi and Yuji

Gojo and Geto

Nanami and Toji

Sukuna and Choso (Coming soon)

-When you forget your umbrella:

-Synopsis: You forget your umbrella but they find solutions.

Yuji and Megumi

Teen Gojo and Office worker Nanami

-When the train is crowded

Synopsis: The train goes thorough rush hour and you guys got stuck in it.

Yuji, Megumi and Yuta

-When the secretly hear you sing

Synopsis: You don't like singing infront of other people, but they want you to sing around them.

Megumi and Yuji

-When they accidently fall on you and vice versa

Synopsis: Its exactly what it sounds like.

Yuta and Yuji

-When you go to your first festival with them

Synopsis: You go to the festival for the first time with

Megumi, Yuji and Yuta

-When you turn delusional

Synopsis: From sleep deprivation to blood loss.

Yuji and Toge

-When you think they would hurt you.

Synopsis: When arguments bring your instincts back, they almost drop everything to love you again.

Yuji and Megumi

Yuta and Gojo

-Movie date but things get heated.

Synopsis: A simple movie in an almost empty cinema is good enough. (Not smut but suggestive)

Gojo and Megumi

-When they eat the last donut

Gojo and Yuji/Sukuna

-When they have an older GF

Yuji and Yuta (Aged upish, nothing illegal okay)

-Their morning voice

Megumi and Yuji

-When someone breaks into your house

Megumi and Yuji

-Touching your weak spot

Yuji and Yuta

-Touching THEIR weak spot

Yuji and Megumi

Gogo, Geto and Nanami

*If you want me to write anything again or with some one else or something new entirely

PLEASE SEND ME REQUSTS

I LOVE THOSE THINGS

[hoodedboy79]

Hey. I just saw your post of the idea to write about Assassins Creed. It’s lovely to see someone who would write about the Assasins, like Bayek (he doesn’t get enough love). I don’t have anything particular in mind but I’d love to see some/or reactions of some kind of Bayek, Arno and/or any you feel comfortable with. Have a nice day :))

Being Best Friends With Them: Bayek, Arno & Jacob.

Just to start off with I'm sorry this took so long for me to do but I've got major writers block atm so these might be ass but I tried. Also Arno might be extra ooc cuz I only brought Unity a few days ago when it went on sale and haven't done more than the beginning yet so apologies in advance 😅

================

Bayek

• The most loyal, lifelong friend you're ever going to get right here.

• Even if you two don't see each other as often anymore after Bayek became a Medjay and started a family.

• Talking about him starting a family, you were one of the first people he told when he found out Aya was expecting.

• Invites you over regularly to eat dinner with him and his family, along with Hepzefa and Rabiah if they are free.

• He loves that his closest people get on so well.

• You accompanying him, Khemu and Chenzira on their hunting trips.

• As much as he wants to confide in you after Khemu's death and Aya's departure, he can't bring himself to. Not only because he doesn't want to speak about it when the wound is so fresh but he doesn't want to burden you with his feelings.

• So he doesn't say much to you before leaving to track down the Heron.

• When he eventually returns, and is in a slightly better headspace than before he left, he was happy to see you, and Hepzefa, waiting for him.

• You two have a lot to catch up on.

Arno

• Will silently judge every stupid decision you make, his face tells you exactly what he wants to say though to the point it doesn't feel as 'silent' anymore.

• He will help you clean up and or defend you from the consequences of said stupid decision though.

• The type to have clothes made for you, regardless of your social status.

• Depending on your personality, there's going to be a LOT of disagreements between you two due to Arno's stubbornness (and yours, potentially) but he's willing to come to a compromise with you after enough back and forth, he probably won't admit if he was wrong though.

• Arno never truly gets over Élise and has times where his grief rears it's head, sometimes he'll allow you to comfort him even if it's just by sitting in the same room in silence while you both get on with your own things or other times he'll avoid everyone completely and try to keep himself busy with random tasks till he feels ready to see people again.

• Would like to visit the theatre with you occasionally or just relax for once and have a discussion about art or the newest plays.

• Gossip duo 💅🏻

Jacob

• Sheer pandemonium.

• You two together brings the fear of God into people.

• Spending hours with him in the pub, whether it be indulging in drinking games, playing Whist (don't worry he won't drown you in the river if you beat him) or just chatting with the Rooks, Jacob will make sure you enjoy yourself and hopefully get you to stay just another hour (and buy another round).

• Tells Maxwell about you and eventually invites you to accompany them on one of their random outings.

• We all know how that eventually ends.

• Both of you teasing Evie about Henry. Jacob will definitely turn on you though if he finds out you are courting someone/being courted, it isn't just Evie he's willing to tease.

• He would find out as much as he could about the person that you're interested in, especially if their the one trying to court you. He's been betrayed by people close to him before and doesn't want you to go through the same thing if he can help it.

• He'll make almost everything a (friendly) competition with you; Who can climb this building faster? Who can kill the most Blighters in this random street fight? Who can escape the police quicker?, things like that. Evie will even sometimes join in, which usually ends with the twins bickering after she wins.

• You and Jacob really do share the same braincell at times fr.

==============

I haven't done any hc's in a hot minute and I can see why lol. Maybe I'll rewrite these one day or add to it I dunno.

[wasteland-wrecker]

Okay so your post about how Gage doesn't still react much when you do get hurt or could possibly die at any moments is interesting and I kinda clicked with something.

His trauma shows he doesn't trust anyone again, and his past with how indifferent he feels about his parents probably being dead shows that death isn't a big deal to him like others. Sole would probably mourn over Gage's death and suffer from grief but Gage would probably take a moment to breathe, leave your body, and attempt to look for a new overboss because as much as he DOES love you, death happens and he's just too used to it. He'll I'm pretty sure he's EXPECTING it everyday with how some of his voiceless go. If you live? Fuck yeah! Lover and overboss still here! If you don't? Well, alright need to get back to work finding a new one.

Raider mindset with all their lovers I think. Not too affectionate and expressive leads too a 'well fuck okay move on' when you die.

Context

This sadly could make sense, but I want to believe Gage would actually feel bad if you died.

It’s true he’s a raider and he’s used to see people die everyday. That’s exactly why he’s been lonely for so long, trying to not get involved emotionally with anyone.

The Overboss part is his plan to get rich and manipulate someone else for his own benefit, but something goes wrong: he fells in love with that ‘idiot’. That wasn’t mean to happen at all, AT ALL.

Unfortunately, that’s also where his writing stops. He fell in love with you, end of story. We don’t know what happens next, if you’re re able to change his mind or not. I believe that as time goes by, the sole could actually fix him somehow (not entirely of course).

They’ll fight together, travel together, eat together, sleep together, talk to each other for so long… Sole is not his parents but the person he wants to be, someone he truly respects. His safe spot in the wasteland.

I think Gage would feel bad to be alone again in that shitty world.

He won’t find someone like you and will do anything to avoid falling in love another time cause it would hurt too much to lose everything once again.

Depending on how close you were, I might also think he’d let himself go if you died.

[brooklynisher]

People are asking about it so here it is!

The Spine Hc Angst Relating to Peter Walter I

This sorta turns into borderline a full backstory but aa who cares

Zer0 was abandoned and Rabbit was literally killed by Peter Walter I. I refuse to believe The Spine was such a perfect robot that Peter just left him alone.

