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sweatervest-obsessed · 2 months ago

Text

Last, Last Time

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her pronouns)

WC: ~7.3k

TW: Angst, guns, violence, mentions of domestic violence, blood, swearing, depression, kidnapping, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, heartbreak, arguing, the grieving process, drinking, screaming, crying, sobbing, throwing up, being under pressure, and anything else that comes with a criminal minds episode.

a/n: based on S15 E6 - first date. I love u aubrey plaza <3. Also inspired by the song Last, Last Time by Boys Go To Jupitar. writing this was a little bit of a catharsis since it's one of the first things I've been able to write. I'm sorry I've been so m.i.a., i just moved to a new country and that has been a crazy experience. But to cope with that, enjoy some gut-wrenching angst!

Alternate Ending! Spencer Masterlist

“Spencer I won’t—I can’t keep doing this. I’m sick of arguing in circles.”

“Y/n…”

“I-I feel like you take me for fucking granted Spencer. All I do is work and then come home and wait for you to actually be able to, I don’t know, sleep in the same bed as me for more than four hours.”

The look in his eyes almost took you out but your heart had already been broken long, long before this argument. If anything, you were starting to feel this sense of freedom as you broke his heart.

“Please. Y/n. Just–I don’t—Just give me a few days to convince Hotch to let me have some time off and we can work on this please.”

“Wait for the potential of us?”

Spencer’s jaw loosened. You couldn’t read beyond the initial layer of pain and confusion, which made your chest ache since not too long ago you could have been able to find everything you needed in his expression.

“God Spencer this can’t be fucking news to you. We’ve been drifting apart for months now.”

“I know, I know. You have been so patient with me and I’ve just been….there was that whole thing with Cat and then….I-I was trying so hard y/n…”

“No, first there was that whole thing with Maeve.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Oh that’s not fair? Really? You’re going to tell me the entire Maeve thing isn’t fair to you?”

“I’m sorry.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. “I’m not saying you weren’t trying but come one Spencer. There’s no need to deny this shit anymore. I hate it when you lie to me about these kinds of things.”

Spencer’s hand came up to his face and it dragged down, aging him significantly with the fatigue written all over his face.

“So you’re just going to pack up everything, break my heart, and leave? Were you even going to say goodbye, or was I going to come home to an empty home. A note or....”

“I-I don’t know Spencer. I just don’t…”

The tears were starting to creep in, and you had to place the box down before you lost it.

“This isn’t easy for me either…” Your chest heaved.

The both of you stood in silence, tension simmering surrounding the both of you like heat on a summer’s eve. Neither of you could really look at one another, but it felt wrong to look at anything else. Something was missing but you couldn’t say it outloud. You knew you would always love Spencer Reid but this time it was not enough.

“I’m tired of arguing Spencer.”

Your eyes met his. You felt Spencer’s arms around you before you could even feel the tears hit your cheeks. Your arms immediately went to his neck, so familiar. No longer home.

Spencer’s voice muttered into your ear. “Don’t cry Jolie. It’ll be okay..”

About three years ago, Spencer had decided that he didn’t like that you had nicknames for him, and he had none for you. He spent weeks workshopping different ones : Sugar, Honey, Pumpkin, Sweetheart, Darlin, Pookie, Lover, Sunny (like sunshine), Sunshine—it was a wild few weeks trying to figure out who he was talking to. Then one day, offhandedly, he was trying to tell you about this french film he had been watching, and trying to get Emily to watch with him.

He called you ‘tres jolie’, and blushing you had asked him what it meant. He told you it meant pretty.

And it stuck.

Now? It stung.

All you could do was squeeze tightly onto him, not ready to let go.

“You’re so pretty when you’re lying through your teeth.” You whispered after a few moments, pulling away out of his arms.

“I.” You swallow and step back, out of his reach. “Maybe I’ll...”

Spencer just looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold in the tears that were streaming down his face.

You grabbed the last box on the counter and your keys, and walked out, for the last time.

You awoke in your bed, eyes adjusting to the complete darkness the blackout curtains provided you.

Another fucking night thinking about your decision those four years ago, and how your life may have gotten better because of it.

Moving to get up from the bed, you decided to leave the curtains closed for now, feeling as if you could melt from the sun touching you.

You turned on the bathroom light and started your morning routine. Wash face. Take meds. Brush teeth. Fix hair—

Somewhere in that process, you got lost, and just stared at yourself in the mirror. You weren’t sure for how long. All you could do was replay the last four years.

Did you make the right choice? You were happy, you had your dream job.

Maybe it was true what they say, you can only have a career or love, but not both—

The only thing taking you out of this spiral was the ringer on your phone going off.

This caused some hesitation because your phone’s ringer was always off––the loud noise startling you. There were only a few people who had that emergency bypass, and none of them had called you in four years.

You peaked out of the bathroom and saw the name light up on your phone.

Emily Prentiss

______________________________________________________________

The door to the round room opened up and in walked Spencer Reid. “Catch me up.”

Prentiss clicked the remote, and the TV lit up with a picture of a woman smirking facing the camera while holding a gun up to another one next to her. “Early this morning, Garcia got an email from an anonymous server.”

The second woman was tied up, mouth slightly open, and eyes filled with tears, while a man on the other side just had his eyes closed, tired. .

Spencer just stared at the photo.

Rossi nodded at the picture. “She's not obscuring her face, telling us she's got nothing to hide.”

He never pulled focus away from the screen, mouth dry at the thought of what today was going to be. “Any ideas on the unsub?”

“No.” Prentiss sighed. “Only the unsub's demand. That we release Catherine Adams in 24 hours. I'm having her transferred here for questioning, but we have no illusions. This is just a game to her. We know that. The question is, do we want to play it or not?”

______________________________________________________________

Receiving a call from the FBI was not entirely new to you, since you had been engaged to one of their agents, but receiving one now? Weird. Off brand. Something was deeply wrong from them to have to give you a call.

You hesitantly pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey Y/n, it’s Emily Prentiss—“

“I know who you are, Emily. It’s been a couple years, not millions.”

Emily hummed a brief laugh, and you could hear other voices behind her, unable to make out anything.

“I know this is hard to ask of you, but would you stay on the phone with me and come in?”

“What?”

“I need you to stay very calm Y/n, but I need you to stay on the line with me, leave your apartment as soon as you can, and get to the BAU.”

“Oh my god I totally forgot. It might take me an hour to get there with all this bullshit traffic, could we push the reservation an hour? Would they be willing to do that?”

Your entire tone changed, having remembered what Spencer had told you all those years ago about if people were listening into your apartment, if they bugged your car—all paranoia that didn’t pay off then, might be paying off now.

You were sure you could hear Emily sigh, and it sounded a little upset at the fact that you knew what to do–you knew how to handle a dangerous situation, which made her question everything in her life.

Quickly you pulled on a pair of jeans and threw a sweatshirt over your pajama top and grabbed your keys off of the counter.

You left your apartment, waved to one of your neighbors, and hopped into your car, still on the line, just trying not to panic. Maybe something went wrong, maybe Spencer wasn’t okay, maybe he had died—you refused to even acknowledge that thought and decided it was something else entirely.

It was a very tense hour of driving, that was only about forty minutes since you knew how to drive above the speed limit.

You realized that it was past midday, and you had taken full advantage of the weekend. So at least you had a decent amount of sleep under your belt for what felt like the beginning of an extraneous night.

As you pulled into the parking garage, Emily Prentiss and someone you had never met before were standing there waiting for you. You placed your car in park, hopped out and walked up to them–only hanging up as soon as you were out of the car.

Both of them had such grim looks on their faces, but at least they were trying to pretend like the situation wasn’t as bad as it appeared to your face.

Emily engulfed you in a hug. “Missed you Y/n. It’s been too long.”

“Well Em, next time I end an engagement with someone I’ll consider your feelings first.” You squeezed him back, dryly laughing at your own joke. At least it caused Emily to snort.

“Y/n this is SSA Luke Alvez. Luke, this is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He gave a small smile and nodded at you.

“I wish it were under different circumstances.” You nodded back and looked over at Emily.

“Let’s head inside?”

The three of you moved inside.

Sure, you hadn’t been here in a while, but you knew your way around the BAU Bullpen if your life depended on it, which was ironic since that was what this feels like.

As soon as you were safely in their round table room, Luke shut the door, and stood by it, Emily coming and sitting down next to you.

“What do you know about Cat Adams?”

That bitch.

______________________________________________________________

“I would like to go on a date. With you.”

Spencer stared at her, face stoic as ever. “A date?”

“Yes. I want to look pretty. And I want to have fun.” She looked him up and down. “And I won't even get physical, ok? Unless you want me to.”

Spencer sat down across from her. “Come here. Closer.”

Cat leaned in, a small smile on her face, absolutely intoxicated by being so close to him.

“The only date that I'll be there for is the one where they stick a needle in your vein.”

Cat scoffed. “You're just going to let her father and sister die? I don't think so.”

“I never said it was a father and daughter. You're already slipping.” He stood up from the table. “We'll find them. We always do.”

Cat leaned back and crossed her arms. “Not tonight. Tonight I win.”

His resolution had yet to change, “The score between me and you is two to zero. By tomorrow morning, it'll be a clean sweep. Enjoy eternal nothingness. It's a metaphor for your life.”

And with that, the door slammed shut behind him.

______________________________________________________________

Both the profilers watched a series of emotions run rampant across your face, before you settled on a somewhat displeased smile. “A lot.”

They exchanged a look, and you didn’t have the energy to pretend like you didn’t know what it was.

“Don’t start with me you two. I know profiling. I know what you’re doing. Ask me the questions you want to ask. Don’t try and trick me into giving the answers you want.”

Alvez bit his tongue and looked away, trying to hide a small smile that appeared on his lips.

Emily, on the other hand, hid her smile a bit better than him, but part of being previously engaged to a profiler meant you picked up on some of their tricks too.

She nodded and pulled a file from across the table. “I’m assuming you know the basics since she, uh, is obsessed with Spencer.”

“Glad to see he still has that going for him.” You muttered and looked into the file.

Emily shot Luke a look when he let out a huff or air, trying his damndest not to laugh.

“What is the last thing you know about her?”

You recounted the days leading up to the restaurant, and then the few days after, decidedly stopping short of the engagement breaking off a week later.

They shared another look, and you didn’t enjoy whatever it was that had moved across their faces.

“What? What happened?”

“Y/n..”

“No Emily, I drove from DC to here, I deserve to know what happened. without some weird sugarcoating, alright?”

Emily then begins to explain to you the past four years of Reid’s life. Cat pretending she was pregnant with his kid in prison, kidnapping his mother, framing him for murder in Mexico, going to prison—

“Spencer went to prison and none of you thought to call me….”

“We didn’t think you’d–”

“I’m a fucking criminal defense attorney in DC Emily. Of course I’d want to know if he was arrested, especially internationally. I know that law better than all of you. If someone I knew was kidnapped, I’d call you immediately. Faster than the cops.”

Both of them went silent.

“So is he out?”

They nodded slowly, silently.

“How long was he in there.”

Nothing.

“I asked. How. Long.”

Luke spoke up. “Three months.”

“Jesus christ.” You stood up and started to pace around the room, taking the time you needed to calm down.

Why didn’t Spencer call you—well you knew why Spencer wouldn’t call you.

“Okay so he’s out.” You said finally. “Why am I here?”

“Cat’s execution is coming up, and we….we found out that she’s convinced someone to kidnap some….people…close to Reid, and we knew you’d be on that list for him.”

Your eyebrows went up at people but said nothing of it. Just as you went to say something else, JJ knocked on the door, another blonde woman behind her.

They entered and JJ gave you a small, yet genuine smile.

You returned it, but quickly shifted your gaze onto the woman behind.

Your whole body shifted slightly, into a place of defense, locking your emotions down. You knew all the profilers were watching it happen in real time, which is why Emily walked over and stood next to you, a hand appearing on the small of your back as a comfort.

“Would someone like to tell me what is going on here?” The blonde woman spoke up, arms crossed.

At least Spencer’s taste in partners with attitude hadn’t changed.

______________________________________________________________

“Victimology is off.”

“How so?” Prentiss looked up at him as he walked into the room.

“Father and daughter. She’s never done that before.”

Lewis spoke up. “She usually kills men that remind her of her father. Children–even adult children, are off limits. Do we have an ID yet.”

Prentiss, Rossi, Garcia, and JJ all looked over at Reid, and he just pulled a hand down his face. “It’s. It’s Issac and Noelle Y/l/n.”

“Y/l/n…as is Y/n Y/l/n.” Tara looked up surprised at Spencer.

Reid nodded slowly, just staring at the picture on the projector.

While Luke spoke up. “Who is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“An old friend.” Rossi quickly interjected, before any more explanation had to be said. It was clear both Alvez and Simmons, that whoever this was, was an extremely touchy subject for Reid.

Tara, who had only known you for a little while, looked back at the picture.

Rossie spoke up. “What do we know about the partner who’s helping her?”

“It’s got to be someone from her prison.” Simmons spoke up. “She hasn’t had contact with anyone else.”

______________________________________________________________

After all of that, you found yourself back in a place you left four years ago. It looked almost the same as when you had first moved in, but there was less of it.

Almost as if he was having trouble covering places where things used to be.

There were almost no photos on the walls, since you had taken half of them, and were in the rest.

Calling someone you once loved a stranger feels wrong.

Max, as you had learned her name, was just sitting on the couch in your spot . She was looking around as you and Rossi stood by the kitchen counter.

“Cat had a cellmate named Juliette Weaver. We believe the two were working together, as a way for Cat to get something against Spencer, and as payment, Cat would get Juliette’s ex.”

You nodded. “How does this affect me?”

“She took your father and sister.”

Your back straightened and immediately brought out your phone, to call your sister, but Rossi just grabbed your wrist (gently) and shook his head. “If she finds out you know, then it’s all over. She’s doing this on purpose. She knows about you and Reid, but she knows that dragging you into all of this will hurt him more than anything else.”

His voice had gone low and quiet, so that the girl on the couch couldn’t hear.

“So why is she here?” You whispered back.

“Because we don’t want anyone in danger.”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “I need a cup of tea.”

Rossi let go of your wrist, and you walked into the kitchen, mostly eyes closed from the stress of the situation.

The apartment was silent, the others watching as you grabbed a kettle, and started to make tea. It was like second nature to you as you turned the stovetop on, grabbed a mug from the cabinet (careful to not grab one of his favorites), and grabbed some tea from the cabinet.

It didn’t dawn on you that you were drinking your favorite type of tea until the second sip, while the entire apartment was still silent.

The pity from Rossi's look was palpable.

“Don’t even start.”

He shrugged and stayed silent.

Until his walkie went off and he looked at Max. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

Rossi looked back at you and gave you a quick hug, squeezing you tightly. “You’ve got this kid. Remember everything we talked about.”

You nodded and gave them both a strained smile as they left the apartment, leaving you all alone in this place you once called home, alone.

Never once, since you left, did you think you would ever be back here. You didn’t even realize you were drinking from one of your own mugs until it was just you. The irony of it was not lost on you, and you sat down in your spot on the couch.

Well first you sat in Spencer’s seat but it felt too weird, so you shifted back into your spot on the couch.

______________________________________________________________

“Juliette staked out in Reid’s life. Found out he was dating someone, but then must have discovered his ex-fiancée.” Simmons sighed. “He was probably so focused on Max, he didn’t even realize that someone was digging into his history, following them around.”

Prentiss nodded as they walked and talked. “But if Juliette was able to find Max, that meant she was easily able to find Y/n and her family. It means she must have access to all of her publicly available information. “

“Well at least we found their hidden agenda.”

“No. We found Cat’s hidden agenda. Juliette doesn’t care about Reid. There’s something we’re missing here. Do a deep dive with Garcia.”

Simmons nodded at Prentis. “On it.”

“I’ll go to Reid's apartment and monitor onsite. Is there a trap and trace on his landline?”

“Garcia’s almost set up.” Simmons walked away from Prentiss, and down towards Penelope’s office.

“Well this went from bad to worse.” Tara walked up to Emily.

Emily sighed in agreement.

Lewis spoke up. “Female narcissists destroy their competition.Y/n really shouldn’t be in there.”

Emily just nodded and the two of them headed out of the bullpen. “Walk with me.”

Tara kept stride with her as they pushed through the doors. Rossi was just getting off the phone with someone and turned to look at the two women approaching him and JJ.

JJ spoke up when Rossi was finished. “So, the hospital just released the dad– Issac Y/l/n. He's on his way here now.