I like to believe that after the success of Rabbit’s invention, Peter held The Spine to a much greater standard. So much greater to the point where he wasn’t being realistic. He knew he had the capabilities to program The Spine to be exactly what he wanted The Spine to be.

Two conflicting traits he gave were curiosity and maturity. Though curiosity isn’t inherently childish, you could only ask so many questions before people would assume you were born yesterday.

Because he expects The Spine to be mature, he doesn’t allow The Spine to indulge in any “childish“ activities.

One thing is that Rabbit thinks Peter prefers The Spine because he’s dedicated so much time into perfecting him, but The Spine thinks Peter prefers Rabbit because he seems like he actually likes her and she has many more permissions than he does.

Sometimes Peter will read stories to Rabbit to help her power down, but when The Spine asks to be read stories, he says no since The Spine is supposed to be, “More mature than Rabbit, and he doesn’t need them”. Rabbit might read The Spine stories in secret on occasion.

The Spine was not allowed to play with toys. If he was ever caught with a toy of any kind, they would be given away or destroyed depending on the quality of the toy.

The Spine was never allowed to read children books or watch children shows. He would have his siblings update him on any of his interests in media made for children if he had any.

He’s not allowed to play with his siblings, but instead, he’s expected to supervise.

Overall, he was expected to be “The best robot”. Whenever he wasn’t, he’d get adjusted, which he hated because he never knew what parts of him Peter was going to change. Most of the time he wouldn’t know what he did wrong. Which if he couldn’t figure out what he did wrong, the adjusting process would take 10x longer. The Spine would find himself overthinking everything he did wrong when he couldn’t be the perfect robot. This is part of the reason why he cares so much about the public perception of him.

During moments where he broke, he felt embarrassed and guilty. Peter would never tell him that his system failures were his fault, but he’d complain a lot whenever he had to fix them, making The Spine feel as if it was his fault for all the times he was broken. Like he was Wired Wrong.

Eventually, he’d start repairing himself. Which he got praise for, but if he ever made a mistake, boy did he feel like a failure. He’d be terrified of admitting to Peter Walter that he broke himself, but he would confess when he needed to because Peter would only get madder if he tried to hide it. Still, he was yelled at every time he made a mistake in fixing himself. The Spine would still keep trying though because he’d breakdown less when he attended to himself. His biggest issue is that he can get a bit too good at fixing himself and ends up overdoing it. Hence, over attenuated hydraulics.

Of course, after Delilah’s death, Peter was a lot more strict and critical with The Spine. There were times where The Spine was treated poorly due to Peter’s grief alone, but because he didn’t understand grief, he thought that his existence was the problem. He’d end up being hyper-aware of every little thing he did. Thinking that there was some sort of special way to behave around Peter in order to avoid setting him off. He was cautious of everything. His walk, his voice, the sound of the steam leaving his body, the glow of his eyes. He didn’t know what it was that would hurt Peter Walter I, but he always thought it was himself.

When Peter I died, the pressure to be the perfect robot only got stronger, so it ended up becoming a core aspect of his personality. To be the most mature, well maintained, and to keep his siblings in check.

It wasn’t until Peter Walter VI where he’d start to embrace his inner child. After seeing how well he responded to the rest of his siblings’ changes. He finally felt more comfortable with being himself. A tall robot dork.

[kmblckbk]

The new high lord

Rhysand x reader

18+ contains smut

word count: 2852

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

you open your shop. It was a nice day in Velaris today, and you were lucky with your shop. the best shop on the rainbow. No, the best shop in Velaris. In your boutique you made the most beautiful dresses. With the most expensive and exclusive materials. Not a lot of people could afford it but the most wealthy in town could. That's why your main client is the high lord of the night court himself. The high lord was a cold man, but he paid you well. Today was quieter tho, the high lord and his son where away. You just heard about the passing of his wife and daughter this morning, well they were killed. You did not want to be on the other side of his rage and grief. So you just enjoyed the quiet and peace for now.

You felt for the high lords son, Rhysand. He's kind of been a friend to you. well friend was a big word he was more like someone you knew and saw on the regular. He was so handsome and always so nice, nothing like his dad. You hated the looks the high lord would give his son, one that told you enough. Rhysand would be more powerful than him and you could see in the high lords eyes he did NOT like that. You were waiting for the day Rhysand would become high lord, knowing things will change for the better. Guess you didn't have to wait long for that to happen as Rhysand walks into your shop. You didn't know what exactly he was here for, without his dad. But the look on his face told you something was wrong.

"hi" you say softly. "hello y/n" he says with his rough voice, you liked to hear so much. but today something seemed wrong with it. You look at him for a minute, he is just standing there. His posture always been good but it looked different now, he looked more powerful. He stays silent, not moving, so you start talking first. "what can I do for you today?". "I need a ceremonial suit" he says shortly, which was nothing for him. Normally he would talk a lot, especially when his dad wasn't with him. "step on up" you say pointing to the area you would take peoples measurements. He walks to it and you start taking his measurements. It's actually been a while since you've taken his measurements and you notice he had grown, not in length but in muscle. All the Illyrian training must go well.

You debate for a second if you should ask him about his mom and sister, but you decide not to. Instead you ask him about his clothes, staying professional. "so what's the occasion" you ask as your bubbly self. "for the high lord ceremony" he says. "who became high lord?" you ask him. Working here in a city no one knows about, you love to hear gossip about other courts, but this you hadn't heard about. Surely a new high lord would be the big news. "me and Tamlin" he says.

you let the measuring tape fall to the ground and you look up at him. That meant his father died, and spring courts high lord too. "how?" is all you ask. "I killed Tamlin's parents because they killed my mom and sister, Tamlin went mad and killed my dad" he says in a matter of fact kinda way, which breaks your heart. You look at him, knowing him well enough he's keeping himself strong right now. "don't look at me like that" he says, avoiding your eyes. "you're allowed to feel Rhys" you tell him softly. "no, I can't do that right now. I'm high lord now, I can't let feelings get the best of me". "how can you say that, your family died, no they were murdered Rhys. You're allowed to feel shit. Fucking cry and go smash things or something". "I can't" he says softly still not looking at you. "why not?" you ask him. "because if I do, I'm scared I will never stop". You don't know why but you step up closer to him and hug him tightly. He's shocked for a moment until he pushes you back harshly and you fall to the ground. He looks a bit shocked at you, clearly underestimating his new power. "i- I didn't meant to- can we just finish this" he says his face turning into that steely one, that reminds you a little too much of his dad. "okay" you say softly going back to work, in silence this time.

"when will it be done?" he asks you. "when do you need it?" you ask him "as quickly as you can". "2 days then" you tell him. "good" he says before he walks out the shop without saying anything else. You immediately get to work knowing you have to pull an all-nighter to get anywhere close to completing his fancy suit. Shit what are you doing to yourself saying it will be ready in 2 days, normally you'd take at least a week for this kind of suit. but you saw his face, the sad and defeated sight of him. Normal people probably wouldn't notice it, but you do. It makes you want to work even harder, to make it perfect.

It's 4 AM as you are woken up by a loud knock on the door. Shit you've been here all night working on Rhys' suit. you stumble to the door, tired from working so late. You look up at the man before you. Tall, dark hair, violet eyes and night swirling around him.