Rossi scoffed. “Question is, why let him go at all?”

“Matt's on that.” Emily gestures in the direction of Garcia’s office. “Juliette Weaver's real agenda should tell us where she's taking Y/n’s younger sister.”

Lewis spoke next. “I still think the play here is to get Cat and Juliette to contact each other, but I have no idea how.”

Prentiss crossed her arms. “I have a plan, but first we have to talk about Y/n.”

______________________________________________________________

Just then, you heard the click of the door, and stood up, watching as the door swung open.

And there he was.

This was the first time you had seen Spencer in four years.

And here he was, kissing Catherine Adams.

The woman you could give partial credit to for ending your relationship.

After a moment Spencer looked up, and took several steps away from Cat. His eyes were wide and locked on yours.

It took a lot of self-restraint to not punch the lights out of Cat, and to stand still arms crossed.

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke a little bit.

You never would say that Spencer was unattractive. In fact, it would be a lie if you ever said it. But something about the past four years aged him like a fine wine.

His hair was a bit longer, he had some scruff—his baby face had melted away and standing in front of you was a man who thought you knew everything about, but was now a stranger.

You didn’t answer him, watching as he took you in, standing in his apartment, for the first time since…

“What are you doing here?”

You looked over at Cat, who had the most devious smirk on her face.

Remember what Prentiss had said to you.

“You know why I’m here.”

Cat nodded and the two of them moved into the apartment, the door closing behind them.

Spencer just stood ten feet away from you, eyes never leaving you, and you watched him right back.

Cat, on the other hand, was walking around, examining the apartment. You could see her take notice of the tea you had made yourself on the counter. You could see the hatred from the corner of your eyes. The two of you were starting to piss her off.

She spoke up, after a few moments of silence. “Did it make you mad that I was kissing your Fiancé?”

You shook your head. “No.”

Your focus had fully turned to Cat, but you swore you swore you could hear Spencer take a sharp inhale as you spoke your next words.

“Well, he's not my fiancé and I kind of have some other things on my mind.”

Cat didn’t scare you, but there was just something so off-putting about her. “Like what?”

“Are you gonna hurt Noelle?”

Cat shrugged. “Not if I don't have to, no. Honestly, if she follows instructions, she might even learn from this whole experience.”

You scoffed. “What does that mean?”

Cat just started fiddling with the chess set on the dresser.

“Spencer, what does she mean?” You turned to look back at him, his name feeling so good on your tongue.

Spencer, who really hadn’t stopped looking at you and sighed. “I think…She means that Noelle isn’t learning from her, but from Juliette.”

You sat down in your spot on the couch, arms crossed. You were on the full defense.

Spencer noticed where you sat and had to look down to conceal any notions of a smile on his face.

Cat watched him before turning and looking at you, some more disdain on her face than before.

“Normally, Spencie and I, we spend our time together playing games, but tonight, I've brought you all here to make a point. You are doing so much better.”

Spencer spoke up. “With you?”

“I'm not talking to you.” Cat snapped at him before she turned to you. “I'm talking to you. Because, girlfriend, you need to know the truth about your fiancé.”

“He's not my finacé.” You were unsure about how many more times you could say that outloud.

“No kidding. When’s the last time you spoke? Right…” Cat walked over to the center of the room, right in front of the couch. “Here?”

Your head whipped around to Spencer. “You told her about that?”

Spencer was pleading with his eyes. “I had to say a lot of things tonight.”

Cat’s voice caused your head to snap back to her. “Yes, he has. He said that you never compared to me, that, um... That no matter what, he will never get me out of his mind, unlike you. Unlike that girlfriend.”

You tried not to wince at the mention of that girl Maxine out in one of the trucks.

Spencer sat down next to you. “Everything I said—I was lying to save your family.”

Cat scoffed. “Did our kiss look like a lie?”

“No.” you just looked down at your hands.

“Thank you. See, now we're getting to the heart of the matter.” Cat started mocking Spencer. “You see, everyone thinks that Dr. Spencer Reid is... Is just this nice, bookish, uh, genius who, uh, always saves the day and has all the answers. And has zero mommy issues, right? But, um... I know the real him.”

“Oh, yeah? Who's the real me, Cat?”

“The real Spencer Reid throws women against walls. And hisses that he's going to kill them.”

Spencer stood up, squaring off against her. “That was a very different situation.”

“No, it wasn't.” Cat was holding the smirk back this time, making your gut wretch.

“Spencer…What is she talking about?” You looked from the psychopath in front of you, to the man you realized you might have never really known beside you.

“You tell her. She's not gonna believe it coming from me.” She huffed.

Reid turned and looked at you. “Two years ago, Cat had her partner kidnap my mother. Just like tonight. She got under my skin and…”

Your chest hurts. “And you threw her against a wall?”

Cat’s smirk was breaking through whatever resolve she had. “Don't skimp on the details, Spencie. She deserves to know everything.”

Every single time she said Spencie you swore a shock went up your spine.

Spencer looked down at his hands, and then over at you. His voice had gotten quieter. “She was pregnant at the time and I knew that when I hurt her.”

“And?” She stood there expectantly, waiting for Spencer to finish. When he didn’t, her face suddenly became solemn. “The next day... I miscarried. The end.”

Spencer looked at her. “That's not true.”

“It is most certainly true. Check my medical records.”

“That doesn't mean I-I would…”

Cat held up her hand to him. “Stop. Look.”

Spencer looked over at you, just sitting on the couch, trying to process everything that was going through your head.

After thinking about everything you had gone through, especially with Spencer. “I thought you were better than that Spence.”

It was the first time you had used a nickname for him in years. And he was hearing it for the first time while you were stuck in a standoff between himself and Cat Adams, your sister being god knows where.

Spencer’s voice cracked. “I'm sorry.”

Cat squatted down in front of you, a sick smile on her lips. She was enjoying this. She truly enjoyed watching his life crumble to bits. “Notice how your Spencie is apologizing to you and not me.”

You clenched your hands. “He’s not mine…”

Spencer just looked over at you.

Cat nodded. “That's good. Because men are all the same. Aren't they, Jolie?”

Spencer’s eyes lit up with an emotion you rarely saw from him when you were together. “Don't call her that.”

And you couldn’t blame him. The word ran you through like a spear and you were sure if you looked behind you, the blade would be through the couch. You tried so hard to not let either of the two people near you see how much it messed with you. Luckily for you, Cat was too busy pushing Spencer’s buttons to see the way her words won against you.

Cat hissed at him. “What, are you gonna throw me against a wall and choke me, or do you only do that to pregnant women?”

You finally spoke up. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you to see it.” She gestured to Spencer. “I want you to see that he is...no better than he was before, or any man after. They’re all the same.”

“Stop.”

Cat squatted down in front of you. “I can see it on your face. What's his name?”

You stared back at her. “It's none of your business.”

That damned smirk of hers returned. “It is exactly my business. In fact, it's my specialty. I mean, I could have Juliette and baby sister go over there if you want. They could take care of him.”

Reid looked over at you. “Say yes. Give her what she wants.”

“Hmm. See, he wants you to get me to make a little phone call so they can trace it.” She moved away from you both and sat down in the lounging chair across from you. “They're so good, the FBI.”

You jumped up and started pacing, a spitting image of four years ago. “What is wrong with the two of you? What is this sick, twisted thing that you have? Listen, I just want to save my sister. Will you please just tell me what I have to do to do that?”

“Tell me his name. Tell me the story. That's it. And then if they can let Juliette exit stage right, then I promise you I will let her go.”

You looked between Cat and Spencer before walking over to the kitchen, and hanging up the phone. After staring down at the decision you had just made, you walked back over and took your phone out. “Here. Use this. Use my phone. They can't trace it.”

She just watched you. “You'd be surprised.”

“I don't even need a call. Just... just a photo.” You held the phone out to her. “Something to prove to me that she's still alive. Please”.

Cat just looked up at your face. “Story first.”

“Y/n. Please.” Spencer turned to you, hoping you’d look back at him. “I have been here with her before. She called the number and told the partner to kill my mom.”

“It is so tricky, isn't it? I mean, who are you gonna trust? The lying, cheating, violent psychopath... Or me?”

You looked down at the ground, refusing to look over at Spencer. “His…His name was Mike Davis. We dated for two years. I met him a month after we…we split.”

Cat’s attention on you felt as if there were a million bees stinging your body all at different intervals, pain coursing through your body. “Good. When did it end?”

“Last year.”

“Was he good in bed?”

Spencer stood up. “Shut up.”

Cat was enjoying this. She was enjoying watching you make Spencer uncomfortable. She was enjoying hurting him in every masochistic way she could. “What? You have to know where you stand.”

“He was good…” You looked back at Cat. “Good at, um, separating me from my friends and my family. Enough that the first time he punched me in the face, I didn't have anywhere to go. And my first response wasn't "get out." It wasn't "go to hell." It was "I'm sorry, Mike." That's when he knew he had me.”

There was a glint in Spencer’s eyes, and you could swear they were tears, but you couldn’t tell from rage or sorrow.

Cat continued to probe. “How many hospital visits were there?”

You showed her a small scar on the inside of your elbow. “None. No, he... He knew how to hurt me just enough to hide it all, I guess.”

“But you found the strength to leave. What did you do?”

“ I planned and I... I waited.”

Cat’s eyes lit up. “Waited for what? “

“I live here in D.C.” You looked between Spencer and Cat. “but I'm also a resident in Virginia. It takes 60 days for the permit to clear.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Y/n, stop talking. Stop talking right now.”

Cat shushed him. “No, don't stop. Here. Give me the phone. Look, I'm gonna enter the text. Stick the landing and I'll hit "send."

You handed her the phone and she quickly typed out a message, her thumb hovering over send.

Fiddling with your ring finger, you started to speak again. Slowly. Concisely. “When I was ready, I picked a fight. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear. And he came at me with his fist just cocked back, so I pulled my Glock 19 out of my purse. I shot him.”

Spencer tried to interject. “It was self-defense. He was attacking you—”

“That's what I told 911 as he was struggling to breathe on his kitchen floor. That's why the police never charged me. I’m a lawyer, I know how to plead.” You closed your eyes. “But I... after I hung up, I... I shot him two more times.”

Cat was glowing, spinning around to face Spencer. “Wow, you really have a type, don't you? Quite a dilemma, too. She just admitted to murder.”

Spencer was in disbelief. “She'll beat it.” .

“Probably. But whatever feelings she might have still had for you, and whatever Maxine might have seen in you—-it’s all gone.”

The phone in your hand buzzed.

“Oh, wow. Look at that. Your sister. Alive and well. You're welcome.”

Your face hardened up, and you stood up straighter. Walking away from the two of them, you opened the door. “I got it.”

She took the phone from your hand and you turned back to the two of them. There was no emotion behind your eyes as you looked back at Spencer.

Cat smirked and looked up at Spencer. “I win.”

______________________________________________________________

The prison transport was quiet, with the two guards sitting across from Spencer and Cat. It had been silent for about twenty minutes, but then, Cat spoke up.

“Do you know why I did this? Why I really did this?”

Spencer looked down at his hands. “You wanted to prove I'm a monster just like you.”

“No... Silly. I just wanted to see you again. I just wanted to make sure that you would never forget about me.” She sighed. “'Cause when they do put that needle in my arm, I just want there to be even the slightest chance that... Maybe you're still thinking about me…”

Spencer stiffened as she placed her head on his shoulder. “You didn't have to terrorize 3 innocent people. You could've just written a letter.”

“Would you have written me back?”

When Spencer didn’t respond, Cat knew her answer.

“Bye, Spencie. I really enjoyed our date.” She smiled at him desperately, getting dragged out of the vehicle by the guards to the prison.

______________________________________________________________

The elevator door opened and Spencer walked out of it, his whole body reeked of defeat, and he barely looked at Emily as she spoke. “We need to debrief.”

Spencer just walked right past her, and into the bullpen. His expression changed when he saw you on one side talking to Tara, and Max on the other, looking up at him right as he walked in.

“Spencer, are you okay?”

Her voice caught your ear, and immediately you looked up to see her walk over and embrace him in a hug.

He smiled at her, and grateful returned the hug before muttering that he would be back, and explain everything.

You were never going to get back together with Spencer, but watching it in real time was like unlacing an old wound.

Spencer walked over to you, and you stood up as he approached.

“Uh, Tara, would you mind giving us…”

She nodded at him and walked away.

Both of you went to speak, trying to say something to the other.

“I should explain all of this.”

Spencer shook his head. “You don’t have to explain any of that Y/n—it doesn’t.”

You cut him off. “It was fake—most of it. I didn’t kill anyone, Spence. I was just lying to her to get her to send the text from my phone. It was all…It was made up.”

He just nodded, staring at you really.

You gave him a soft smile, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Both of you could feel the pulse between it, making you remove your hand and take a small step back.

“Thank you for saving my sister and father.”

Spencer watched your resolve fully formed, masking whatever you were feeling. He hated watching it happen to him, watching as you placed whatever feelings you had back into somewhere he couldn’t find.

Garcia walked over and placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “I just need you both to know, Cat Adams had a miscarriage, but it was months after whatever encounter you had. It’s not your fault. We looked at her records.” She was speaking low for you both, yet both of you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“They filled me in on everything that happened between both of you in the past couple years, and they asked me if I would be willing to…help them beat her.”

Spencer looked up at you, and unlike yourself, every single emotion Spencer was feeling was racing across his face.

“They gave me an ear piece and everything.”

Spencer shook his head. “You’re not trained—that’s extremely dangerous of you.”

You sighed and nodded. “Unfortunately Spencer, this is…this was the life I was used to when we were together. I knew the stakes. I mean the briefings I had with Hotch after you relapsed…”

Spencer just clammed up and stood a bit straighter. “ I never knew..”

“It was like that on purpose. I didn’t want you to think that you were a burden or too much or—I was doing it for the potential of…” You cut yourself of, flinching at the parallels between this and your previous final conversation.

You looked over at Garcia. “I need my bag Pen.” You whispered, taking a step away from Spencer. “I shouldn’t…I finished my job. My family is safe…”

She had a rueful look on her face, but she nodded and took your arm, walking you back over to the desk where your stuff was.

He looked up at Emily and walked over to her. “I’m…uh. I’m gonna go walk her out and then I’ll be right back.”

Emily gave him the saddest smile, and just nodded. She knew that nothing she could say could make it any better.

You grabbed your coat, and your bag, and the two of you walked to the elevator in silence, riding it all the way down to the parking garage, where your car was still there from this afternoon, all of those hours ago.

You looked over at Spencer, tears in your eyes, having not said anything to him.

Sobbing into his arms, you just tightly wrapped your arms around his torso and just held onto him tightly. Trying to decompress, trying to truly understand everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.

It was Spencer who spoke first.

“I’m so so sorry Y/n.” He whispered. “I never meant any of this to happen to you, and for you to get dragged back here and—”

You shook your head slightly, but didn’t move from where you were. Neither of you did.

“It’s what she wanted, Spence, and unfortunately for us, this was always bound to happen.” You whispered.

The hug felt so good, but something about it was just so different.

It’s not the way it used to be.

“I need to go Spencer.”

He nodded, and this time you moved away from him. His hand came up and wiped away one of the remaining tears on your cheek.

You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Oh fuck, why is this so fucking hard four years later.” You laughed, trying to regain any sort of composure.

“Y/n…”

You took another step away from him and shook your head.

“We can’t—I’m not.” You tried so hard to find the right words without bursting into tears again. “Spencer. I cannot put myself back to where I was four years ago. I can’t do it. And yes things have changed, but maybe that is for the better. Maybe you were always meant to be my maybe, and not my always.”

You took another breath, but kept going. “You are amazing, and funny, and so smart Spence. But this…we ran our course. It didn’t work then, and I don’t know if I have it in me to try again just for it to fail.”

“Y/n please.”

“I will always love you but this…It’s time to…It’s time to stop. I have to go back to my life, and you go back upstairs to yours, with Prentiss and Rossi and Penelope and…Max.”

Both of you winced as you said her name, but you took a step forward, moving to kiss him on the cheek.

Spencer gently grabbed you face, giving you enough time to back out.

You didn’t.

His lips locked with yours, his thumb rubbing against your cheek as the two of you shared one more moment, just for the two of you.

But it had to end.

You couldn’t go back to the anxiety, the arguing, the petty disagreements. It wasn’t good for you. It was good for either of you.

Stepping away again, you gently kissed his cheek, and started to slowly walk to your car.