He looks miserable. "I'm sorry I didn't know where else to go at this hour and I saw your lights were still on and I thought-" "it's okay Rhys, come in" you tell him. He walks in seeing all the work you've already done. "y/n I'm-" he says but you stop him. "come sit" you tell him pointing him to a chair in the corner of the shop. You make some tea for the both of you and you hand him one. "thank you" he says softly, drinking it in silence. You stand in front of him looking at him worried. "tell me what's on your mind" you say to him and he looks up at you surprised. "what? you're the one coming to my shop at midnight, so just let it all out". He gives you another look before he puts his tea down and starts telling you about today. How he found out the spring court killed his mom and sister. And he especially mentions how it's all his fault for telling Tamlin about them, who he thought was a friend. Then he goes on by telling he went with his dad to kill the high lord of the spring court. Which he did but his dad wanted Tamlin dead too. and that's when he defended Tamlin before his dad was killed by Tamlin after Tamlin noticed what had happened.

"so you're both high lords now?" you ask him almost whispering. He slowly nods his head. "I'm sorry Rhys". He is silent as a single tear rolls over his face. You walk over to him and wipe it away, softly stroking his cheek. "I actually don't mind my dad dying. He was an asshole. But my mom and sister.....they didn't deserve this" he says, as he surprises you by pulling you onto his lap before he hugs you tightly, finally letting his tears out. You softly rub his back actually not knowing what to tell him right now.

"life is so unfair" he says as he finally let's go of you. "I know" you say softly, still sitting on his lap. He looks at you for a few seconds and you look at him. you want to stand up from his lap but he grabs your hips "don't" he says, his voice changing from one that was filled with sadness to ...... a hungry one. "Rhys" you whisper, not knowing if it's the grief or if this is something else entirely. "I need you y/n" he says, his voice a bit hoars, which is so fucking sexy. "Rhys" you whisper again, trying to figure your mind out right now. Did he want this to not feel for a moment, to just experience something that takes his mind off of his family or...or did he want you before tonight. "I need you y/n, not just tonight, not just until I can think straight again. I want you, now and forever" he says before he grabs your face and kisses you softly, so unlike what you expected, but so good.

His lips softly brush against yours as he places soft kisses on your lips. you kiss him back and as soon as he notices it he pulls you in closer, kissing you harder now as he softly bites your lip, causing you to moan softly. "fuck that all I need to hear right now" he says before he grabs your ass, giving it a good squeeze. "Rhys" you breath out. "Fuck you're amazing y/n. I need to taste you" he says. In a second he has left the chair and throws you in it. His hands on the arm rests as he towers over you. fuck he was so handsome. He looks at you, deep into your eyes with a tormented look. "tell me to stop" he whispers. "why would i?" you ask him teasingly, liking where this was going, before he stopped. "I don't know if I'll be able to stop" he says. "then fucking don't" you say pulling him closer kissing him again. "fuck" he groans as his lips leave yours. He gets on his knees before the chair and you can feel you're already dripping wet, just looking at him now. A high lord, on his knees, before you. "I need to taste you" he says looking at you as his hands slowly slides your dress up, going higher and higher, agonizing slow. As if he's waiting for you to pull out. Little does he know, you would never. You've been dreaming of this for so long, and now you were ready to live it.

His finger slide higher and higher, hiking your dress up until he pulls it over your head, only leaving you in your undergarments. The material so sheer your nipples are already pocking through the material, leaving little to the imagination. "even more perfect than I could imagine" Rhys say before he slowly undresses you out of your undergarments, leaving you completely bare before him. "fuck" he breaths out before he places a soft kiss on your nipple, making you ready for more, much, much more. "please" you whisper, making Rhys' eyes grow darker at the silent request. "oh darling, you don't have much patients now, do you?" he says teasingly. But before you can say anything he pulls you forward on the chair, sitting you on the edge of it while he licks a stripe up your slit. "oh fuck" you moan at the feeling. "fuck, so wet and ready for me" he says grinning to you, that stupid half smile he always shows, that makes him look like a lion circling his pray. And man did you love to be his pray.

He dives in again licking, sucking and kissing you pussy until your eyes roll back and you're a moaning mess. "fuck I'm gonna cum" you tell him. "look at me" he orders you. you try but the pleasure is to great. "I said" he says stopping for a moment as his fingers grab your chin harshly "look at me". he tilts your head down so you have a great few of seeing exactly what he is doing as his tongue returns on and in your soaking hole. Your fingers finds his hair, tugging at it to redirect some of the pressure that's building in your stomach. And when he sucks your clit harshly and he's looking up at you, you come with a loud moan. He rides out your orgasm, taking everything you give him.

"that's my good girl" he says smirking at you. "fuck that was so good" you breath out. "oh I'm not done yet, darling" he says as he quickly strips himself of his clothing. "on your knees" he orders and you do. You are ready to take his cock into your mouth when he turns you around and pushed your stomach into the chair. "you're ass looks absolutely amazing" he says in that smug tone of his. He softly traces a finger over your back, making you shiver. His hand ends on your ass cheek. "perfection" he whispers. "are you gonna fuck me, or do I need to start touching myself" you tell him, feeling a little bold now. "there is the feisty y/n I love" he says. Your cheeks blush at his words, did he mean them?

He still doesn't touch you, so you decide to tease him a little, slipping your hand down your body towards your clit. As fast as lighting he grabs it before your hand touches your clit as he hold both your hands firmly on your back. "naha, you do not touch yourself until I say so" he says teasingly. "Rhys" it comes out as a whine and you can sense he likes it. "fucking beg me then y/n, fucking beg me for what you want" he says, and you hear him grin through his words. "please Rhys, just fuck me" you beg him. "what was that darling, I didn't hear". Fucking prick "I said, fuck me so hard I won't be able to walk tomorrow, I need your dick so deep in m-" before you can finish your sentence Rhys pushes into you making you gasp. "you had me at fuck me hard" he whispers into your ear as he slowly pushed further and further inside you. fuck he was big, it feels like you are gonna be split in half, but in the best way.

He waits a few seconds letting you get used to his size, which took a minute. "are you okay?" he asks you. you nod your head. "can I move?" he asks, no longer the tease but caring now. You nod again.  he grabs your throat lightly.

"use your words with me y/n" he whispers into your ear, which sends goosebumps over your entire body. "yes, please move" you say softly. "that's my girl" he says before he starts moving slowly. You feel it as he almost entirely leaves your body only to fill you up to the brim again, agonizingly slow, letting you feel all of him. "faster" you breath out. "you sure you can handle it darling?" he says. "yes" you moan out as he speeds up. Faster and faster. you feel your orgasm rise but then he stops, pulling out completely. You can't help the whine escaping you. you hear Rhys grin "don't worry darling, I'll have you screaming my name when you come, just not yet. I wanna look at you, so turn around" he says, and you do. "much better" he says before he pushes himself into you again.

He fucks you hard and deep. "yes, fuck" you moan out. "fucking look at me" he orders you, and this time you do as he says and look at him, to find his eyes already on you. "that's my girl" he says, making you blush again. "oh you like that, me calling you my girl" Rhys says grinning, like he won something. "tell me who you belong to" he says teasingly. "I- oh, fuck!" you moan as you feel your orgasm rise inside you, ready to burst at any second now. "tell me" Rhys orders. "fuck" you moan again. "y-you. I belong to you....RHYSAND" you yell as you come hard. Rhys following closely, feeling his cum fill you. both breathing heavily.

You expect him to collapse into you, like most man you dated did when they came. But Instead of collapsing, he's staring at you with wide eyes. And you know he felt the same as you did. You just stare at each other for a few seconds until Rhys says "y-you're my mate". "and you're mine" you say with the same shocked yet happy expression. "my mate" Rhys says with that half smile of his on his face. "my mate" he repeats as he places kisses all over your body. "my mate" you whisper to him, happily as Rhysand wraps you up into his arms holding you close, his mate.

masterlist

[terrence-silver]

Can you do one with violent sex with drunk old man Terry? Beloved get’s apreenssive cause she already knows what’s coming for her when she sees drunk old man Terry stambeling late night into the house

---

Scorpions are 100% unpredictable.

They will sting you, even if they kill themselves in the process.

Several species of Scorpion have a courtship ritual that appears to walk a fine line between wooing and attacking. A male Scorpion will lead a female on a dance-like walk, known as a promenade à deux, holding her by the pedipalps (large claws). During this waltz, males have been observed stinging their partners;

--- Idle trivia pounded through his mind even as he stumbled over the manor's threshold, shoulder rubbing against the frame of the door, leaning on it as he attempted to maintain balance. He knew you'd be waiting. He knew it. You always waited for him. Even though it was three in the morning, little loyal devoted thing that you were, he knew you would be right there, diligently expecting his return and he isn't wrong. He's never wrong as he hears your voice call through the darkness of the lobby, undoubtedly alerted by the sound emanating from the hallway. He wasn't exactly trying to be quiet. Wasn't exactly trying to be sneaky or discreet. He wanted you to realize he was coming. Oh, did he ever.

-”Terry! You’re back!”-

He sees your form emerging through the shadows, seeming worried, moving at a brisk pace, arms extended, reaching towards him like he needed any fucking help. He was old but he wasn't a fucking cripple. He wasn't handicapped. He was more capable than you were at your green age. More agile. Stronger. Thirty years back, he'd show you a thing or two about endurance. Real power. Real damage. He clicks his tongue, brushing you off, stumbling wordlessly forward. Your brows shoot up, overshadowered with concern, like you were confused with the gesture --- hurt and attempting not to show it, right before trying again, stubborn in your devotion. He knew you would do that as well. So predictable. Everything you did was sweet, stupid and predictable. The fact that you were eager to him coming home, even though he was coming him in a state...it ached so much he could feel his skin shiver. His jaw goddamn nearly trembling. -”Terry, let me help you, please!”- You grab his forearm, tenderly, doing so without asking, stepping in front of him, cutting his space of movement off. Now, that he doesn't appreciate. -”I don’t need your,”- Terry seethes, not caring how inebriated he sounded, his words laced with hiccups. -”Or anyone’s help!”-

Maybe that would give you a hint to keep your distance.

-”You’re not doing well.”-

You remark, ever so politically correct and caring of his fucking feelings, trying to avoid calling things by their proper name. He wasn't doing well? No. Correction; he was drunk. Plastered. Shitfaced. A lesser man would be crawling all over the floor by now, but he? He was no lesser man. He still had enough tenacity in him tonight to smite you for even giving a damn what he was up to. Terry reaches forward, not bothering to give you a warning, snatching your wrist and squeezing on the gentle flesh. -”And who do you think is to blame for that, huh?”- He slides forward, face to face, until he was certain you could smell his breath; Perfect. Be repulsed by it. You should've been a smart little robot and gone to sleep by now. Instead of your disgust, though, against all anticipation, he's met with profound grief. You yelp. -”You’re hurting me!”-

-”Good.”- Terry coos, feeling his gut grow warm at the notion.

It was either that or all the whisky in his Limo's minibar.

Possibly a little bit of both.

-”You deserve a cruel tutelage.”-

He murmurs, looking you up and down, his eyes finally landing back on your face. Your mouth partially open in shock. Eyes befuddled and lost. Sharp intakes of breath burdening your chest with a visibly panicked pace. Fear is palpable. -”Do you want to know why I’ve been getting shickered up tonight? Do you really?”- He chuckles, feeling the bitterness coil inside of him like a wildfire. He's been drinking because of you and here you were, acting the saint. All worried and concerned about him. A patient paramour, waiting for him to come home. You should've ran. Should've ran while you had the chance. Now, you were faced with the scorpion and he was about to prick. Then again, what was he thinking? You, running? Where? How? As if he'd let you go. As if he'd let you get away. You shake your head, your teeth gritted with pain, not knowing the answer to this question. Ever naive. Ever dumb. With his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, he drags your forward, further into the dark lobby and down the foyer. You squeal in surprise. -”For the past thirty years, my life’s been bullshit.”- He confesses, chuckling at the notion. No, really. It was complete and utter tripe. You sound distressed even as he pushed you forward, like you wanted to dissuade him. Convince him his life wasn't wasted in a feeble attempt to console him.

Figures.

-”Terry!”-

Your voice is horse and he shakes his head, leading you down the corridor by force. Force is just about the only language you and your pigheaded attempts at pity would understand right now. -”Shrinks, reinvention, pills, damage control, living up here —”- He taps the edge of his own forehead as he lists everything that came to mind off in a haste. -”Those schmucks I’ve kept around.”- He digs his teeth into his lower lip, feeling particularly infuriated at the thought that he's wasted time with a bunch of mimes when he could've had you instead. But, you weren't in his life then, were you? You only came into his life recently. Fucked everything up. -”John.”- He adds, reaching a door, grabbing its handle. Another person he loved. Another person that fucked everything up. Just like you did. -"Denying myself every impulse! Everything that ever made me happy! For what?"- Terry slings the door open not caring if it hit the interior room's wall with a loud thud, pushing you forward and shoving your back inside. You stumble forward. Terry shuts the bedroom door behind himself. The loudness of the sound resonates. -"Did anyone ever say 'Thank you'?"- He murmurs, looking at you. He could've had you. Ten years ago. Twenty. Thirty. When he returned from Vietnam, or even before. If only you were older. Born earlier. Instead, he was there idly wasting his time trying to shed his skin and reinvent himself into a happiness that wasn't even born yet. If that wasn't the biggest irony of his life, he didn't know what was.

Yeah, he drowned the conclusion in a bottle.

What else was there to do?

Let it drown him instead?

-”And you come into my life when its about to end.”-

The scorpion pricks when he saunters forward, fingers coiling into your hair, hardening into a fist, pulling your head backwards and trapping you like that. You moan in pain. Your hands attempting to grab at his own hand, peel him off somehow. Your knees coming up helplessly, trying to put distance between you and him. Your expression fading into a blur. There was four of you in front of him and he'd fucking break all four tonight. -”Legs. Open.”- Terry growls his order, pushing your thighs apart. Placing his own leg between them as a barrier, right before he thrusts on the mattress behind your back. You fall limp, bouncing ever so slightly, hips parted, just as he liked them. There's no finesse to the act. It is crude. It was meant to be like that. He grabs you by the shoulders, holding you down with his weight as he grips the hem of your blouse, dragging it forward and ripping the fabric, splitting it where the buttons connected, sending them flying like bullets ricocheting off of the floor. You shriek. Hands coming up to conceal your chest. -”Why? Couldn’t? You? Let? Sleeping? Dogs lie?”- Terry feels his own voice coming out like a growl and no, there would be no mercy. He grabs both of your arms. Away from your torso, pinning them over your head.