Right as you got to your car, you turned around and made eye contact with him one last time before the elevator doors closed, both of you with the most gut wrenching smile slightly plastered across your faces.

You mouthed goodbye, unable to speak it out loud, and he nodded, tears filling his eyes as he whispered it back to you.

The doors shut.

You were all alone in this hollow parking garage.

Your heart was aching, burning.

But there was a sigh of relief, that came with the doors closing, and saying goodbye for the last, last time.

451 notes · View notes

pedrospatch · 1 year ago

Text

a safe haven l nine

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: When you find out that you’re pregnant, everything comes crumbling down around you.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE THAT HEAVILY IMPLIES DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. this chapter it also contains a very uncomfortable scene with reader and Luke, but despite the sexual nature of the scene, READER DOES NOT GET SA, BUT SHE DOES GET INJURED. INJURY there is a description of an injury as the result of DV HEAVILY IMPLYING STRANGULATION. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. pregnancy, mentions of high risk pregnancy (not reader), mentions of child loss (not reader), mentions of pregnancy related symptoms (missed menstrual cycle, morning sickness), protective Tommy Miller, protective Joel, and last but certainly not least, feral Joel. this chapter is a lot, just proceed with caution if anything in bold can be a potential trigger for you.

word count: 11.8k

October, 2024

It’s the middle of October.

By now, the pain had become almost unbearable. Time certainly wasn’t healing the wound.

If anything, time only seemed to be making it worse.

So, so much fucking worse.

It drags, and you almost feel as if you’re paralyzed by it. But the only thing that you can do about it, about any of this, is just pretend.

Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Pretend you don’t feel empty.

Pretend you don’t need him.

But you do need him. Oh, how you fucking need him.

The hole in your heart is growing bigger by the day, and only Joel Miller is capable of filling the void. Only he has the ability to make you feel whole again. Complete.

“Be honest with me—what does this look like?”

You pause your knitting and glance over at Maria.

With her due date approaching, you had offered to help her prepare for the baby’s arrival. At about six months, Maria was expected to give birth towards the middle of winter season, and instead of trading or having to use rations for certain baby items, like blankets, little socks and mittens, you’d decided to show her how to make them instead. Not only was it saving her from having to trade or use her rations on things that could easily be knitted, but it served as a decent, albeit temporary, distraction, giving your mind the chance to focus on something else other than how deeply you were hurting without Joel.

Tilting your head slightly, you eye the soft, butter yellow wool she’s holding in her hands. “Um, is that the start of another baby blanket?”

“No.” Maria’s face falls. “It’s supposed to be a hat.”

“Oh. Um.” You lean forward in the brown leather armchair you’re perched on, squinting hard at it as she holds it up. “Okay, yeah, I can kind of see the shape of it now. I can totally see it being a little hat for the baby.” She tosses you a knowing smile and you squirm slightly, heat prickling at your ears.

“I appreciate you lying to me.” She giggles and sets down her knitting needles beside her on the couch along with the ball of wool yarn. Leaning back, she places both hands on her belly and sighs. “At the very least this child will never go without a blanket seeing as blankets are all I’m capable of making.”

You flash her a small, but reassuring smile.

“You’ll get the hang of it, Maria, I promise. It just takes some practice, that’s all.”

“Well, now that Luke has put me on strict bed rest until I have the baby, I’m going to have all the time in the world to practice,” Maria remarks, exhaling another sigh. Craning her neck, she peers at your own knitting project, which you’ve been working on in something of a secretive manner in your lap and out of the expectant mother’s view. “What are you making over there, anyway?”

Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

“I’m so glad you asked since I’m just about done.”

Crossing the last stitch, you set aside your knitting needles and then hold up the finished product. “What do you think of these?”

Maria’s hand flies to her mouth, tears welling up in her dark eyes the moment she sees the pair of little brown baby booties in your hands. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, a tear rolling down the side of her face as you stand up and walk across her living room to present her with the shoes. Sitting down beside her, you hold them out in the palms of your hands. With trembling fingers, she accepts them. “Kevin had a pair just like these when he was a newborn. I kept them even after he’d outgrown them.” She lets out a small laugh in spite of herself. “You know, I’d always complain that he was growing up too fast. I used to wish that I could slow time down a little so I could enjoy my son being that young longer,” she admits, sniffing. She reaches up, dabbing at her damp eyes with one of her hands. “And now Kevin is frozen in time, forever a three year old little boy.”

She sets the booties down on her belly and inhales deeply, willing herself to keep her composure.

Swallowing back your own emotions, you brush a single, stray tear from her cheek with your thumb. It wasn’t the first time that she’d opened up about losing her child—but Maria often kept her emotions hidden, tucked away along with her son’s memory. For the last several years, she’d dedicated most of her time and energy to Jackson and to its people, pouring herself completely into her role as the community’s leader. But now that Luke had placed her on strict bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy, Maria had no choice but to step down, temporarily handing the role over to Tommy, along with a small council she’d handpicked herself.

It hadn’t been easy for her, after all, there was only so much she could do to keep herself preoccupied while being confined to the four walls of her home. She found her mind wandering to Kevin a lot more often than not lately, and the pregnancy hormones did absolutely nothing to help in the matter.

“Maria?” you say her name softly. “You okay?”

She slowly exhales the breath she’d been holding.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she finally replies, sniffing again.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She pauses momentarily. “I just—there’s a part of me that still has trouble believing I’m going to be a mother again. It’s been so long, you know? What if I’ve forgotten how to be a good mom?”

Dropping your hand from Maria’s face, you offer it out for her to hold. She accepts it and you give her hand a gentle squeeze as you vouch, “This baby, they couldn’t be any luckier than to have a mother like you, Maria.”

“And a fuckin’ hell of a dad like me,” a voice teases from the doorway.

Tommy, who had been down at the commune’s market picking up some potatoes for dinner, saunters into the living room with a brown paper bag in his arm. Setting the bag down onto a nearby table, he then makes his way over to his wife. Noticing that she’d been crying, he leans over and presses his lips against her forehead, softly murmuring, “You doin’ alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m alright,” she assures him with a nod. “I’m just extra sensitive and hormonal right now. The usual.”

He hums. “Uh, yeah, I kinda figured that out when you bawled your way through Old Yeller at the movies the other night.”

She pouts. “Pregnant or not, that movie’s a tear jerker, okay? Only people made of stone don’t cry when the dog dies.”

“She’s got a point, Tommy,” you agree with a shrug. “I cried too, and I’m not pregnant.”

Drawing himself back up to his full height, Tommy glances at the booties resting on Maria’s belly. He picks them up and holds them both in the palm of his hand.

“Well, ain’t these just the teeniest things I ever did see,” he remarks with a soft chuckle. “Who made these?”

Maria jerks her chin towards you. “She did.”

Tommy’s eyes meet yours and it feels like a punch to the fucking gut—they remind you of his brother. “Almost feels like a crime, havin’ you make clothes for our kid for free,” he states, shaking his head as he hands them back to Maria. “You’re makin’ the baby’s entire wardrobe at this point, little lady.”

Sheepishly, you wave a dismissive hand at him. “I made one sweater and a couple pairs of mittens for them. I wouldn’t exactly call that a wardrobe, Tommy.”

“It’s a hell of a lot more stuff than we had before. I gotta be honest, it just don’t feel right acceptin’ all these things from you without payin’ somehow. I’d really like to at least trade you somethin’ for them.”

Shaking your head, you politely decline the offer.

“I appreciate it, but I really don’t need anything.”

“What ‘bout Luke?”

“He doesn’t either.”

“But—”

“Honey, don’t waste your breath,” Maria chimes in with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to get her to accept a trade all week long and she simply won’t budge.”

Tommy purses his lips together, slowly rubbing his chin in thought. “Okay, I’ve got an idea,” he proposes after a minute. “How ‘bout you and Luke both come on over and join us for dinner later tonight? That ain’t too bad of a deal, right?”

You silently mull over the offer for a second.

“If I accept the invitation, then will you two knock it off with all this damn trade nonsense?” When he eagerly nods, you sigh. “Alright then, I accept. We’ll come over for dinner tonight. Granted he doesn’t come home late from the clinic again.”

“Perfect,” he grins. “See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Knowing he only means well, you decide to be a good sport about it and smile at him. “No, Tommy. I suppose it wasn’t.”

“Great!” Maria beams. “We haven’t had a chance to get together for dinner in months. Lately when I see Luke, it’s as his patient,” she muses. “I have to admit, it’ll be so nice to have a conversation with him that doesn’t revolve around my uterus for once.”

Tommy jokingly makes a face. “Yeah. Tell the doc to leave all that medical stuff at the door before he comes over. Last thing I wanna hear ‘bout while I’m chowin’ down on some big, juicy bison steaks is what fuckin’ size my wife’s uterus is—”

“Tommy! That’s not funny!” Rolling her eyes at her husband, Maria turns to you to apologize but she stops short when she notices a sudden, not to mention drastic, change in your complexion. Frowning, she reaches up and touches your cheek. “Hey, you don’t look so good. Are you feeling alright?”

You can taste the bile at the back of your throat.

“I—I’m sorry, what did you just say was for dinner?”

Tommy shoots you a strange look. “Uh, steaks?”

The mere mention of the word sends a violent wave of sickness crashing over you—slapping your hand tightly over your mouth, you scramble to jump off the couch and make a beeline for their downstairs bathroom right across the hallway. You’d made it just in time to fall to your knees in front of the toilet. Clutching the sides of the porcelain bowl, you gag loudly, and the sickening sound of your retching bounces off the walls.

As your stomach heaves, you feel one hand gather your hair to hold it back and out of your face, while the other rubs soothing circles into your back.

“Let it all out,” Maria encourages you. “It’s alright, just let it all out. There you go, get everything out.”

Tommy pokes his head into the bathroom.

“She okay?”

“Tommy! Get out of here!” Maria scolds him over her shoulder. “She doesn’t need an audience!”

He holds up his hands. “Alright, alright! Sheesh, I was just makin’ sure she’s okay, you ain’t gotta bite my head off!” He huffs at her. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you two need me.” Without another word, he spins around on the heel of his boot and disappears.

Once you’re certain there’s nothing left, your trembling hand reaches for the handle on the tank and pulls it down, flushing the toilet. You then sit back, slumping against the wall. “Jesus. I am so fucking sorry. I have no idea what the hell came over me,” you groan, the embarrassment evident in your tone as you wipe at your mouth with the sleeve of your flannel shirt.

Maria peers at you with a suspicious glint in her eyes.

“You know,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, “About five months ago, I went through a phase where I couldn’t stand the thought of meat—any kind, but red meat had to be the worst. I just could not stomach it.” Her hand falls away from your face and she rises to her feet with a labored grunt. Leaning back against the sink, she continues to say, “Poor Tommy, he couldn’t even mention it to me or I’d throw up on his boots. Not long after that, I found out I was pregnant.”

You stare at her, your lips parting slightly. “Maria, you can’t seriously be insinuating—I am not pregnant. No, it’s not possible, you know that I can’t have kids,” you sputter out, furiously shaking your head. “There’s just no fucking way that I’m—”

Maria holds up her hands to stop you. “When was the date of your last menstrual cycle?”

“It was recent.”

“How recent?”

Silently, you start counting the weeks and you freeze the moment you realize you’d missed September completely, and October’s cycle had been due two weeks ago. You’ve been so lost in your own grief, so busy trying to keep yourself from falling apart, that you hadn’t even realized you haven’t bled since—

“August,” you breathe out in a terrified whisper.

The last time you had your period was in August.

August.

Before you had slept with Joel Miller for the first time.

Maria whirls around and starts digging in the medicine cabinet above the sink, and then in the one below it. After a minute of rummaging, she turns back around and extends a hand out to you, offering to help you to your feet. She lets out another grunt as she helps you stand. “I had one left,” she states, holding out her other hand to you, an individually wrapped pregnancy test in her palm. “At this point, I don’t think you even need to take a test, but it doesn’t hurt to have solid proof.”

You can hardly choke out her name. “Maria—”

She hastily shoves the test into your hands. “Just take it. I’ll be back in to check on you, okay?”

Not giving you the chance to protest, she steps out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

You look down at the test in your palm and then up into the mirror, meeting your own wide eyes in the reflection.

It can’t be possible. It just can’t be possible.

You can’t have children.

With shaking hands, you unzip your blue jeans and then tear open the package. Your mind is in such a haze, you have to read the instructions three or four times before the information finally sticks. After taking the test, you lay it down top of the counter with the results window facing down. You pull your panties and jeans back into place and wash your hands using the bar of soap next to the sink—all the while, the sheer panic has started to settle in, the fear that accompanies it seeping deep into your bones.

Swallowing harshly, you realize it’d been well over the three minutes the package had instructed you to wait for the results.

“It’s negative. It’s negative,” you affirm quietly over and over underneath your breath as you pick it up and flip it in your hand. “It’s negative. It’s negative—”

You stop, and for a second, your heart feels like it stops too.

Horrified, you blink furiously, as if somehow you’ve misread the results—but there is no fucking mistaking those two solid little pink lines.

Your blood runs cold in your veins.

You’re pregnant.

Luke hasn’t touched you in months.

And you’re pregnant.

Luke hasn’t touched you in months.

And you are fucking pregnant.

Maria knocks lightly on the bathroom door.

“It’s been a few minutes now—can I come in?”

She waits, only to be met with complete silence.

“Hey, hon.” She knocks again. “Is everything okay?”

Again, there’s no response from the other side of the door.

“Christ, Maria.” Tommy suddenly appears beside her with a glass of water in his hand. Flashing his wife a teasing look, he quips, “Can’t you let the poor girl do her goddamn business in peace? What’s wrong with you, woman?”

Maria frowns. “I think something’s wrong.”

His playful grin falters. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not answering me.”

Tommy chortles, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Maybe ‘cause she’s actually in there doin’ her business?”

Hesitantly, Maria bites down on her bottom lip.

“What? What is it?”

“I gave her a pregnancy test to take.”

Tommy’s eyes widen. “You fuckin’ with me?”

Maria glares at him. “No! I’m not fucking with you, I’m being serious! I gave her the test and then told her I would check back in with her after she took it, but now she’s not answering me and I’m kind of worried.”

“The door locked?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think it is. Should we just open the door and see if she’s okay? I don’t want to barge in there but—”

Tommy hands Maria the glass of water. “Hey,” he calls lightly as he raps on the door with his fist. “Everythin’ alright in there?” He waits for a minute, but when you don’t reply, he grasps the brass doorknob in his hand and says sternly, “Now you listen here, little lady. You had best answer me right now, or we’re gonna have to come in, you understand me?”

Silence.

“Last chance, talk or I’m gonna open this door.”

Nothing.

“Alright then, suit yourself. Hope you’re decent.”

Tommy turns the knob, cracking the door open—when he doesn’t see you, he tries pushing it open further. The door stops halfway, and he peers around it only to find you sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, preventing the door from going any further. “Shit, she’s sittin’ right behind the goddamn—fuckin’ hold on, Maria! If I try shovin’ it open, I could hurt her!” Being careful so as not to hit you or step on you by accident, he squeezes his way into the bathroom. He crouches down beside you, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand. “Hey, what is it? What’s the matter?”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

You can’t speak. You can’t move.

All that you can do is stare at him. Petrified.

“C’mon, little lady,” he coaxes, softly. “Talk to me.”

“Tommy! Let me in!” Maria demands, impatiently. “Can you move her? I can’t squeeze through, my belly is way too big.”

Tommy slides one arm around your shoulders and the other arm under your knees. “I’m just gonna move you out the way so Maria can come in, alright? C’mere.” He gingerly slides you across the tile and cradles the side of your body against his chest. He then calls out to his wife, “There, that should be enough room!”

Maria pushes the door open and rushes inside. “Is she okay?” Gripping Tommy’s shoulder, she slowly lowers herself to kneel beside you. Her eyes go straight to the test clutched in your hand. She just about has to pry your ice cold fingers off the white stick one by one. “It’s positive,” she gasps. “Your results are positive—you’re going to have a baby!”

Tommy lets out a loud, gleeful laugh. “Did’ya hear that, little lady? You’re gonna have a baby! You’re gonna be a mama! Ain’t that great news?”

Finally, you snap out of your trance. Your eyes anxiously bounce between Tommy and Maria, heart pounding as they eagerly wait for your reaction with smiles of pure excitement on their faces.

“I—” Unable to utter another word, you burst into tears.

And they’re certainly not tears of happiness.

No, the sobs coming from deep within you aren’t full of joy at the news that you’re going to be a mother.