-”Why did you have to poke the bear?”- He breathes furiously, close enough to sense your nostrils flaring hot breath as you exhaled and inhaled at a rapid pace. You blink, protesting. About to defend yourself.

-”I didn’t, I —”-

-”You did!”- He cuts you off, insisting, seething through lips pushed together firmly. You know what you did, and now, you would bear the brunt of the consequences. Determined fingers pull down his zipper and he feels himself hard before he's ever even done anything, even though he was certain the potent mix of tonight's Cognac will have him cumming quickly and sloppily inside of you, spilling a mess of anger, desperation, inebriation, his own age and desire inside of you like a hot flood, that's a chance he's willing to take as he starts stroking, preparing himself, unkind to his own flesh, kneading back and forth to the point of it being almost painful. -”You made an old man happy. That’s war.”- He grunts, never looking away from you, because there was nowhere he'd be rather looking in the whole fucking World. You did, you know? You really did. You made him happy. Profoundly, unbelievably happy. Terry Silver never liked ironies he had to endure on his own back, and him finding the love of his life at nearly seventy years of age was an irony that made him want slam his fist into the wall into he bled. -”I should finish you for that.”- He nearly spits as he throbs into his own fist, leaning forward, until his face was between your legs, split apart by the presence of his knee. Removing his own thigh as a barrier, he leans down, licking you and humming. Pleasure mingled with a half-growl.

-”But, I love you!”- You plead, this time, through a hiccup of oncoming sobs.

You try to squeeze your legs shut, but not before long, the head of his cock is massaging your flesh, up and down, up and down, preventing you, slipping into your loose, slippery, wet slit. -”See! That right there! That’s exactly the problem!”- Terry finds time to be analytical and smiles somewhat bitterly, letting go of where he was holding you, below your knee, wiggling his index finger and smiles somewhat bitterly, amused by how critically the point was flying over your head right now. And yet, he was the drunk one. -”I don’t have the time left for that shit.”- He thrusts as he speaks, pushing into you, groaning. He loved you too. Loved you more than a mosquito craves blood, but that crap wasn't anything that he could actually live to its fruition. How did you not realize that? If he ever fucked his children into you, he'd be dead before they ever went to school. You'd be far from middle aged by the time he would be turning centennial. How the fuck was that not a cause for grief and wrath!? It would be easier if he simply never cared for you. If you were some warm body. Someone he was compensating with loads of cash. Favors. Trips. Garden cocktail parties. By kickstarting your inane, idiotic business or something. They all wanted a business kickstarted nowadays, but not you. You were actually in it for love and you made all of it for free and fuck you for that. For making it ache like a motherfucker.

The Scorpion's out to kill.

-”This right here! This is just about the only thing we have time to do.”-

He feels himself growling, rutting into you, sweat trickling down his forehead, heated by the alcohol. By you. Gesturing to where his cock connected with you for emphasis. Yes. Sex. Validly, he couldn't start planning anything concrete with you because he didn't have the decades necessary to pull it off. Fucking you until he physically could for as long as he still could was believably all he had left and he'd utilize every moment like it could be his last, because it could. It could be his last. Maybe if he just dropped dead from a stroke while still inside of you, it would be a perfect way to go. Sure. He was always meant to die on the battlefield, but dying with lodged inside of living heaven incarnate was a step up the figurative ladder. Yeah. Sex was all he had. -”That’s not true, Terry! No!”- At this point you're crying and something lurches in his gut. For a second, he thinks it is arousal, seeing you like this, and then he recognizes it as the putrid, horrendous swell of regret. He finds himself slowing down, nearly growing limp inside of you. Not true? What else was there? Could he have a family? Could he be with you all of his life? No. This was the winter of his life. You were a spring turning summer. That's why he was drunk. That's why not even a whole private cellar worth of bullshit would help numb him.

Because you came too late.

And there was nothing in the world he could do to change that crap.

-”You don’t get to decide what’s true and what isn’t when you’re the one getting pounded.”-

He threatens you, or at least he tries and for a moment or short-lived glee, arming himself with a sort of barb he never gets to use to the extent he wanted to use it and he isn't certain if the saltiness of sweat from his scalp was running down his cheek or if he was silently crying too, without making a sound, the rage deflating along with his body and he slips out of you with a moist popping sound, entirely flaccid and soft, his shaft leaking cum over his fingers and unto the bedsheets crumpled from the onslaught as he practically falls over, or rather, lets himself fall in a half-embrace, holding you for dear life, feeling you return the hug, ragged sobs shaking against him, his cock twitching painfully. Fuck sake. Your care would get him off faster than what he just did to you. Humiliation, indignity, yearning and wrath mixing, he wants to hold you like his and squeeze you until your bones crack and turn to dust under his vice grip and this very bed becomes your funeral shroud. Instead, he just lays there, inhaling your scent, his lips finding it in themselves to touch the nuzzled spot of your neck, peppering it with saliva ridden spots, licking you, finding that even now, like this, disheveled, shitfaced, unbuckled pants, he was still happy.

Desperate, but happy.

-"You know that bullshit fable,"- He slurs, feeling his eye lids grow heavy.

Voice heavy with desire and intoxication.

You no longer fight. Wiggle. Struggle. You're perfectly still. Listening.

The bedroom dark, suddenly achingly quiet.

He swears he can hear you gulping and swallowing.

-"When the Scorpion pricked the Frog crossing the river on its back, the Frog asked why and the Scorpion answered he had to, because its in his nature. They both sank."- Terry doesn't see your face, but he hears you sniffling --- your breathing and heartbeat stabilizing and he nuzzles even closer --- needing to be closer like life itself depended on it, chuckling, hand squeezing itself around your waist. He doesn't know what he was trying to say with that or what he'd conclusively add to it as he closed his eyes, finding your warmth soothing from the sudden dizziness and the profound headache he knew was coming, but he figured, that if you and him sank, at least you'd sink together --- and he'd be capable of that. He'd be capable of piercing himself on his own venomous needle after he was done with you. There was nobody Terry Silver would rather sink with.

Nobody else he'd ever allow you to sink with but him.

[flowerpotmage]

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (7)

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for series: slow burn, ambiguous relationship, found family dynamics, reader is in their late 20s. for chapter: no warnings. allusions to loss and grief.

Word Count: 3.8k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

“You should come have dinner with me and MJ,” Peter declares, the two of you hanging by webs and fingertips from the side of a building where you wait to spot this dimension’s Spider-Man.

You whip your head to look at him, waving your hand. “Peter, are you even looking?”

“It’s been a while, and she’s been asking about you,” he says, undeterred.

“This better not be some half-cocked scheme to get me and Miguel in the same room.”

“Nope,” he says, putting up a hand as if swearing his innocence in court. “I completely respect that the two of you are being totally weird and avoiding each other for no reason.”

It’s not that you’re avoiding Miguel, exactly. It’s more that you don’t know what you would even say to him if you had the opportunity to really speak. It’s at least partially because you don't like the idea of approaching someone and being the one to start a conversation about them apologizing to you. Perhaps also because while the two of you had had that not-so-long-ago period of sleeping together—actually sleeping—the two of you had never talked about any of it. It was always work, or sharing grief, or quiet domesticity with quite little actually said.