They’re pained. Cries full of sorrow, anguish, and fear. As the confusion flashes across their faces, all you can do is weep harder, and louder.

“Wait a minute, I thought you would be happy.” Maria’s hands reach for yours and she holds them tightly as she tries to understand what it is that is causing such a negative reaction. “You and Luke tried for a really long time to have another baby. Why are you so upset?” She keeps her voice calm, kind. Warm. It wasn’t that she was judging you—Maria wants to help you, however there’s no way for her to help you if she doesn’t know what’s causing your grief in the first place. “What’s the matter, honey? Are you afraid after what happened last time?”

“I can’t be pregnant,” you rasp out. “I can’t—”

“Hey now, it’s alright. C’mere.” Tommy shifts and he moves to sit down beside you against the wall. His arm drapes around your trembling shoulders in an effort to comfort you. As your entire body shudders with sobs, he pulls you close against his side, rubbing your arm with his hand. Once they’ve subsided and little hiccups are all that are left, he finally speaks again. “You can talk to us, little lady. ‘Bout anythin’ that’s on your mind. We care ‘bout you a whole lot. Y’know that, don’t you?”

“Tommy’s right,” Maria nods. “You’re like family to us. You can come to us about anything. We’ll do whatever we can to help you, okay?”

You shake your head tightly. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

She lets out a small sigh and glances at her husband with a look of defeat. “I think you should run down to the clinic and get Luke. He’ll know what to do to calm her down.”

“No!” you shout loudly, startling them both. “I—Luke can’t find out that I’m pregnant. He just can’t know, or else—” A fresh batch of tears spring forward as you clamp a hand over your mouth, muffling another wail.

“Or else what?” Maria asks, raising an eyebrow.

Or else he was going to fucking kill you.

Tommy grabs your wrist, gently tugging it away from your face. “Or else what?” He echoes his wife. “What is goin’ on? Is there somethin’ we should know ‘bout?”

Yet another sob escapes you and his fingers curl tighter around your wrist, firmly, but he’s careful not to be too harsh.

“We’re gonna need you to tell us what’s goin’ on.”

There’s no way around it. Around any of it.

You have to tell them.

Swallowing harshly, you admit, “There is.”

The couple waits expectantly.

“The baby isn’t Luke’s.” You mumble it so quietly and incoherently that neither of them hear it despite being in such close proximity.

Maria furrows an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

“The baby isn’t Luke’s!” You cry out, yanking your wrist out of Tommy’s hand. “This baby isn’t his and that’s why he can’t fucking know!”

And just like that, the truth comes tumbling out.

Luke’s violence towards you.

Your romantic affair with Joel.

Ellie discovering the abuse and telling him about it.

Your stubborn refusal to let either of them do anything to help you.

You spare no details of everything that had taken place over the last several months, and by the time you had finally finished, both Tommy and Maria were rendered completely speechless.

“Can one of you say something? Please? Anything at all?” Your voice is small, feeble.

After a minute, Tommy pulls his arm from around your shoulders and stands up. He helps Maria up to her feet before he extends his hand to you. “Alright, first thing’s first. Let me get you up off this floor, little lady.”

His voice is soft, and so is his gaze.

“Tommy how can you—after everything that I’ve done? Your brother—”

“Please. Just let me help you off the floor and then we can talk ‘bout it. Okay?”

You accept his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t let it go as he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the living room where he sits you down on the couch. Maria, who hasn’t said a single word, takes a seat beside you.

Tommy kneels down in front of you, placing a warm and gentle hand on your leg. He almost looks a little bit guilty, as if he should have known what was being done to you behind closed doors. “Look, m’gonna ask you a question and I need an honest answer. How long has he been doin’ this to you?”

Anxiously, you start wringing your hands in your lap.

“Tommy, I can’t. Please, don’t—”

“Tell me,” he encourages you, softly. “When did it first start?”

Your throat bobs. “Two months after my dad died,” you confess, another tear rolling down the side of your face.

Maria stiffens. “Luke has been putting his hands on you for two years?”

“Yes.”

You can hear the shame in your own voice—shame for letting the abuse go on as long as it has, for everything to come to light like this.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Tommy sighs heavily and hangs his head. “Joel told me. He fuckin’ told me.”

You wipe at your swollen eyes with your forearm.

“What are you talking about, Tommy?”

He sighs again.

“Months ago, the day after the big summer party,” he begins to explain. “We were at the bar. Joel was askin’ me ‘bout you and Luke. Said somethin’ just wasn’t right when he saw you two together for the first time. He tried to tell me somethin’ was wrong and I—I didn’t fuckin’ believe him. Told him he was seein’ what he wanted to see ‘cause I knew he liked you. I fuckin’ told him that you and Luke were happy. He tried to tell me and I didn’t fuckin’ listen to him.”

“Tommy, please don’t blame yourself for this,” you beg him. “I’m the one who chose to hide it. This is my own fault, okay? This is all on me, not on you.”

Maria furiously shakes her head. “It’s not your fault and it sure as hell isn’t on you. You’re the victim here.”

Victim.

The word makes you cringe.

“But it is my fault, Maria. I hid it from you guys for two fucking years.”

“But why? Why did you hide it? Why didn’t you come to us?” Tommy’s voice is strained. “You should’ve told us what he was doin’ to you. We—I could’a done somethin’ to stop it. I could’a helped you.”

“Because. I didn’t want to risk getting him thrown out of the community. Jackson needs him, Tommy.”

“Like hell we do,” Tommy rises to his feet. “Ain’t no way that we’re gonna tolerate that fuckin’ shit here.” With his hands curled tightly into fists, he spins around and starts heading towards the front door.

You stand and chase after him, catching him just as he opens it. “Where the hell are you going?”

“To confront that pathetic son of a bitch—”

“Tommy, please! Don’t do that.” Grabbing his arm, you shoot him a pleading look. “Please, think about this for a minute.”

“Ain’t nothin’ for me to fuckin’ think ‘bout, alright?”

“Yes, there fucking is! This town needs a doctor. They need Luke—Maria needs Luke.” You glance over at her just as she appears in the hallway with both hands on her belly. “God forbid that something goes wrong—she goes into preterm labor or she has a complication when she gives birth. Did you think about that?”

“We’ve got two nurses,” he reminds you.

“Two nurses who only know basic neonatal care. That’s it. If something serious happens, Maria’s going to need Luke. And the baby’s going to need him too.”

You knew you’d gotten your point across when Tommy turns to his wife, helplessly.

“Fuck,” he curses, slamming the door shut. “She’s right. I fuckin’ hate to say it, but she’s right ‘bout that.”

“I am right,” you state and his attention flits back to you. “Luke has to stay and you both know that as well as I do. For the good of Jackson, he has to stay.”

Conflicted, Tommy growls out in frustration. “So what, I’m just s’pposed to give him a fuckin’ pass? How the hell can you expect us—how can you expect me to let that motherfucker walk around this place knowin’ what he’s been doin’ to you over these last two years?”

Your fingers dig into his arm, a fresh batch of hot tears stinging your eyes. “Tommy, if this community suffers without Luke because of me, it will destroy me. The guilt will fucking destroy me.”

Finally, Maria decides to step in. “Listen, I know that you’re trying to look out for the people of this town and I get that. But you’re risking your own life by asking us to let him stay here.” She walks over to you, taking your hands in hers. “Honey, I know men like Luke because I used to prosecute men like Luke. I would take them to court on murder charges.” Her eyes find yours. “I don’t want to scare you, but if that is the only way for me to get through to you, then I will sit you down and I will tell you all about what happened to the women who swore to me their abusive husbands would never, ever take it that far.”

You swallow harshly and a chill runs up your spine.

“I’ll leave,” you squeak. “I’ll leave him.”

“And what if he doesn’t let you walk away?”

Tommy crosses his arms over his chest. “He will if I’m the one who fuckin’ talks to him. I ain’t gonna give him the choice. He has to let her go.”

Panicked, you furiously shake your head. “No! I can do this on my own, Tommy. I can handle him alone. I don’t need you to do it for me. I can fix this without your help, okay?”

“You can’t,” he says, firmly. “You just can’t.”

“Yes, I can—”

He cuts you off with a pleading look.

“You need to let us help you. Please. Let us help you.”

You had agreed to it, but only on one condition.

“I need a couple of days,” you’d told them.

Tommy frowned. “No. It’s happenin’ tonight. We’re gonna talk to Luke, you’re gonna pack up a couple bags, and we’re gettin’ you away from him. You can stay here with us for a while. You’ll be safe.” Taking notice of the shocked look on your face, he said, “I know you ain’t crazy enough to think I’m gonna let you go home to him tonight. Ain’t no way in hell.”

“I—this is all happening so fast. It’s too overwhelming, Tommy. I just need a day or two to process everything before I take that leap.”

“And give Luke the fuckin’ chance to hurt you again?”

“He hasn’t laid a finger on me in weeks now.”

Tommy scoffed, “Well, someone give him a fuckin’ medal!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “He hasn’t hit his wife in weeks! What a fuckin’ guy!”

You recoiled, his sarcasm stinging like he’d poured salt straight into the open wound.

“Tommy,” Maria glared at him. “Not helping.”

He immediately shot you an apologetic look.

“Shit. Sorry, little lady. I’m just real worried ‘bout you. I don’t like the idea of you goin’ home to him tonight, and much less knowin’ that you’re pregnant, y’know?” His eyes had fallen to your stomach with sudden curiosity. “When, uh—when do you plan on tellin’ Joel ‘bout the baby, anyway?”

Heat flooded your face and neck.

“I—I’m not really sure about that yet.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy! She just told you that she’s feeling overwhelmed,” Maria chastised him. “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay? Our first priority is going to be to get her out of that house. She has already agreed to letting us help her, so I think there’s a bit of room for compromise. Here’s the deal.” She put a hand on your shoulder. “As much as I don’t want to let you go home to him tonight either, I’m going to allow it so you can take a breather. Tomorrow in the afternoon when you get home from work duty, I’ll come over and help you pack some clothes and necessities, and we can bring them over here to our place.”

Nervously chewing your lower lip, you asked, “And then what?”

“I’ll go confront Luke,” Tommy stated. “Best if you ain’t there when I talk to him, little lady.” He turned to Maria, placing a hand on her belly. “I don’t want you to be there either, sweetheart. I ain’t takin’ any chances and puttin’ you and the baby under stress so I’m gonna have to handle him alone, alright?”

Maria nodded, shifting her attention back to you. “So? Do we have a deal?”

Meekly, you had nodded in agreement. “Yes. We have a deal.”

The rest of that evening passes by in a blur.

Autopilot had taken over the moment that Tommy took you across the road and dropped you off at your door.

“Any problems, you come get me,” he’d said. “You come and get me. No matter what time it is, alright? You fuckin’ come and get me if he tries anythin’.”

All that you could do was give him a weak nod and then you’d turned around, slipping into the house.

You don’t remember cooking dinner.

You don’t remember looking at the clock, noticing it was well past dinnertime and realizing that Luke would be home late as usual. You don’t remember fixing him a plate and leaving it on top of the stove for him to find when he came home, storing all of the leftovers, and washing the small pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

You don’t remember heading upstairs afterwards, you don't remember taking a long shower, brushing your teeth or changing into your pajamas.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the bedroom door opened and Luke walked in, that autopilot finally disengaged.

“You’re still up?”

You’d been sitting on the foot of the bed anxiously picking at your fingernails without even realizing it until he glared at you—he’d always hated the habit and spent months smacking it out of you.

Ceasing from messing with your hands, you drop them into your lap.

“You’re home really late again,” you say, quietly.

“I made a last minute house call. John’s little boy came down with a hell of a fever tonight.” Luke sets down his satchel bag and shrugs out of his jacket—as he does so, you catch sight of the tiny, reddish purple bruise on his neck, right below his ear. Draping his jacket over a nearby chair, he arches his brow as if he were silently challenging you to confront him, as if he’s daring you to ask him who had given him a love bite.

You don’t care. You don’t care about what or who Luke has been doing over the last several nights when he’s been coming home so much later than usual.

Kicking off his black boots, he saunters over to you, his mouth stretching into a cruel, satisfied little smirk.

Oh, he knows damn well you’ve already figured it out.

He wanted you to figure it out.

“Spend the afternoon at Tommy and Maria’s again?”

“Yes. I did.”

“I see.” He hums. “She was telling me during her exam this morning at the clinic that you’ve been helping her knit some clothes for the baby. Is that so?”

“I have,” you murmur, looking down to avert his curious gaze as he stops in front of you. “We’ve been making blankets for the baby, too.”

Luke cups your chin, forcing your eyes back up to meet his. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you.” He roughly curls his fingers around your jaw, his thumb brushing along your quivering lower lip. He hums again. “Something about you seems different, darling. Been looking a lot prettier to me these days.” He lets go of your jaw and brushes your hair behind your shoulder, his finger skimming the strap of your cotton pajama top. “How long has it been now, sweetheart?”

Your throat goes dry, your lips parting in shock as Luke pulls it down your arm, his palm grazing over your skin.

No. This can’t be happening. He wants to—?

Without waiting for a response, Luke grabs one of your hands and places it over his belt buckle.

Noticing your expression, he laughs again. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“You—you haven’t wanted to touch me in months.”

Luke shrugs. “Well, what can I say? I’m suddenly in the mood for my pretty little wife’s cunt.” His grin stretches from ear to ear. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky this time. Maybe we’ll have a little one of our own running around this place. I’m feeling rather optimistic tonight.”

You’re going to be fucking sick all over him.

No, you can’t let him do this to you.

You can’t let him touch you.

He pushes your hand lower, right over his bulge.

“No!” Tearing your hand away, you jump up and roughly shove him away from you. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

He stumbles backwards, but he catches himself before he can fall.

Your chest heaves a d he stares at you, bewildered at what you had just done. “I’m so sorry that whoever you fucked before you came home wasn’t enough for you, but you are not fucking touching me,” you spit at him. “In fact, you’re never touching me ever again because I’m leaving. I’m done, Luke.”

“Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me.” Your voice trembles—you can’t be sure if it trembles out of anger or out of the sheer terror you feel. Maybe it’s a bit of both. “It’s over, Luke. This marriage is fucking over. I’m not putting up with what you’ve been doing to me for the past two years. I’m not going to tolerate it. Not anymore. I’m not going to allow you to keep on hurting me.” Lifting your hand, you slide your wedding band off of your finger and toss it at him. It clinks as it lands on the hardwood floor near his feet. “I’ll be out of the house by tomorrow evening.”

“Let me take a guess.” He speaks calmly, much too calmly, as he starts towards you. The time bomb has started ticking. “You’re going to move in with Joel Miller and his feral little rat of a kid?”

Hands curling into fists at your sides, you seethe, “Where I move is none of your fucking business, Luke.” He steps closer and your courage starts to falter. You can feel yourself wanting to back down—the thought of your unborn child is the only thing that keeps you from completely losing your nerve. “Here is the deal. You’re going to let me leave and you’re going to stay the fuck away from me. If you do that, then I won’t tell anyone anything about the things you’ve done to me. It’ll be like none of it ever happened. We both move on with our lives. Separately. Got it?”

He draws closer and closer. Much too close.

“Oh, you silly, silly girl,” he tsks. “Do you really think you can call the shots? Do you really fucking think you have the upper hand here? That you can make the decision to end this marriage, just like that?”

Closer, until his chest brushes against yours.

“Luke, I’m giving you a fucking chance here,” you say, backing away until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. With nowhere else to go, to run, you fall backwards onto the bed, scrambling up towards the headboard. Your heart is pounding, too hard and too fast—would it give out before he even has the chance to get his hands on you? “Luke, please, just let me go.” Clasping your hands together in a plea, you beg him, your back pressed against the headboard, “If at any point in our relationship you loved me—if at any point in our marriage you actually cared about me, you will fucking let me go in peace. Please. Just let me go. Let me fucking go.”

Luke stands at the foot of the bed, his face blank.

Emotionless. There isn’t a single ounce of compassion in his eyes. No mercy.

“Please,” you whisper once more. Curling both of your arms around yourself, you subconsciously protect your belly.

Luke reaches down and unbuckles his belt.

You watch, your stomach churning, as he slowly slides the black leather from the loops of his jeans.

“I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke.”

Joel clutches his stallion’s reins tightly in his hands as the pair fall into a slow, easy trot behind Tommy and his horse, Ranger.

He follows his brother as he leads the way through the quiet, tranquil plains of Wyoming. Instead of scanning their surroundings for signs of potential danger, all Joel can do is think about you—that was all he could ever do these days, was fucking think about you and about that fucking night.

The memory plays over and over in his mind on a loop, torturing him day in and day out. It never fucking stops. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

“I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke. And maybe it’s for the best if you just fucking stay away from me too.”

That’s precisely what he had done. He had stayed away from Luke. And against his better judgement, he had stayed away from you, too.

“How’s it feel to be back out here?” Tommy asks over his shoulder. He tugs at the reins and gives Ranger the cue to slow his trot, giving Joel and his horse, Bandit, the chance to catch up and ride at their side. “Bet you couldn’t be fuckin’ happier to be off house arrest, huh?” he adds, a light joking edge to his tone.

After about four and a half weeks, Joel had made a full recovery, and he was cleared to return to patrol duties. Wanting to ease him back into the swing of things after so much time off, Tommy decided to pair up with Joel as his partner for that morning’s watch. The two took a route just a few miles west of the community, one that was scoured every couple of days since it was so close to Jackson’s main gate.

“S’alright,” he mutters with a shrug that causes him to wince. His shoulder’s still a little sore. Ellie had assisted with his physical therapy, badgering him every single night to do the exercises in some book she’d found in the town’s library with Dina’s help. He had full range of motion again, and that’s all Tommy had needed in order to allow him to return to patrol.

“You feelin’ alright?” His brother notices the slight look of discomfort on his face. “Shoulder’s good?”

“Any particular reason you’re bein’ so annoyin’ today?”

Tommy feigns offense. “You got fuckin’ shot, Joel. Just makin’ sure you’re okay. Jesus.”

Joel lets out a small huff through his nose. “M’fine,” he assures him. “Shoulder’s good. Still hurts a little and the cold weather ain’t doin’ a whole lot to help, but ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.” Sitting back in his saddle, he lets his thighs close around Bandit. “Whoa,” he utters to the animal, his fingers squeezing the reins as he signals for Bandit to come to a halt.

“What’s the matter? Why are we stoppin’?”

“This route’s clear, Tommy. We should turn around and go find the rest of the group. Check and see if the other routes are clear too.” Joel clicks his tongue, prompting Bandit to move again. He steers the stallion and starts turning around to lead them back east, but then stops once more. He glimpses over at Tommy, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Noticing the odd, pensive expression on his face, Joel frowns, asking, “What’s wrong?”

Tommy chews the inside of his cheek, his apprehension written all over his face. “Uh Joel, there’s something we need to talk ‘bout and maybe it’s best if we do it while we’re out here, just the two of us.”

Confused, Joel’s eyebrows pull together. “What is it?”

His brother hesitates. His lips purse together, a sudden look of regret flashing across his features.

“Tommy?” Joel prompts. “The hell’s goin’ on?”

Exhaling a heavy sigh, he states, “You were right.”

“Right ‘bout what?”

“‘Bout Luke.”

Joel freezes in the seat of his saddle.

“You were fuckin’ right ‘bout him mistreatin’ her.”

His grip around the reins tightens, skin stretching thin over his knuckles so tight they’d gone white.

“She was over at mine yesterday afternoon. Ended up tellin’ me and Maria everthin’ ‘bout Luke and what he’s done.” Rolling his lower lip between his teeth, Tommy pauses for a second before repeating, “You were right. You were fuckin’ right ‘bout that bastard from the start and I’m real sorry that I didn’t fuckin’ believe you, Joel.”

Joel’s mind begins to race.

What had prompted you to finally tell Tommy and Maria about the abuse? Did something happen to you that he didn’t know about?

Ellie had been pretty good about keeping him posted. He would ask her about you the very minute she’d walk through the front door after her shift at the stables and she would provide him a full report.

“She’s fine. She ain’t hurt,” Tommy reassures him, as if he’d read his mind. “We’re plannin’ on movin’ her outta the house later on tonight.”

“What?” Finally, Joel speaks, his voice rigid.

Tommy holds his hands up in defense. “Now, hold on. I need you to give me a minute and let me explain—”

“She told you Luke’s been abusin’ her and you just let her go back to him? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Why didn’t you and Maria fuckin’ stop her?”

“Why didn’t you fuckin’ stop her the night you saw the bruise on her?” He shoots back at him.

Joel stares at him, his lips parting slightly.

How did he fucking know about that?

“She told us the truth ‘bout the affair too, Joel.”

“She did?”

“She did,” Tommy confirms with a nod. “I had a hunch, y’know. The day of the ambush, I thought I saw panic in her eyes when I told Ellie you’d been shot. Then I saw it again when she saw you there sittin’ on that table with a bullet in your shoulder, but I brushed it off. Thought she was just real worried ‘bout the kid seein’ as those two are thick as fuckin’ thieves, y’know?” Despite the serious nature of the conversation, he can’t help but let out a chuckle when he thinks of you and Ellie. “But now I know she was scared of losin’ you. That girl loves you, Joel. I know you love her too. I’m willin’ to bet it’s the reason you let her walk away that night. Why you kept her secret.”

“Jesus.” Joel exhales a shaky breath. “Y’must think I’m a real fuckin’ coward for knowin’ what he’s been doin’ to her and not doin’ a goddamn thing ‘bout it, huh?”

Tommy shakes his head.

“It’s a complicated situation, brother. She only did what she did for the good of the community. She’s still trying to do what’s best for Jackson, believe it or not. She, uh, she wants us to let Luke stay.”

“She wants you to let him stay?”

“Girl’s got too big of a heart. Doesn’t want the town to be without a doctor.”

“Ain’t no goddamn way you’d let him stay! After all the fuckin’ shit he’s done to her?” When his brother doesn’t respond, Joel narrows his eyes at him. “Jesus Christ. You can’t fuckin’ tell me you’re actually considerin’ it? Are you fuckin’ serious, Tommy? You and Maria would let that son of a bitch stay in Jackson? Knowin’ he’s spent two fuckin’ years puttin’ his hands on his wife?”

“Look here, alright? I don’t like the idea as much as you don’t, and neither does Maria,” he says. “But this ain’t exactly black and white, Joel. I really fuckin’ wish it was. But the hard truth is that Jackson does need a doctor, and unless one magically falls out of the fuckin’ sky, we ain’t got much of a choice here. My wife and child, they might need him, y’know? Maria’s considered a high risk ‘cause of her age. If somethin’ happens and there’s complications when she’s in labor, she and the baby are gonna need him. Our nurses, they ain’t really trained to handle things like that, y’know?”

Joel’s lips press together into a tight, thin line.

Of course it’s black and white to him—because he loves you. You’re his fucking priority. There’s no gray area for him. None.

But Tommy? His priority is Maria and their unborn child.

Joel can’t fault him for that, and he certainly isn’t going to try. But what about you?

“Listen, Joel. I know this is real fuckin’ hard, believe me I do. I care about that girl a lot, a whole fuckin’ lot. I saw her as family long before I knew ‘bout your relationship with her and before I knew she was—”

He stops abruptly, red splotching his cheeks.

Joel still doesn’t know he is going to be a father. Again.

“Before you knew she was what, Tommy?”

“Tommy!” A woman’s voice shouts. “Joel! Over here!”

The two brothers glance over their shoulders and see the rest of their morning patrol group heading towards them.

Tommy bites back a sigh of utter relief. That had been too fucking close.

He turns to Joel, lowering his voice. “Joel, I need you to listen, and listen to me real good. We’ve gotta take this one step at a time. First thing’s first, me and Maria are gonna get her outta that house. She can stay with us at our place for a while. She’ll be safe with us. That much I can promise you.”

“Then what?”

“Don’t know yet. We get her out first and then we figure things out from there. In the meantime, I’m gonna need you to stay calm, Joel. Please. Don’t go off and do somethin’ stupid, alright?”

That had been a lot easier said than done.

Joel needed to talk to you.

He needed to fucking see you.

But his brother had been adamant.

“Don’t fuckin’ get involved, Joel. Not ‘til we get her out. I don’t want things to fuckin’ explode in our faces, alright? Let me handle this.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel leans back into the couch and looks down at the guitar in his lap—he’d just spent the last hour carefully polishing it in an effort to keep himself occupied. He thought back to that night you’d come over to gift it to him, how he had kissed you for the first time mere hours before you showed up on his doorstep with your father’s Gibson.

As he gives the guitar a gentle test strum, he recalls the request you made for him to sing you a song and a dull ache settles in his chest, right over his heart. He’ll sing you every song you want to hear, if given the chance.

Part of him is optimistic that he would get the chance.

You were meant to be his. He was meant to be yours.

He just fucking knows it.

Joel’s train of thought is shattered by the sound of the front door opening, and then loudly slamming shut.

“Ellie?” He calls out.

Her voice comes from the hallway. “Yeah?”

“C’mere, kiddo.”

Ellie grumbles incoherently as she walks into the living room, hair disheveled, clothes filthy, and her sneakers caked with muck from the stables.

Joel frowns at her. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Today was just really fucking shitty and while that was a great pun, for once, it was not fucking intended,” she sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you called me in here to ask me about her, I’d save my breath. She stayed home today. She’s sick.”

Joel’s stomach instantly drops. “She’s sick?”

“Yeah. With like a really bad cold or something.”

Putting down the guitar, he questions, “And who told you that?”

“Dina,” Ellie replies, looking puzzled. “She said Luke told her—” She stops abruptly as he jumps to his feet and immediately shoves past her, heading towards the front door. She spins around on her heel, following him. As he flies down the porch and starts down the road towards your house, she is forced to jog along beside him just to keep up with his stride. “What, what? What is it? Fucking answer me, Joel, what is it?”

“She ain’t fuckin’ sick, Ellie.”

“What do you mean she’s not—oh fuck. You don’t think she’s hiding out at home because—?” Ellie’s heartbeat stutters when the realization sinks in. “Luke.”

When the pair arrive at your place, they find a very, very distraught Maria Miller standing on the front porch, her hands wrapped around the doorknob. “Hon, I need you to let me in!” She turns and pulls the knob, desperately. “Please! Open the door for me!”

Your tearful voice comes from the other side. “Go away, Maria!”

The sound of Joel’s boots prompt Maria to turn around. “Joel,” she breathes out his name in relief. “I can’t get her to open the door. Tommy went to see if we have a spare key for the unit. He hasn’t come back and I don’t know what to do.”

“Break a fucking window, maybe?” Ellie snaps at her.

Joel silences her with a glare and then takes Maria by her arms, moving her to stand behind him. “Open the goddamn door!” he commands firmly, pounding his fist harshly against the wood. He can almost feel the way you freeze on the other side the moment you hear the sound of his voice. “Open this fuckin’ door right now!”

Ellie chimes in, “Come on, please open the door!”

“Go away!”

Joel continues to beat his fists against the door. “Show me what he fuckin’ did to you!” He shouts as he drops his hands to the doorknob, clawing at it as if somehow that’s going to do the trick and open the door. “C’mon! Show me what that fuckin’ bastard did to you!”

“Please, go away, all of you! Just leave me alone!”

“You know we can’t do that,” Maria calls. “You’re going to have to open this door and let us—”

Losing what very little patience he has to begin with in the first place, Joel cuts her off. “I will fuckin’ break this door down if I have to,” he threatens. “I’ll cause a scene and let everyone in this whole fuckin’ town know what Luke does to you. Is that what you want?”

He hears the lock click almost instantly.

Finally, you crack the door open and peek out to show them your face. “There, you fucking see?” Your face is blotchy, your eyes red and swollen from crying. “I’m fucking fine! Now fucking go away!”

You try shutting the door, but Joel is too quick and slips the toe of his boot in, wedging it between the door and the doorframe.

“Move, Joel!”

“Nope,” he says, keeping it planted firmly in place.

Not wanting to break his foot, you let up and he shoves his way inside with Ellie and Maria trailing behind him.

Taking a clumsy step backwards, you gather up the front of your knitted cardigan in your trembling hands, bunching it around your neck to conceal it. “Get out! Please, just get out!” you beg them through your sobs. “Please leave! I’m fine! Look at me, I’m perfectly fine—”

Heart hammering painfully against his sternum, Joel walks over and he takes your wrists. “Let me see. Baby, please. Just let me see.” His voice is raw, thick, as if he were on the verge of tears himself. He just knows he’s failed you, failed to keep all those promises he had made about never letting anything bad happen to you. He’s fucking failed. Again. He tries to find your gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. “Let me see,” he chokes out again, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast against the iciness of your own. “I’ll force you if I have to, so please just show me. Please, just fuckin’ show me what he did to you.”

Letting out another agonized sob, you drop your hands and let go of the material, letting it fall back into place at your sides and exposing your injury.

Maria gasps into her hands. “God.”

“Fuck.” Ellie’s eyes widen in complete horror.

Joel drops your wrists, taking a step backwards as his eyes glaze over the severe discoloration around your neck.

He feels fucking sick to his stomach, but it isn’t until he notices the clear imprint of a square belt buckle on the column of your throat that Joel thinks he might actually be sick all over the floor.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Luke’s voice suddenly echoes through the foyer. He stands near the front door, looking thoroughly confused—that is, until he sees you standing there, exposing what he had done to you the night before with his belt. The very same belt he’s wearing now.

No one has the chance to speak.

No one has the chance to think.

No one even has the chance to breathe.

Joel charges at Luke. He roughly snatches the collar of his jacket and pulls him further into the foyer of the house, away from the open front door so that he has nowhere to run.

You rush towards them. “Joel, stop! No!”

Maria quickly hurries to stop you, grabbing you by the back of your sweater. She yanks you back and out of harm’s way. “Don’t!”

Horrified, you watch as Joel slams Luke straight into the mirror hanging on the wall—head first. He pulls him forward, then slams him back even harder, the impact completely shattering the glass. Hundreds of shards go flying across the hardwood floor.

“Oh shit! Watch out!” Ellie jumps back as a sharp piece of broken glass lands between her sneakers.

“Joel, stop it! Please, stop!” you cry out as Maria grasps your arm to keep you from jumping in the middle of the altercation. “Stop it!”

But Joel is too far gone. Ignoring your desperate cries, he wraps one hand around Luke’s neck, holding him in place. His other hand curls into a tight fist and he starts delivering bone shattering blow after bone shattering blow to his face. “You wanna fuckin’ hit someone?” He snarls as the man’s nose cracks beneath his knuckles. “You wanna fuckin’ put your hands on someone? Huh? Then you fuckin’ put ‘em on me! C’mon, I fuckin’ dare you to put ‘em on me!”

Throwing Luke onto the floor, Joel climbs on top of him and he secures both of his hands around his throat. He feels the uncontrollable urge to do to him what he had done to you—only, unlike Luke, he doesn’t need a belt, and unlike Luke, he isn’t going to stop.

He isn’t going to let him live.

Joel squeezes Luke’s neck, cutting off his oxygen.

“How do you fuckin’ like it,” he hisses, irises going from brown to black as he presses harder on his windpipe. “C’mon, tough guy, tell me how you fuckin’ like it.”

Luke feebly claws and scratches at his hands, gurgling as blood starts coming out of his nose and mouth.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy rushes into the house, his boots scraping against the floor as he skids to halt. Without hesitating, he jumps into action. “Joel, stop! Fuckin’ let him go! Let him go!” He reaches down to pull him off.

“Look at what he did to her! Fuckin’ look at her!”

Tommy turns his attention to you, and the color drains from his face. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes out, shocked by the mark around your neck. He has half a mind to step back and allow Joel to finish the job, but with you, Ellie, and Maria watching on in terror, Tommy doesn’t have a choice. He grabs fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt and tries to tug him off the man he’s about to kill. “Fuckin’ let him go, Joel! Right now! That’s an order!”

Luke’s attempts to fight him off grow weaker. His face is beaten beyond recognition, and there’s a pool of dark red growing under him, dripping from a deep laceration he’d sustained from the being slammed head first into the mirror. His hands fall from around Joel’s wrists. He’s close to losing complete consciousness.

“Joel, let him go!” Tommy bellows. “Now!”

“Tommy, be careful!” Maria warns him, worriedly.

Somehow, he finally manages to peel Joel off Luke. He shoves him up against the nearest wall, pinning him in place. Behind him, Luke coughs and sputters violently, gasping as he frantically tries to breathe some air back into his lungs.

“Fuckin’ let go of me!” Joel growls, his eyes wild as he drives his fists into Tommy’s chest. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him! Let me fuckin’ go!”