You realize that you have never even seen where he lives.

So… okay, maybe you were avoiding him.

“I’m not avoiding him,” you say.

“Yeah, uh-huh,” Peter says dismissively. “Come by for dinner.”

“Whatever, fine,” you say. “But only because I like MJ and she’s never done me wrong.”

“Great!”

“Spidey, two o’clock,” you nod your head at a streak of electric blue and cherry red.

“Yup,” Peter says, and the two of you swing off to introduce yourselves.

What you don’t tell Peter, what you don’t tell anyone, is how much you miss Miguel’s presence in your daily life. In your nightly life.

When you go to bed, feeling just that much lonelier in your empty apartment and craving comfort after long nights swinging through your city and/or the multiverse, you often find yourself cuddling up to your pillows. It’s become a new routine for you to wrap one in your arms and press it to your chest, as if the softness of it can fill and soothe the ache around your heart.

In Miguel’s fantasies he has the perfect apology. In his more ridiculous ones he appears in your apartment, or you appear in his. A beautiful speech pours from his lips, ending in a bone crushing hug and him back in your good graces, and then he–

In Miguel’s fantasies he’s not a coward.

Instead, he works in his lab and goes on more missions. He’s antsy, restless, falling back into old habits previously tempered by secret soft nighttime visits. He knows it’s starting to come to the attention of others in the Spider-Society, if the rumors that his slightly more snappish than usual mood is because of the multiverse becoming increasingly more unstable (it’s not) is anything to go by, or even the few Spider-People that have begun to theorize he was dumped by a secret lover.

Which he wasn't. Obviously.

“You need to take a break, man,” Peter says. It’s one of the few occasions that he’s not in that stupid shocking pink bathrobe, having just returned from another recruitment mission with you.

You, who isn’t there when Peter brings the newest Spider-Man recruit to meet Miguel, despite being part of the mission.

“I’m fine,” Miguel says, voice stern.

Peter is undeterred. “I’m not suggesting you take a break from work altogether. I’m just saying, maybe you can get a little rest.”

Miguel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe spend some time around people, outside of the lab? Y’know, get out for a minute.”

Miguel turns his back to Peter, shaking his head.

Peter continues, undeterred. “Maybe you should come by for dinner with me and the missus.”

“I’m not going to a dinner party in your dimension, and definitely not in your home.”

“Not a party!” Peter says, hands up. “Just dinner with the family. Come on. I know you like Mayday, it’ll be relaxing. Normal.”

Miguel wants to fire back with ‘I would hardly describe your presence as relaxing,’ but instead he says “If I agree to go, will you get out of my lab?”

“You got it, boss,” Peter says, and Miguel can hear the smile in his voice before he even turns to glare at him over his shoulder.

“Honey, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Mary Jane is taking plates down from the cabinet to set the table as Peter pulls Mayday off of the face of the fridge.

“Of course it's a good idea, I came up with it.” He replies lightheartedly, turning to face his wife with a soft, warm smile as May gums at the collar of his casual button up shirt. “Trust me. They need this.”

The doorbell rings.

MJ raises an eyebrow at him, a look that clearly says I have my doubts but I love you so I’ll support your harebrained scheme. Out loud, she says: “I’ll get the door.”

Peter nods in thanks, bouncing their daughter in his arms. MJ leaves the kitchen, and his ears track her to the front door and the sound of it opening.

“Miguel!” He hears her say warmly. “You’re right on time, please come in.”

“Thank you Mrs Parker.”

“Really, MJ is fine. Mrs Parker makes me feel old,” she laughs and Peter hears the door shut. “What do you have there?”

“I wasn’t sure if you were back to drinking wine so I brought coffee. I figure newer parents can always benefit from the wake up.”

Peter smiles. Miguel may give every impression of being a hardass—because he is, he reminds himself—but he’s a thoughtful one as well.

“That’s so thoughtful!” MJ says. “Here, I’ll put it away. Go ahead and have a seat, dinner should be ready in just about fifteen minutes.”

MJ returns to the kitchen with a bag of coffee beans and a pointed look at Peter.

“Thank you, honey,” Peter says and quickly gives her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Mhm,” she says, playfully stern. “Now go out there while I finish cooking for three whole Spider-People.”

“You’re incredible, have I mentioned that?” Peter smiles at her as he walks backwards to the kitchen door.

“I wouldn’t complain about hearing it more,” she replies, turning her attention to the stove. “Now go!”

Peter slips out of the kitchen and right into the dining room, where Miguel is sitting at his dining table, looking entirely out of place.

“Mr. Boss-Man, so glad you could make it!” Peter greets enthusiastically, pulling Mayday’s high chair up to the end of the table, right beside the chair where he plans to sit later on. “MJ’s a great cook, you won’t regret it.”

“I remember,” Miguel says flatly.

“Ha, right,” Peter says, remembering all of the grief-food he had delivered to Miguel on MJ’s behalf not long before Mayday was born. “Well, it’s gonna be a great time.”

Miguel clearly suppresses a sigh, and if his exhale is slightly bigger or louder than usual Peter makes no comment.

The doorbell rings, and Miguel looks at Peter with a frown.

“Oh, I’ve got it, don’t worry,” Peter passes Mayday to Miguel, ignoring the suspicious frown growing more and more prominent across his face.

Mayday now safely in Miguel’s capable hands and babbling happily, Peter books it out of the dining room and down the foyer to the front door of his house, feet stepping lightly even in his hurry. He reaches the door and swings it open just as the doorbell rings again.

“Hey!” he greets your surprised face, your hand still on the doorbell.

“Jesus, hi,” you laugh, lowering your arm, and holding out the gift in your other hand. “I don’t know if you guys are drinking wine, but I figured you wouldn’t mind having a bottle on hand for later, right?”

Peter just about manages not to let out a barking laugh. “That’s very thoughtful. Here, come on in.” He moves aside so you can step through the door, and once you’re in the hall he closes it with a click. He pauses for a half a second, considering whether he should do the extra lock to delay any escape attempts—

“Oh, it smells great!” you call into the house, and Peter flips the bolt lock shut.

“Ha, doesn’t it?” He replies in an only somewhat forced cheery tone, hurrying after you.

“Thanks for inviting m–” you turn into the dining room, stopping dead in your tracks just inside the threshold.

Peter quickly steps into the doorway behind you, peering past you to see Miguel staring at you like a deer in headlights. That is, until he sees Peter behind you and his face steels into one of well-hidden nearly murderous intent.

Yup, handing Mayday over to him before this was definitely the right call.

You’re still frozen in the doorway, so Peter puts a hand on your shoulder and begins to steer you towards the chair at the table opposite Miguel’s.

“Food should be ready any second now!” Peter says in what he hopes is a bright and casual voice, removing his hand from your shoulder when you finally drop down into your chair with a soft thump. He steps around to his side of the table, on the end between and perpendicular to you and Miguel.

And, oof. You’re hiding it well, but Peter can still see the tension in your shoulders and the look of I am so going to kill you dead you give him, communicated through just slightly widened eyes and a pointed smile.

He definitely made the right call putting Mayday’s highchair between you and him.

Peter is so dead. So unbelievably and entirely dead.