Tommy cups Joel’s face in his hands and tries to meet his gaze. “Hey, look at me, I need you to calm the fuck down—I said fuckin’ look at me, Joel!” He demands. “I need you to calm the fuck down. I know that he fuckin’ deserves it, alright? Trust me, it’s takin’ all the strength I’ve got in me not to fuckin’ let go, let you kill the son of a bitch. Hell, there’s a part of me that wants to help you fuckin’ do it! But it ain’t the way we handle things here. M’gonna need you to take a breath and calm down, big brother. If anythin’, just do it for her sake, alright?”

Joel’s chest heaves, his breaths rough and ragged as his eyes flicker over to you. His heart sinks at the sight of you sobbing uncontrollably in Ellie and Maria’s arms.

Groaning, Luke rolls over onto his stomach and spits a mouthful of blood into the floor. “You can fucking have her,” he rasps, looking up at Joel through swollen eyes. “Keep her. Keep the useless little whore.”

Blinded by white hot rage, Joel starts thrashing around in Tommy’s grasp and tries to break loose. “Fuckin’ call her that again you fuckin’ son of a bitch—”

“Shit.” Dropping her arms from around you, Ellie steps forward, standing protectively in front of both you and Maria.

“Get the fuck off me, Tommy! M’gonna fuckin’ kill him!”

Maria tucks your face into her shoulder. “Don’t watch.”

“Joel, fuckin’ stop it already!” Tommy struggles to keep him in place. “You’re scarin’ her half to death!”

“I don’t fuckin’ care—”

Tommy’s fingers curl around the collar of his shirt. He slams Joel back against the wall so hard, the mirror, or at least what’s left of it, falls. The square frame breaks in half when it hits the floor.

“Well, you should fuckin’ care! She’s pregnant, Joel.”

You lift your head from Maria’s shoulder. “Tommy.”

Ellie spins around on her heel to face you. She stares at you with wide, round eyes. “You’re fucking pregnant?”

Joel looks over at you. Just as shocked, if not more.

“What?”

Tommy grabs his chin, forcing his older brother to look at him once more. “It’s true,” he murmurs quietly. “So please, just take a goddamn breath and calm the fuck down. For her sake—and for the sake of your child.” He releases Joel’s shirt and takes a careful step backwards towards Luke, who is still groaning in pain on the floor. Once he realizes Joel isn’t going to charge him again, Tommy turns around and grabs the injured man by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him up to his feet in a rough, careless manner. “Get the fuck up,” he says. He drags him towards the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Tommy? Where are you taking him?” Maria questions him.

“Town jail. M’gonna throw his sorry ass in a fuckin’ cell and leave him in there ‘til we figure out what to do with him.” He glances over his shoulder. “I’ll get the council together for an emergency meetin’ tonight.”

“Jesus,” Ellie mutters under her breath as soon as they disappear. “Did this really just fucking happen?”

Chest still heaving, Joel glances down at his bloodied, torn knuckles and then turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. The tension between the two of you is almost palpable.

Maria lightly clears her throat. “We should probably get out of here,” she suggests. “Let’s head on over to mine and Tommy’s while we wait for him to get back.”

“Are you cold?” Ellie asks, worriedly.

She holds up a blue fleece throw blanket she’d dug out from the hallway closet despite you warning her not to snoop around the house while Maria’s in the bathroom tending to Joel’s hand.

Shaking your head, you sigh, “I’m fine.”

“But it’s cold in here.” She drapes the blanket over your hunched shoulders. “Can I get you something? Water? Are you hungry? You should probably eat something—”

“Ellie, please stop with all the fussing.” You pat the spot on the couch beside you. “Just sit here with me. That’s all I need right now.”

Nodding, she sits down and angles herself toward you, getting a closer look at the wound you’d been left with.

“Shit,” Ellie mutters under her breath. Grimacing, she lifts a hand and gingerly presses her fingertips to your neck in disbelief. “Fuck, dude. How bad does it hurt?” She touches a particularly sore spot on the column of your throat and you hiss in pain. She retracts her hand and sputters an apology, “Fuck, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Wincing, you assure her, “It’s fine. It’s just a little tender right now, that’s all.”

“A little?” she scoffs.

“Okay, maybe more than a little,” you admit.

Ellie observes you for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“It’ll heal, Ellie. It looks worse than it really is.”

“No, I mean—” Pausing, Ellie moves her hand, placing it on your stomach. “Is the baby okay?”

You glance down at yourself, almost as if you expected to see something different about yourself, but then you remember you’re only about six weeks along and there is nothing to see, no significant changes to your body. Perhaps it’s the reason why there’s a part of you having a hard time grasping that Ellie’s asking if the baby was okay. If your baby is okay.

After a minute, you nod. “Yeah, I think so,” you reply softly, putting a hand over hers.

Relieved, Ellie flashes you a small smile. “Good.”

“How are you two doing in here?” Maria appears in the living room with Joel trailing behind her. His right hand is wrapped up in a white bandage.

“We’re okay.” Ellie glances at Joel. “You okay?”

He gives a quick, subtle nod of his head. “M’fine.”

“We can take her home now, right?” When Ellie doesn’t ge the immediate response she’s seeking, she shoots him a tiny little glare. “She’s coming home with us, isn’t she? I mean, she fucking has to come home with us.”

He still doesn’t answer her question.

All Joel can do is stare at you, jaw clenched and his lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

“Hey, Ellie, how about we go into the kitchen and make some tea?” Maria beckons to her with her hand.

She snorts. “Seriously? Who the hell wants fucking tea after that fucking shitshow—”

Maria pins her with an exasperated glare. “Ellie.”

“Oh shit, okay. I get it now,” Ellie quickly realizes it’s simply an excuse for the two of them to leave the room. Dropping her hand away from your stomach, she jumps up to her feet and wraps her arms around you. Her hug is brief, but full of warmth and reassurance, as if she’s silently telling you everything’s going to be alright. She releases you and follows Maria to the kitchen, leaving you and Joel alone.

Nervously, you stand up, your knees wobbling.

You feel torn—torn between wanting to run over to him and jump into his arms, and wanting to run away in the opposite direction to find somewhere to bury your head in shame. You’d promised him he had nothing to worry about, swore to him you couldn’t bear a child, and now here you were, carrying his and putting a responsibility on his shoulders he didn’t ask for. A responsibility that, surely, he doesn’t want.

On top of everything else he’d been through with you.

No, because of you. And now this?

Somehow, you muster up enough courage to speak.

“Joel,” you squeak his name. “Say something.”

“You sure you’re pregnant?” He asks, quietly. He stands across the room, making no move to come closer.

Swallowing harshly, you nod. “I’m sure.”

“How long have you known?”

“I only just found out yesterday,” you swear.

“And Tommy and Maria fuckin’ knew before me?”

It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or if he’s disappointed—not that either was a better option than the other.

“I was here with them yesterday in the afternoon. I got sick out of nowhere. Maria’s the one who suspected it and suggested I take a pregnancy test when I realized I haven’t had my period since August. After the first time that you and I—well, you know.” Shifting from one foot to the other, you continue to explain, “It never even fucking crossed my mind, Joel. I didn’t notice anything. I didn’t notice the symptoms. Missing my period, the dizziness, and the nausea. I was so busy trying to keep myself from fucking falling apart without you that it all went right over my head.”

Joel’s harsh expression suddenly softens.

“I took the test. When the results turned out positive, I just lost it. I fucking lost it, and I told Tommy and Maria everything because I was scared.” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips out from the corner of your eye, rolling down the side of your face. Several more threaten to follow, but you blink them back. “They offered to help me, Joel. They wanted to get me out of the house last night, but I was too fucking stubborn. I didn’t listen to them. I thought I’d be fine for one more night, but when Luke came home, he wanted to be intimate with me.”

Joel sucks in a sharp breath. His anger boils in his veins all over again. “And did he—he touch you like that?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t let him. I couldn’t let him. I told him not to touch me and I pushed him away.”

“Then what happened?”

“I told him that it was over. That our marriage was over and I was leaving. That’s when he took off his belt and he—” Gesturing to your throat, you start sobbing again as images of the night before flood your mind.

Luke had done pretty horrific things to you before, but this?

This had been the worst of them. He almost killed you.

“Baby.” Joel rushes over to you and pulls you right into his arms. “Shh, darlin’. S’alright,” he soothes. “S’alright, you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Whimpering, you met into his touch, the very touch you have been missing with every fiber of your being. “I’m so sorry, Joel,” you croak into his chest. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He pulls away slightly, peering down at you. “Sorry? For what?” Without even giving you the chance to answer, he assures you, “There ain’t nothin’ for you to apologize for, sweet girl. Alright?”

You let out a tearful scoff. “Joel, I’m pregnant. And it’s fucking yours,” you remind him, the guilt in your tone loud and clear. “Don’t you remember how worried you were about it? And how I told you that you had nothing to be concerned about?”

“Don’t put it all on yourself, peach.”

You almost smile.

Oh, how you’ve missed hearing him call you that.

“Look, this is on me too, baby. Part of me knew there was still a possibility, but I didn’t care. All I cared ‘bout was makin’ you mine every fuckin’ chance I got.” Joel’s hand cups the side of your face. He chuckles nervously and says, “Y’know, at one point, I kinda thought I was at the age where I’m shootin’ blanks more than anythin’ else. Guess we were both wrong, huh?”

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “And if you’re worried I’m upset ‘bout you bein’ pregnant, you’re wrong ‘bout that too, darlin’.”

Surprised, you blurt, “You mean, you want the baby?”

Now it's his turn to be taken aback.

“Y’thought I wouldn’t want it?”

“Yeah,” you confess, sheepishly. “I thought you would be mad about this, if I’m being honest, Joel. I wasn’t sure if you’d even want anything to do with it.” Noticing he’d taken some offense to the notion that he wouldn’t want his own child, you exhale a small sigh and place a hand on his chest. “Come on, Joel, can you honestly blame me? When you were the one who was so damn worried about me getting knocked up in the first place? Wouldn’t you have thought the same if you were me?”

He grazes your cheek with his thumb. “Can’t lie to you, sweetheart. I probably would have.” Letting his hand fall away from your face, Joel takes a seat on the couch and pulls you down onto his lap. “Sure as hell wasn’t in my plans to have another kid in my fuckin’ fifties. But y’know, the idea of having a little one runnin’ around, it ain’t all that fuckin’ bad.” He pauses, adding with a faint grin, “‘Specially if he or she happens to look like you.”

Relieved, you lean into his chest, shoulders sagging in exhaustion.

“You alright?” Joel murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair.

Burying your face into his neck, you breathe him in. “I am now that I’m with you,” you confess as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tighter than he ever has before.

“M’gonna take real good care of you, darlin’. Both of you,” Joel reassures you, softly. “Nothin’s gonna hurt you, baby. S’long as you’re with me, nothin’ or no one is ever gonna hurt you ever again. Swear it on my life.”

#fic: a safe haven #fic: ash #joel miller series #Joel Miller angst #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tw: dv #tw: domestic violence #tw: pregnancy

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luneemeritus · 2 months ago

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Guys have I ever commented about how both Youtube and Tiktok have the shittiest takes on Stolas? No? Then I will try to comment more often.

"I wonder why Octavia is mean to Stolas" because she's a teenager who doesn't know the truth about her parents' situation or the abuse her father went throught during 17+ years, that's why.

As Stolas antis are unable to recognize the MOST BASIC aspects of the story, let me just remind everything we know about Stolas and his relationship with his family:

(TW: MARITAL RAPE, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND HAVING TO EDUCATE STOLAS ANTIS FOR THE 100TH TIME)

1- emotionally and physically abused by his father

2- forced to marry an abusive person when he was a fucking child

3- raped multiple times by Stella before she got pregnant

4- TEEN FATHER. TEEN. FATHER. You know what a TEEN FATHER means? He was forced to be a father when he. was. A. TEEN.

5- spent 17 years surviving his wife's verbal, emotional and physical abuse FOR HIS DAUGTHER'S SAKE

6- took accountability when he realized his mistakes towards his daughter, and his mistakes were basically trying his best to make his daughter happy while being a literal survivor of parental abuse, domestic violence, SA and social isolation, literally a fucking normal human being trying his best and improving himself

7- is not only teaching her spells slowly and respecting her time, but also raising her as the teenager girl she is, and not as a 'legal adult' full of rich folk bullshit responsabilities as he was raised

"Stolas is a good dad" yes, media illiterate antis, he IS. He raised his daughter with love and care, he shield her from potential dangers (which came from her own mother), took accountability everytime he made a mistake with her, and sacrificed 17+ years in silence, surviving domestic violence, FOR HER. This is what a good parent does; loves, takes accountability and cares for their child, and as someone who has a very shitty dad who actually doesn't respect me or take accountability, I proudly affirm Stolas is doing great. You know what STELLA, an actual terrible parent, does? Abuses her husband in front of their kid and turns Via against her father. This is what a terrible parent does, oh but sorry I forgot she's the cisheteronormative woman who can do no wrong despite doing everything wrong maliciously.

Octavia acting like a teenager is absolutely in-character and justified. She doesn't have to know that her mother is an abuser, and this is why Stolas shield her from this hell, because he wanted her to have a normal fucking life. But the AUDIENCE? Grown adults who KNOW what is happening with Stolas and should understand how basic parenting works, acting like an angry teenager who hates Dada? Now that is just bad faith and urge to justify your hate boner against Stolas with the same stupid outdated arguments that were discussed a thousand times in this fandom.

For a man that was forced to have an abusive wife and a child at his teenage years, yes, he is a good father. He makes normal mistakes like any normal parent does. In LooLoo Land, he (unintentionally) ignored Via's discomfort because he was trying to cheer her up, trying to, as himself said, keep her away from their hostile house — whose hostility is Stella's fault. In Seeing Stars, he DOES NOT ignore Via nor forgot about the promise (he forgot the day, not the promise), he was busy standing up against his ABUSER. He asked for some minutes to finish his phone call, if Via had waited just a little bit longer, he would turn off the phone and listened to her. She didn't, because she's a kid with the trauma of growing up with an abusive mother and a closeted dad, again, in-character and understanding. But grown adults who were supposed to understand what is going on with Stolas having the same behaviour of a kid is hilariously telling a lot about how you react to this show.

Stolas makes the same mistakes Blitzø makes with Loona. Blitzø often infantilizes her to the point of being overprotective, and guess what? He also took accountability, because he, just like Stolas, is a good dad. And just like Lucifer as well. Buuuuut you don't really care about what is or what isnt a good father, you just want to yell about how much you hate Stolas. And the reason why you hate Stolas (at least one of the reasons) is because you can't understand basic shit about him.

Edit: by the way, let me show yall this print. It's so adorable. As irritating as Stolas's "sLaNdErInG" crowd is, the fandom always manage to make everything better. Let's smile more and think about the good things <3

#'stolas slander'? more like media literacy slander #stolas #helluva boss #tw: stolas antis (again)#octavia helluva boss

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redfoxwritesstuff · 4 months ago

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Posting schedule: Friday Misdemeanor, and Wednesdays for one the occasional one shot. Tag lists are always open.

Join us in the VoxTek Discord server for a Vox themed Hazbin place to hang and get teasers for upcoming chapters!

my AO3 and Kofi

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart

Cover done by @redvexillum

Human Alastor x married reader Rated Adult for adult themes,triggering content and sexual content. Potentially DD:DNE, mind the warnings Series Trigger Warnings: Adultery, stalking, Sexual assault, Rape, smut, Domestic Violence, Time period accurate views on women and domestic violence and skin color, murder

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you?

And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59. 60

MisD Sidepieces: One shots or fics that take place in a MisD AU or are MisD canon but written by another.

Inappropriate Demeanor by @nyx-umbrakinesis (Canon placement, end of chapter 22)

Audio Chapters by Nyx Productions: Chapter 1: part 1 part 2, Chapter 2: Part 1, part 2, part 3, chapter 3, Part 1, part 2, part 3, Chapter 4: Part 1, Part 2, Chapter 5: Part 1, Part 2, Chapter 6: Part 1, Part 2

For Eternity (Completed)

Banner by @redvexillum

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult Warnings: This fic contains sexual content, explorations of consent within Angel Dust's contract in relation to sex work, Sexual assault, Possessive and obsessive behaviors, Power dynamics, Adam being an ass, kidnapping, Vox is in hell for a reason, Val is in hell for a reason, Vox has a weird thing for Alastor, Angel Dust is sweet as pie, murder, revenge, implied sexual assault and harassment, miscarriage and death.

Summary: Isabel died young, leaving behind her husband to pick up the pieces. Finding herself in Heaven, she waits for her husband to join her. And waits. And waits. Years and decades pass as she faces the realization that Alastor may not be joining her in Heaven, leaving her largely alone in a realm of double standards and fake smiles.

She must decide if she is going to move on from her marriage or do whatever it takes to reunite with her husband. Would he even still want her? Would she survive the dangers to find him? Would the cost be worth what could be gained?

Is Heaven really Heaven if the one you love isn't there with you?

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Another day in Paradise (On hiatus)

Pairing: Eventually Alastor x OFC, later- light Alastor x ofc x Lucifer Rated: Adult for eventual smut Content warnings: It's Hazbin Hotel- this feels redundant. Sex, eventual smut, referenced implied suicide to be discussed in more detail later, drugs, drinking, poor coping, toxic behavior, controlling behavior, cannibalism, idk, it's fucking Hazbin Hotel, if it's worth a content warning it's probably going to come up at some point? Religious trauma. reader has a name/is a oc.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

A Taste of Sugar

Alastor x reader Rated: Adult for smut TW: blood kink, bondage, reader with trauma from food insecurity Summary: As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

Chapters: 1, 2

Wild Flowers (One shot)

Alastor x readerRated: Adult, 18+ Content warnings: Sex pollen trope and related questionable consent due to intoxication, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, praise, dancing that shouldn't be that sexy, biting, a touch of blood drinking, female masterbation, some possessiveness, Alastor being a bit of an ass

Summary: You had always loved flowers, so when you found a patch of pretty purple wildflowers growing in the small forest behind the hotel, you didn't think twice about picking a small handful to bring back to your room. While they smelled lovely, you were wholly unprepared for the side effects of exposure or the repercussions of offering the terrifyingly handsome Radio Demon a smell on your way to your room.

With your body burning from the inside out with an overwhelming need and a displeased Radio Demon pushing his way into your room, you have no idea what you're in for.

All you wanted was to pick some flowers but you got so much more.

Audio version brought to you by @nyx-umbrakinesis, Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4, Pt5, Pt6.

Steamy Situations 18+ (One shot)

Alastor x readerRated: Adults only Warnings: Smut. It's shower smut. Female bodied reader. Careful with your shower sex.

Summary: You're hot and bored and your husband is busy working. If only there was a way you could distract him, get some of his attention and cool off. Audio Fic credits: Read by the lovely @nyx-umbrakinesis (Audio fic part 1, part 2)

Read me to sleep? (One shot)

Alastor x readerRating: G Summary: After a long, shitty day out and about you drag yourself home to the hotel to seek shelter and comfort in the one place you knew you could find it.

Home is where the heart is (One shot fluff)

Vox x Reader Rated: General Warnings: I accidently spilled a little angst on the fluff serving. Sorry?

Summary: You're cooking dinner when your secret boyfriend comes home. Caught up in the moment, confessions are made and hearts are put on the line.

A Bed of Electric FLowers (One Shot)

Header done in part by the wonderful, amazing, fantastical @redvexillum

Vox x ReaderRated: Adult CW: Sex pollen trope, sex toy use, female masterbation, Vox's glowstick dick, way too many tv details, Male receiving oral,

Summary: A unexpected floral arrangement is delivered to your door as you're trying to ignore the lingering absence of your flat faced boyfriend. When Vox returns home and finds you in a compromising position, he's eager to assist even without a clue as to what has you so worked up.

Sister Dearest (One shot)

Requested: Vox x Alastor’s!Sister!Reader rated: Adult

Summary: Sneaking out of the protection of the protection of your brother's district was dangerous. Not only did you risk Alastor's wrath, you risked catching the eye of some unsavory characters. While you could meet many friends upon the streets of the forbidden tech district, you find Vox and his alluring promises of a good time.He knew of your brother and seemed to hold no animosity, surely he was a friend to the Radio Demon, right? Surely you could trust his company, right?Right?

Power (One Shot)

Vox x Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Warnings: Porn without plot, Power dynamics, Secretary reader, Choking on dick, Office blowjob.

Summary: Vox is wound tight after his on air showdown with the newly returned Alastor. The show must go on though and you have just what he needs to get into the right headspace to move forward.

(None, for now)

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oceandolores · 4 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 5

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺."

summary: the rhythm of your days blends with the vibrant backdrop of your church’s dance preparations. Beneath the soft glow of Houston’s city lights and the gentle hum of Joel's truck, your deepening bond with him unfolds amidst stolen moments and whispered confessions. As you navigate the delicate dance of your emerging feelings, Joel’s own transformation remains veiled from his family.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 5

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 4

next | chapter 6

The anticipation for the church dance troupe's performance was building. The whole town was buzzing with excitement as the event drew near, only two weeks away. The performance would be a grand spectacle attended by everyone in town, including all the elders, and it was scheduled for the same day your father was set to return.

The first week of preparation was filled with rigorous rehearsals. You and your friends gathered at the community fellowship building, a bustling hub of activity. Jemima, Pastor Ben's wife, along with a few other church members, coordinated the practices. The adults were always around, providing guidance and encouragement.

The church dance troupe was more than just an extracurricular activity; it was a lifeline, a vessel of hope and validation that you clung to. Each dance step, every twirl, and every leap was a silent plea for recognition, especially from your father. You had always loved dancing, finding solace in the rhythm and movement. It was the one place where you felt free, where the world and its heavy expectations seemed to melt away.

This performance was different. It was not just another event; it was a grand spectacle that could potentially alter the trajectory of your family's standing in the community. The mayor of the town would be there, along with other influential figures and elders. It was an opportunity for your family to be thrust into the spotlight, a chance to shine and, more importantly, a moment to make your father proud.

Your father, a man of stern demeanor and unyielding expectations, had always demanded excellence. He often showed you off, his actions speaking louder than his words. To him, you were a reflection of the family name, a testament to his own efforts and discipline. The thought of this performance being a success was not just about personal achievement for you; it was about carrying the weight of familial pride and expectation.

The rehearsals were intense, each session a blend of sweat, dedication, and the relentless pursuit of perfection. Jemima and the other coordinators pushed you and your friends hard, knowing the significance of the event. As you practiced, you imagined your father watching you, his eyes scrutinizing every move, his expression a mask of stern judgment.

During breaks, the atmosphere was filled with the usual activities of a church community—people chatting, sharing snacks, and discussing the upcoming performance. Pastor Ben often made an appearance, ostensibly to support the group's efforts, but you couldn't help but notice his lingering gaze on you. Jemima was always busy coordinating the rehearsals and offering guidance, leaving Ben with ample opportunity to keep an eye on the group.

You and Emma had both noticed Ben's attentiveness, though it was you who seemed to capture his interest the most. His questions and small talk were frequently directed at you, and his presence seemed more pronounced whenever you were around. Despite the attention, you tried to remain polite and composed, responding to his questions with the same courtesy you showed everyone else.

As the day's rehearsal came to an end, you bid farewell to your friends and began gathering your things. Just as you were about to leave, Pastor Ben approached you, his steps confident and his smile warm.

"Hey," he greeted you.

You looked up, slightly startled but quickly masking your surprise. "Oh, hey, Pastor Ben."

He chuckled softly. "Please, just call me Ben. Using 'Pastor' makes me feel old."

You smiled politely. "Alright, Ben."

"So, how did the rehearsal go today?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes attentive.

"It went well, I think," you replied, then added with a light smile, "You were there, well, what do you think?"

Pastor Ben chuckled softly, leaning against the doorframe. "You’re right, I was there. And from what I saw, you all are doing a wonderful job. There’s a real sense of unity in the group, and that’s something special."

You nodded, feeling a mix of pride and a little awkwardness under his steady gaze. "Thanks. We’ve been working hard, trying to make it something memorable."

Ben’s eyes softened as he looked at you. "I can see that. And you, especially, seem to put your heart into it."

You felt your cheeks flush slightly, unsure how to respond to the compliment. "Well, I love dancing, so... it’s important to me. And I want to make my family proud, especially my dad."

Ben’s expression turned thoughtful, and he nodded. "That’s a good motivation. I’m sure your father will be proud of you when he sees what you’ve accomplished."

"I hope so," you said, the weight of your father’s expectations pressing on your shoulders. "It’s not always easy to meet his standards."

Ben tilted his head, studying you for a moment. "Parents can be tough sometimes, especially when they have high expectations. But you should be proud of yourself, too. It’s clear you’re giving it your all."

You smiled politely, feeling a bit more at ease. "Thank you, Ben."

There was a brief pause, and Ben seemed to hesitate before speaking again. "Well, are you gonna go home? Do you need a lift?" he asked, his voice casual but with an undertone that made you feel slightly uneasy.

You hesitated, glancing toward the parking lot. You were supposed to meet Joel, and he had made it clear he’d be waiting for you at the back of the school, out of sight from anyone who might be watching.

"Oh, thank you, Ben," you began, choosing your words carefully. "But I’m actually meeting someone. I’ve got a ride, so I’m all set."

Ben raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Someone from the dance group?"

You forced a smile, shaking your head. "No, just a friend. We’re heading out for a bit."

"Boyfriend?" Ben asked, his tone casual, but there was a hint of something more behind the question—curiosity, maybe even a touch of jealousy.

Your heart skipped a beat at the word. You weren’t sure how to answer, not wanting to give away too much. "No, just a friend," you repeated, trying to keep your tone light. "We’re just going to hang out for a while."

Ben nodded slowly, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. "Well, be careful, alright? It’s getting dark out there."

"Of course," you replied, maintaining your polite demeanor. "Thanks, Ben."

With that, you turned to walk away, your heart beating a little faster. As you made your way around the side of the building, your eyes darted around, searching for Joel’s truck. You spotted it parked in the shadows, just as he had said it would be.

Joel was leaning against the truck, arms crossed, waiting for you. The moment you saw him, a sense of relief washed over you, dispelling the lingering unease from your conversation with Ben.

"Hey, doll," Joel greeted you as you approached. He pushed off from the truck and opened the passenger door for you. "Ready to go?"

You nodded, climbing into the truck. "Yeah, let’s get out of here."

Joel shut the door behind you, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in. As he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, you couldn’t help but glance in the side mirror, half-expecting to see Ben watching from a distance. But the street was empty, and soon the school was behind you as you and Joel headed out of town.

"Everything okay?" Joel asked, noticing your pensive expression as he drove.

"Yeah," you replied, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts. "Just... Ben offered me a ride, and it felt a little weird."

Joel frowned slightly, glancing over at you. "Weird how?"

You shrugged, trying to put your feelings into words. "I don’t know. He just seemed...just forget about it," you said, hoping to brush it off, but Joel wasn’t letting it go that easily.

"Wait, what do you mean?" he asked, his tone more insistent.

You hesitated, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "It’s nothing important."

Joel’s gaze remained fixed on you, his concern evident. "Doll... is he making you uncomfortable?"

You bit your lip, feeling a bit foolish for even bringing it up. "No, it’s just... he’s more interested in me than he should be. Like, he was paying a lot of attention during rehearsals and then offering me a ride. I don’t know, maybe I’m just overthinking it. Maybe he was just being nice and polite."

Joel’s frown deepened, his protective instinct kicking in. "If he’s making you feel uneasy, you need to tell me. Okay?"

You nodded, appreciating his concern. "Okay, I will."

There was a moment of silence, the tension from the conversation lingering in the air. You glanced out the window, watching as the town faded into the distance. The trip to Houston would take a while, and you wanted to shift the mood to something lighter.

"Joel," you asked, turning back to him, "can we listen to some music?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Sure, darling." He reached over to the radio and tuned in to a familiar station. As he did, the opening chords of "Harvest Moon" by Neil Young began to play, filling the truck with its soothing melody.

You couldn’t help but smile. "I love this song."

"Me too," Joel replied, his voice softening as the music enveloped the both of you.

As the song played, you let yourself get lost in the moment. The gentle strumming of the guitar and Neil Young’s tender voice seemed to wrap around you like a warm blanket, easing the tension that had settled in your chest. There was something timeless about the song, something that made you feel safe and understood, like everything was exactly as it should be, at least for now.

The lyrics spoke of love, of dancing together under the light of a harvest moon, and you found yourself wishing for that kind of simplicity in your own life. Being with Joel felt like that sometimes—like you were both in a world of your own, where the complications of your life couldn’t touch you. It was just the two of you, killing time on the road, the open highway stretching out before you like a promise of something more.

You look at Joel as he drives, your eyes tracing the lines of his face in the soft glow of the dashboard lights. The music played quietly in the background, creating a serene atmosphere that made this moment feel almost dreamlike. You couldn't help but admire him—how he looked so effortlessly handsome, even in the simplest moments.

Joel had a rugged and weathered appearance that only added to his appeal. His strong, muscular build was a testament to years of hard work, and the deep-set wrinkles around his eyes and mouth told stories of a life lived through hardship and survival. His dark hair, graying at the temples, and the scruffy beard he often wore gave him a rugged charm that was impossible to ignore.

His eyes, though—a striking, soulful brown—were what truly captivated you. There was a depth to them, a mix of sadness and wariness that hinted at the burdens he carried. But in this moment, as he drove with a steady hand, those eyes held a quiet intensity, softened by the comfort of being in your company.

Joel wasn't like the boys you knew from school or the men you saw in town. There was something about him, something that made your heart skip a beat whenever you were near him. Maybe it was the way he seemed so strong yet so gentle, or how he always knew just what to say to make you feel safe. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, not as a child or a preacher's daughter, but as someone who mattered, someone worth protecting.

His flannel shirt and worn jeans might have been simple, but on him, they looked perfect. The sturdy jacket he wore only added to his rugged appeal, making him look like the kind of man who could take on anything the world threw at him and come out on top. But more than his physical appearance, it was the way he carried himself—the quiet confidence, the steady calm—that drew you in.

As you watched him, you realized that Joel was the first man you'd ever looked at this way. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t demanding or harsh. He was just... Joel. And for the first time since you were a child, you could see a man who wasn’t angry.

Joel was everything you hadn’t known you were looking for—strong, protective, kind. And as you sat there, in the passenger seat of his truck, you couldn’t help but feel that whatever this was between the two of you, it was something worth holding onto.

The miles continued to slip away as you let yourself get lost in the rhythm of the road, the steady hum of the engine, and the quiet comfort of Joel's presence. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

As you approached Houston, the city lights shimmered in the distance, a glittering array of orange and white against the dark canvas of the night sky. The sight of the city, so vibrant and alive, filled you with a sense of excitement. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, small-town life you were used to, and the thought of exploring something new with Joel by your side made your heart skip a beat.

Joel navigated the truck through the streets, eventually pulling up to a house on the outskirts of the city. It was still a work in progress, but even in its unfinished state, you could tell it was going to be beautiful. The structure was modest yet elegant, with clean lines and a minimalist design that felt both modern and warm.

As you stepped out of the truck, Joel gestured towards the house. "What do you think?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of pride.

You took a moment to take it all in, the smell of fresh wood and the faint scent of sawdust lingering in the air. "It's beautiful, Joel. Minimalist, not too big, not too small. It feels... cozy."

Joel nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I wanted to keep it simple, but still make it something special."

You turned to him, curiosity getting the better of you. "So, who’s this house for? A client, or...?"

Joel shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "Not sure yet. The land was sold cheap by someone I know—he was in a tight spot and needed the money. I felt bad for him, so I bought it. Figured I’d put a house on it instead of letting the land just sit there. It's only about halfway done, still a lot left to finish."

He paused, glancing around the space as if seeing it for the first time through your eyes. "Maybe for Ellie one day. Or... maybe for you if you ever decide you want to leave that small town of ours."

His words left you momentarily speechless, a warm flutter spreading in your chest. You tried to play it off with a lighthearted joke. "Houston’s still too close to our town, Joel. If I ever leave, I might need to go much farther."

Joel chuckled softly, the sound deep and comforting. "Fair enough."

He led you through the house, showing you the different rooms, each space still in varying stages of completion. It was clear he had put a lot of thought into the design, making sure every detail was just right. Finally, he stopped in front of a set of glass doors. "The balcony’s almost done. Want to see it?"

You nodded eagerly, following him out onto the balcony. It was a stunning space, with a transparent roof that let you see the sky above while keeping you sheltered from the elements. The city lights flickered in the distance, but here, under the open sky, it felt like a world of its own.

"It’s taken almost a year to get it to this point," Joel admitted, his voice soft. "Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep going or just leave it as it was."

As you stepped further out, you noticed a couch on the balcony, neatly set up with blankets and pillows. It looked well-used, like someone had spent a lot of time there. You glanced at Joel, raising an eyebrow. "You come here often?"