Across from you, Miguel radiates… something. You’re sure your own high-running emotions are poisoning the room with a toxic cloud, the unidentifiable static charge from the man across the table gearing up to turn the clash of your feelings into a summer storm, lightning and roiling clouds and all.

How the fuck did the two of you get here? You can almost understand why Peter decided to interfere.

You swallow, looking down at the table, at the decor of the dining room, at Peter, at May as she passes from Miguel’s hands—damn, you forgot how big they are (focus!) —to Peter’s, anywhere but at Miguel himself.

“So,” you ask. “What are we eating?”

MJ’s voice calls your name in greeting from the kitchen door behind you, and you turn in your seat to watch as she enters with a steaming dish of roast vegetables.

“Seasoned roast veggies,” she says, placing the dish on the table with a smile. She glances from Miguel back to you, and the corner of her mouth tilts into something apologetic. “And rice, with optional chicken. Also, salad.”

“Do you need help getting it?” you ask.

“Sure!”

You get up from your seat with nary a glance at Miguel or Peter, and follow Mary Jane back into the kitchen.

Immediately she whispers to you when you slyly huddle by the stove to grab the last dishes. She takes the salad, and you take the rest.

“I tried to talk him out of it.”

You sigh, and it comes out as a weary chuckle through your nose, whispering back, “I don’t doubt that you did–”

“But not that hard. I kind of agree with him.”

“Wh-?”

“Just stick it out through dinner, alright?”

Baffled, you nod, and are left with no choice but to follow her back into the dining room.

Most of the conversation over dinner is between MJ, yourself, and Peter. Miguel eats quietly, asking MJ the occasional question about her work when it comes up, and then falling quiet again when you and her get into commiserating about working in the creative field.

All in all… It’s not a terrible night. You’d even be able to enjoy it more, if only you could relax and take the edges of your mind off of the man sitting across from you.

And you can feel it when he continually glances at you.

Beside you May yawns in her chair.

“I should put her down for the night,” Peter says, standing.

“I’ll take care of it this time, honey,” MJ says, also rising from her seat. “Why don’t you clean the table up, see if our guests want to take any home?”

You avert your eyes as Peter hands May over and the couple exchanges a chaste, sweet kiss.

“You got it.”

“Why don’t the two of you sit in the living room? It's probably more comfortable,” MJ suggests, turning to you and Miguel, adjusting May in her arms.

Miguel watches you from the corner of his eye when you nod and stand from the table. He follows your example, walking a safe distance behind you to the living room where you watch MJ go up the stairs, leaving the two of you alone.

Miguel takes a moment to observe the room. So far Peter and Mary Jane’s home is as clean and simple as he remembers, without sacrificing any sense of comfort or hominess. Pictures line the hearth above the fireplace, and art hangs over the couch. The space is lit by soft yellow light from a floor lamp in the corner.

The main change is the amount of children’s belongings scattered and half-heartedly tidied throughout the room.

Neither you nor Miguel sit like Mary Jane had suggested. Instead, he stands stiffly by the window, and you linger by the photos, as far from each other as you can manage.

“I don’t…”

He tenses, like he’s ready to take a physical blow, turning to look further out the window.

“I just—Getting hurt is part of the job,” you finally snap, frustration palpable in your voice.

He knows this. He’s almost embarrassed that you think he needs reminding.

“It wasn't even serious,” you continue.

He bows his head, unable to find words he’s willing to say. Shock, he wishes he could, if only to kill the hurt silence swelling like a bubble and pressing against his back.

“I don’t… I don’t know how I’m supposed to continue working here if you…” you sigh, the new shake in his voice sticks in him in the way he imagines his talons feel to those he fights. “If you don’t trust me, if you don’t think I can handle–”

He turns around to face you finally, and whatever you see in his face makes your expression of hurt soften into another kind of pain— sympathy.

He stares at you. Shock, he doesn't know what to do with his arms, but he settles for crossing them over his ribs; a shield protecting the contents of his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, so quiet and so shocking soft.

Softer than he’s earned without yet apologizing.

“I owe you an apology.”

You frown slightly, a wealth of emotions mixing together on your face like swirling ocean currents. He can’t help but let his eyes wander over them, the cold current of lingering hurt colliding and mixing with warm sympathy, the strange stillness of caution swallowing both up under a smooth wave.

“I…” he starts, swallowing, glancing away. “I'm sorry. For what I said.” He looks back at you at the end of his sentence, the next words coming easier, knowing he could say them with ease to any other Spider-Person, but not meaning them any less in this moment. “I know you’re capable. And that you can handle yourself.” It’s a far cry from the apologies in his fantasies, but it’s a start.

The bubble doesn't burst, but it begins to deflate. The stillness changes; he doesn't recognize what it is. It leaves his stomach on legs unused to rocky ships at sea. What was the word they used in that old-timey holo from the 2000s? Landlubber?

“Thank you, Miguel.”

He nods, looking away again.

“That must have been pretty hard for you, huh?”

He snaps his head back to look at you, only to find you smiling slightly.

You’re joking, he realizes. You’re teasing him, testing the murky waters.

“You can only imagine,” he responds dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

It feels too easy but he thinks, he hopes, that you’ve forgiven him.

Just to make sure, he pulls in a deeper breath, and says in a far softer and more earnest voice than before; “I’m sorry.”

Your lips part slightly, your arms lowering to your sides as you turn to face him. You pull in a breath, eyes unsure and searching his own. He can’t look away, and you open your mouth to speak–

The clang that interrupts is nearly as startling as a cannon.

“It’s all good! I’m okay!” Peter calls from the kitchen.

“Qué idiota,” Miguel mutters, shaking his head and turning away again.

You close your mouth, shaking your head and laughing. “Did you want to kill him as much as I did tonight?”

“You have no idea,” he replies with a sidelong glance at you. He pauses, his eyes trailing over your form, your clothes, and then it slips from his lips in a quiet voice before he knows he’s even thought the words: “You look nice.”

“Oh, uh,” you lift your hand to gently scratch your neck, looking away with a sheepish smile. “You too. I don’t think I’ve really seen you in anything besides your suit, or those pajamas.”

Miguel hums, looking away. “I wasn’t sure if I had clothes appropriate for dinner in this dimension.”

“Well, you look nice anyway,” you say again, so quietly it’s almost a mumble, gentle as a wave brushing over fine sand. But he hears it, and he can’t help the slight smile that blooms on his lips, even as he ducks his head.

You both turn at the creak on the stairs.

“You can come down, MJ,” you call, just loud enough to be heard but still clearly mindful of the sleeping baby upstairs.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” she says, stepping down into the living room. “Should have known I couldn’t sneak up on you two.” She glances between the two of you, and Miguel can see her taking note of his more relaxed posture and your small smile.

You give her a subtle nod, and she smiles warmly.

“Great! Well, I’m going to see if Peter’s almost done with cleanup.”

Miguel watches as MJ slips from the room, his eyes flicking to you where you still stand by the mantelpiece with your gaze on the framed pictures as you absentmindedly pick at your nails.

“Do you have any pictures like these?” he asks, eyes fixing on the way your smile turns gray and slightly sad.

You glance at him and he quickly brings his eyes up to yours.

“I used to think they were dumb,” you say, looking back at the photos of Peter and his family. “I wouldn’t let my dad take pictures because I hated how I looked in them, and it just felt embarrassing. I don’t know.”

Miguel’s videos of Gabriella immediately come to mind, and his heart squeezes in his chest.

“Now I get it,” you continue quietly, hand resting on the mantel.

Miguel follows your gaze, too see you’ve rested your hand next to a framed photo of Peter with his aunt. He’s young in this one, his nose still straight and skin untouched by time and stress, and he’s dressed in some sort of black robe and a scroll tied in a ribbon is in one hand.

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head. “I have a few. But it doesn’t seem like enough, now.”

When you and Miguel finally leave, it’s with each of you bearing decent sized containers of leftovers. You could both leave through your own portals via the living room, but having arrived via the front door it only seems proper to exit the same way.

You get the sense that Miguel appreciates the normality of it, at least.

After MJ and Peter wave their farewells and close their front door, you find yourself on the sidewalk with Miguel. The warm yellow light of the streetlamp does little to warm the actual air around you, the deep blue chill of the night wrapping around you both. But you don’t mind it.

“So,” you shift from one foot to the other. “Which way are you headed?”

Miguel pauses, eyes lingering across your face before he moves his head to indicate a direction. “There’s a school that way.”

You nod. “Smart. Empty at night. Good for mysterious interdimensional travelers.”

You grin when your quip earns a small huff of amusement, and the two of you begin walking in silence. You’ve walked to the end of the street when you break the silence again.

“How have you been sleeping?”

Miguel glances at you from the corner of his eye, before he steps into the street to cross it. “Fine.”

You try to ignore the little jolt in your stomach that his glance causes.

“Miguel’s quality of sleep has been consistently poor, for at least–”

Miguel makes a frustrated noise, covering his watch. “Yes, thank you Lyla.”

You look up at him, crossing the road by his side. He glances around over your head, ever watchful and cautious, before he catches you looking in the corner of his eye and turns his whole face to look at you.

“What?”

“I mean… I don’t know if you’d like to, but you can still visit. I mean– You know.”

“I… appreciate that. Thank you.”

Silence, again, as you walk the remainder of the way to the school, finding a spot between two buildings to open your respective portals.

“I’ll see you at work, probably?”

Miguel nods, you turn away to open your portal home, and then a soft call of your name turns you back to face him once again.

The orange glow of your portal behind you washes over the scene, covering everything in a soft glow even as reality around it seems to flicker and shiver. Miguel stands several feet away, but he has that same look on his face from earlier in Peter and MJ’s living room.

Sadness. Exhaustion. Worry.

You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat, feet itching to close the distance, and then you are, and your arms are around his waist and his are around your shoulders and his face is buried in your hair.

When you finally pull back, he looks even more tired than before, as if he can’t manage to put the mask back on.

“Come on,” you whisper, nodding your head towards the portal.

When you step through the portal home, Miguel follows close behind.

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

[gumnut-logic]

Found this Scott and Em Harris 'discussion' on my hard drive.

Em Harris is an OC from Gentle Rain.

Language warning for this as she is not happy at all.

-o-o-o-

“I’m just trying to keep you from dying! Don’t you see that? I care about you and you are the last person I ever want to see dead out there, so just fucking listen to me for once!”

Scott blinked at the fire in her words. He would have taken a step back, but he was held by his seat in One, its safety harness and back preventing him from moving an inch away from the fury of his wife.

Em hovered in front of him, the white of her medical baldric glaring at him. It had stains. Some identifiable, some not so much. But all of which he wished he could have protected her from.

But he couldn’t.

Because she was who she was and there was no way he could hold her back from helping people any more than he could himself. If there was one thing they both shared, it was that.

Her determination was what made her so beautiful.

“Emaline-“

“No!” She held up a hand. “You don’t get to speak after a stupid stunt like that. All you had to do was wait for Virgil.”

“There wasn’t time!”

“Another thirty seconds, Scott! If Virgil hadn’t caught you, YOU WOULD BE DEAD!” Her pale blue eyes electrified with a mixture of fury and fear. “I almost lost you! For no reason!”

“A life was saved!”

“Virgil nearly missed the both of you! He has enough bruising from his leap off that cliff after you to inspire his next painting. Kay is going to kick your ass, flyboy.”

Scott swallowed. Kayo he could handle, but he hadn’t realised Virgil had been hurt. “Is Virgil okay?”

Em sighed and looked down a moment before looking him in the eye. “No. No, he is not. You owe him an apology.”

As if he was aware of his name being mentioned, Virgil’s calm voice issued over comes. “Thunderbird Two departing danger zone. Transporting injured to Capetown Medical and returning to base.”

The line cut out before Scott could reply. The lack of personal address or even his callsign was enough to illustrate exactly how much shit he was in with his brother.

“Scott, please.” And suddenly the anger in her voice was gone. “Why? Why is your life not worth as much to you as it is to me?”

She wasn’t crying, but there was so much grief in her voice, he had to reach out and pull her to him.

There was resistance at first. She was as stubborn as she was determined to the point of the words being synonyms.  But then, as light as she always was, he drew her into his arms, hoverscoot rising at an angle and their baldrics clattering as they met. Her head landed on his shoulder and he held her there, stroking the nape of her neck where her hair bun left it bare.

“I’m sorry.” It was an exhalation.

“Please don’t do that again.” It was muffled into his uniform.

“Em, you know I can’t guar-“

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. She flung herself backwards, pulling away. Practised reflexes let her go out of respect, but he grabbed at her again. No!

She didn’t let him reach her, her hoverjets humming almost as angrily as her expression.

“No, Scott Tracy, you can guarantee. You can tell me that you will wait. You can tell me that you will consider. You will tell me that you trust your brothers’ knowledge and experience. And you can tell me that I am important enough in your life for you to not give up that life in a situation that can be easily avoided.” She drew in a breath. “If you can’t value your own life enough yourself, then value it for me.” A breath. “I love you, Scott…please.”

Every rule, every philosophy, every self determination screamed at him to deny her. The thought of putting his life above others was anathema. But his strategic mind flipped the equation without permission and he saw his actions from her point of view.

His brain listed off his abilities, how he should have been able to handle the situation safely.

And how it had all gone so far south so quickly, and how only the quick actions of his engineer brother had prevented a very long plummet down a very high cliff.

His first thought had been gratitude and admiration for his brother’s skill and the fact the rescue was a successful one.

He didn’t register Virgil’s grunts as anything other than simple exertion. Now looking back, now he didn’t have his arms full of terrified rescuee, he could take a moment to examine exactly what had happened.

Virgil hadn’t said a thing.

He had rappelled them back up the cliff. It had been all business and as the adrenalin had waned, Scott had just felt tired. Em took the rescuee into Two and after a silent scan with Virgil’s mediscanner, Scott had returned to One.

It was just another rescue almost gone wrong.

Virgil had just saved the day…again.

What if he had waited? Would the man have fallen?

His heart feared what would have happened if he did. That was why he had jumped himself despite the fragility of the rockface.

He looked up at his beautiful wife. “I don’t know if I can stand by and risk a death I can prevent.”

Her lips thinned, but her eyes were sad. “Neither can I.” She drew in a breath. “Commander Scott Tracy, as Lead Medical Officer of International Rescue, I’m citing you for reckless self-endangerment and recommending psychological review.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“I can’t lose you, Scott.” Little more than breath. “Not like this.

“I just can’t.”

-o-o-o-