Joel smiled, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, when I need to clear my head. It’s quiet up here. Helps me think."

Before you could respond, Joel started straightening out the blankets on the couch, making it more comfortable. He then lay down, looking up at the sky. He patted the space beside him, inviting you to join him. "C'mere"

You smile and then lying down next to him. The couch was surprisingly comfortable, and as you settled in, you felt a wave of calm wash over you. The sky above was a blanket of stars, each one twinkling like a tiny beacon of light in the darkness.

Lying there beside Joel, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in a long time. The worries and expectations that weighed so heavily on you seemed to fade away, replaced by the simple joy of being in this moment with him. It was just the two of you, under the stars, sharing a quiet connection that didn’t need words.

After a while, Joel broke the comfortable silence. “So, you really want to get out of town after you graduate, huh?” His voice was low, almost contemplative.

You nodded, your gaze still fixed on the stars. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I just… I don’t know exactly where yet. Maybe the East Coast or the West Coast. But I’ve always wanted to visit the West. Maybe California, Los Angeles… It’s just something about it, you know? All those Hollywood movies make it feel like a dream.”

Joel listened quietly, nodding as you spoke. You could feel his eyes on you, his presence a comforting weight beside you. After a moment, you turned the question back to him. “What about you, Joel? If you could go anywhere, where would you go? What would you do?”

Joel took a deep breath, as if considering the possibilities. “I’d like to live a simple life. An old farmhouse, some land, maybe a ranch,” he said thoughtfully. “I’d raise sheep. They’re quiet and do what they’re told.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “Farmlife sounds very nice, Joel. Peaceful.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that warmed your heart. “Yeah, I think it would be. But for now, construction pays the bills.”

You turned slightly to look at him, curiosity piqued. “But why construction? I mean, you’ve got a lot of money. You could leave town and move to the countryside if you wanted to.”

Joel sighed, his expression turning more serious. “Maybe. But it’s not just about the money, y’know? Construction... it gives me something to do, keeps my hands busy. After everything that happened, I needed something solid, something that made sense. Building things, working with my hands... it keeps me grounded.”

You could hear the weight of his words, the unspoken memories that lingered just beneath the surface. “And besides,” he continued, “leaving town isn’t as easy as it sounds. There’s a lot tied up in this place, a lot of memories, good and bad.”

You nodded, understanding more than you could ever say. “I guess I can relate to that.”

Joel turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, doll. You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Take your time, figure out what you really want.”

You smiled softly, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for him, for how he made you feel understood and safe.

Without overthinking it, you leaned in closer, your gaze briefly locking with his before you tilted your head up to kiss him. The kiss was soft, sweet, and gentle, an extension of the warmth that had been building between you two for weeks. Joel responded in kind, his arms tightening around you as if he didn’t want to let go.

But as the kiss deepened, a thought crept into your mind—Emma's words from the other morning, about how you could show love to someone you really liked or loved. The idea lingered, urging you to be bolder, to express just how much you cared about Joel in a more intimate way.

You hesitated for only a second before kissing him again, this time with more passion. Joel seemed surprised but played along, his lips meeting yours in a way that made your heart race. You let your hands explore, moving over his broad chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. You were nervous, but the thought of showing him how much you cared kept pushing you forward.

Your kisses trailed down from his lips to his jaw, then lower to his neck, your hands beginning to wander further down his body. As you continued, you could feel Joel stiffen slightly beneath you, and just as your kisses were about to travel even lower, he suddenly pulled back, his voice firm but gentle.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he murmured, his hands coming up to hold you still. “What are you doing?”

You blinked up at him, confusion written all over your face. “I just... I want to show that I care about you and want to thank you,” you said softly, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, trying to find the right words. “Emma told me that... that when you really like someone, you can show them by, you know, doing things like this. I just wanted to... please you, I guess.”

For a moment, Joel just looked at you, his expression a mix of surprise and something else you couldn’t quite place. Then he sighed, his hands gently cupping your face, lifting your gaze to meet his.

“Listen to me, sweetheart,” he began, his voice low and earnest. “I appreciate that you care about me, more than you know. But this? This isn’t how you show that. You don’t need to do anything like this to prove how you feel, okay? Not to me, not to anyone.”

You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you, realizing that maybe you’d misunderstood what Emma had meant. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a little foolish.

Joel shook his head, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. But I want you to understand something: love, real love, isn’t about doing things to keep someone around or to make them happy. It’s about respect, trust, and caring for each other, no matter what. And I care about you, doll, more than you know. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. There was something comforting in knowing that Joel wasn’t expecting anything from you, that he cared for you just as you were.

Joel pulled you back into his arms, holding you close as if to reassure you. “Just being here with you, that’s more than enough for me,” he murmured, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

You snuggled into his embrace, feeling a deep sense of relief and gratitude. In that moment, you realized that what you had with Joel was special—something that didn’t need to be rushed or defined by anyone else’s expectations. It was enough just to be with him, to share these quiet, intimate moments under the stars.

And for now, that was all you needed.

The morning sun filtered gently through the transparent roof of the balcony, casting a soft glow over you and Joel as you lay curled together under the thick blanket. The cool air of the dawn was a stark contrast to the warmth shared between you two. You felt the steady rise and fall of Joel’s breathing behind you, a comforting rhythm that made you feel secure.

You had called your mother last night, fabricating a story about staying over at Emma's place to work on a group project. Your mother, trusting as ever, had accepted your explanation without question. As you lay there, the peaceful silence of the morning was occasionally interrupted by the faint chirping of birds and the distant hum of the city waking up.

In your spooning position, you were nestled snugly against Joel, feeling his strong arms wrapped around you. The sensation was soothing, but as you relaxed, you became aware of something pressing against you—something firm and unmistakably intimate. You realized it was Joel’s growing arousal, a testament to his restraint and the powerful emotions he was holding back.

Joel had been incredibly patient with you, giving you the space to understand your feelings and the nature of your relationship. He had made it clear that he didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t ready for, especially after the recent emotional turbulence with Jamie. Yet here he was, still responding to your closeness despite his efforts to respect your boundaries.

You could sense the internal struggle Joel was facing. His body betrayed a desire he had been meticulously controlling, striving to honor your readiness rather than his own needs. It was a poignant reminder of his deep care and the complex layers of your relationship.

You gently shifted in his embrace, turning slightly so you could look up at Joel. His features were softened in sleep, and he looked almost serene. There was an undeniable tenderness in the way he rested, the soft lines of his face illuminated by the early morning light. His rugged charm was softened in this moment, and you couldn’t help but admire how peaceful and handsome he looked.

“Honey,” you called softly, nudging him gently.

Joel stirred slowly, his eyes fluttering open. He looked at you, a bit disoriented at first. “Hmm?”

As he fully awakened, he immediately noticed the situation. A flush of realization crossed his face, and he muttered, “Fuck, I didn’t mean for this—”

You cut him off before he could finish. “Joel, I can fix it,” you said firmly, your voice steady.

Joel's eyes widened with a mix of panic and confusion. “No, no, wait. What are you doing?”

“I can fix it,” you repeated, your tone insistent yet gentle.

Joel’s expression shifted to concern. “It’s okay, but you don’t have to do this. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

You shook your head, trying to reassure him. “It’s okay. I want to.”

Joel’s face softened, and he shook his head slowly. “No, you’re not ready yet, sweetheart.”

“But,” you continued, your voice carrying a hint of determination, “you’re a man, and you’re going to need—right? Don’t you sometimes feel...horny? How do you handle that?”

Joel’s eyes widened at your directness, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite his attempt to remain serious. He looked both surprised and touched by your concern and curiosity. “Well, doll, it’s not always easy, but you learn to manage it. You focus on other things, or you just...take care of yourself.”

You nodded, absorbing his words. “So, it’s like...not something you can just ignore?”

Joel chuckled softly, his voice rough with sleep. “No, it’s part of being human. We all have needs and desires, but it’s about finding a balance, respecting each other’s boundaries.”

You looked thoughtful, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of understanding and curiosity. “So, there’s a time for everything?”

“Exactly,” Joel said, his voice softening. “It’s about finding the right time and the right moment. And right now, it’s important that we both understand and respect where we are.”

You smiled at him, feeling a sense of clarity and comfort in his words. “Thank you for being honest with me, Joel.”

He gave you a gentle smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Anytime, doll. We’ll figure this out together. No rush.”

You settled back into his embrace, feeling a profound sense of connection and trust. The conversation had brought a new level of intimacy and understanding between you two, reinforcing the bond you shared.

***

As Joel drove you back, he navigated the familiar streets with a thoughtful expression. The quiet between you was comfortable, punctuated only by the soft hum of the truck. When he finally stopped a few blocks away from your home, he turned to you, his eyes reflecting a mix of warmth and something more profound.

"See you later, doll," he said, his voice gentle. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. It was a tender gesture, full of unspoken promises and affection. You smiled at him, feeling a sense of contentment that you hadn't experienced in a long time.

"See you later, Joel" you replied, your voice soft but filled with emotion.

As Joel’s truck rounded the corner and vanished from view, you felt a mixture of elation and contentment. The previous night had been a rare and comforting escape from the pressures of daily life. The softness of Joel’s embrace and the quiet intimacy of the starlit balcony had left you feeling more at ease than you had in months.

You took a deep breath, savoring the lingering warmth from the night before, and headed inside to prepare for the day. A quick shower was in order to shake off the remnants of sleep and to ready yourself for the dance rehearsal later at the church. The routine of getting ready felt almost meditative, a gentle counterpoint to the excitement and nervousness building inside you.

As Joel pulled up to his house, he felt a rare surge of happiness. The morning sun cast a warm glow on everything, and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of how things had been lately. He parked the truck and headed inside, the familiar sound of the front door creaking open greeted him with a sense of belonging.

He dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and called out, “Ellie, I’m home!”

From the kitchen, Ellie looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Where the hell have you been?"

Joel’s eyes widened when he saw Tommy sitting at the breakfast table with Ellie. “Oh, Tommy, I didn’t see you there. What are you doing here?”

Tommy glanced up from his plate. “I’m here to pick you up. We have a meeting with clients about a big project. Remember?”

Joel’s heart sank. “Oh shit, I forgot. I’ll be ready in a minute. Just need to change clothes.”

Ellie watched Joel, noting his unusually bright demeanor. “Joel, you okay?”

Joel grabbed a pancake off the plate and took a bite, standing by the counter. “Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

Ellie gave a puzzled look, then shrugged. “Nothing. Just seemed like you’re in a good mood.”

Joel, humming softly to himself, replied, “Just give me ten minutes, okay? I’ll be right out.”

He headed to his room, still humming the tune of “Harvest Moon,” the song that had been playing during his time with you. His steps were lighter, his mood buoyant.

As Joel disappeared into his room, Ellie and Tommy exchanged glances, both intrigued by Joel’s recent behavior.

“Did you see that?” Ellie asked, her tone a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Yeah,” Tommy said with a chuckle. “He’s definitely different lately. Happier, more upbeat. It’s like he’s come out of a shell.”

Ellie nodded, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve noticed it too. He’s been going to church more, cracking jokes, and just generally being...more alive.”

Tommy took another sip of his coffee, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Well, good for him. Finally, thank God.”

Ellie leaned forward, her curiosity evident. “Did he tell you anything? Like, did he open up about something that’s made him happier lately, or maybe someone?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Ellie leaned in, “Did he ever, you know, confide in you about something? Like what’s made him so... different lately?”

Tommy scratched his chin, thinking back. “Hmm, now that you mention it, I do remember one time he showed up late to work. He had this... I don’t know, a woman’s perfume on him. I teased him about it, you know? I said something like, ‘Hey, look at you, smelling all fancy. Got a date or something?’”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “And? What did he say?”

Tommy chuckled. “He just brushed it off. Said I was imagining things. Tried to act all nonchalant, like it was nothing. But it was pretty clear he’d been somewhere—or with someone.”

Ellie’s curiosity was clearly piqued. “So, he really didn’t say anything more? No hints or anything?”

Tommy sipped his coffee and shook his head. “Nope, not a peep. He’s pretty tight-lipped about his personal life.”

Ellie looked thoughtful for a moment, then her face brightened with a mischievous grin. “I need to know if Joel’s finally dating someone or going out with someone. Because, hell, whoever she is, I don’t want an evil stepmother!”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. “Give your old man a break, Ellie. He’s not exactly the type to jump into things without thinking them through.”

Ellie’s expression turned serious. “I’m serious, Tommy! I don’t want a stepmother coming in too quickly. I’m really happy with how things are now—with Joel, you, Maria, and little Luke. It’s been nice.”

Tommy’s smile softened. “I get it. It’s a big change, and no one wants to feel like they’re being rushed into something. But Joel’s been through a lot. If he’s found something that makes him happy, we should be supportive, right?”

Ellie nodded earnestly. “I know. I just want to make sure that whatever happens, it’s for the right reasons. I don’t want anyone coming in and disrupting what we’ve got here.”

Tommy placed a reassuring hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “Well, as long as we’re all here for each other, I think we’ll be okay."

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carolmunson · 4 months ago

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blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

#emperor geta #geta x reader #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #geta x you #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 fanfiction

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todorokistheories · 4 months ago

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Why I'll Never Forgive Endeavor - An Analysis

tw: abuse, domestic violence, dehumanization, and everything you expect to come with talking about the todorokis

Endeavor was right in calling Shouto a masterpiece, because that's all he ever was to him. Just a canvas to imprint whatever beliefs he had onto. Shouto was never made to be a person. He was made to be an object, an immovable force, something Endeavor can sculpt to his desire.

We see this through Shouto's demeanor. His inability to show emotions the way others do to that extreme of a level is usually a trauma response. He's purposefully blank, lest he face the wrath of Endeavor noticing the stain on his perfect painting.

Dabi even mentions this.

Endeavor wasn't the only one who saw Shouto as a means to an end. Dabi did too. He calls Shouto a puppet and trophy son throughout the series genuinely does not seem to consider that he has feelings at all. He wants to break him, because Shouto was given the life he was promised, but he can't see past what Endeavor told him to be like class 1a did.

Dabi's plotline was never about reconciling with Shouto, it was about destroying everything Endeavor thought made him great.

Endeavor controlled every moment of Shouto's life from the day he was born. Training, probably diet, every single second of every day was planned to expect max power and effort. He wanted a machine that he could show off, like fucking Tony Stark or some shit.

This is why when Midoriya says "it's your power," it's so impactful. He essentially told Shouto "you don't have to be what he made you to be." He was finally given permission to choose, something no one in his life (not even his mother) gave him. When you're a kid like that, you don't have the perspective that you can change. Midoriya believed that he could, so Shouto did.

Shouto wanted his father to see him as valuable outside of what he could do for him. But he never gets that. That is why the ending is so important for Shouto.

Shouto's arc is, at a base level, finding purpose outside of what his father expected.

You know who was given the freedom to do that from the get go?

Touya.

Let's get into the meat of the issue. Endeavor genuinely cared about Touya. He gave him permission to be great. He told him that there is more to his life than being Endeavor's 'mini me' and that Endeavor would support him in what he'd pursue.

He didn't do this with Fuyumi or Natsuo, but I think at this point he would've been willing to care about them if they offered something he thought was valuable. Because at the end of the day, even if Touya wasn't going to be a hero, Endeavor believed he'd still do great things. That he would bring honor to their name.

Endeavor only started caring about how he treated his family once he saw what it did to Dabi. His wife's mental breakdown didn't do it. The disfiguration of his youngest didn't do it. Breaking his child down until all he was was just another puddle of vomit on the floor at the age of five didn't do it. Not even the death of his beloved child did it.

But seeing how he ruined Touya's potential did.

Endeavor's change only came from the knowledge that he was his own ruin. His apologies come from a place of selfishness and it destroyed his family.

The thing that both Shouto and Dabi had in common is that they both just wanted to be enough for Endeavor. And at the end of the day, and the manga, I truly don't think that was ever achieved.

And that is why I can never forgive Endeavor.

#mha #bnha #dabi #shouto todoroki #touya todoroki #dabi dance #todoroki family #enji todoroki #endeavor #todofam #fuck endeavor #he can rot in hell with afo #mha spoilers #mha 430 #bnha ending

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megastrangeskeleton · 7 months ago

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TW // child abuse, emotional abuse, neglect and domestic violence

Ok fr, can we talk about the fact that shoto went to a public school, as did the rest of the todoroki kids, and seemingly no teachers picked up that something might’ve been going on at home?

A child that comes from a family background of ice and fire quirks now suddenly has a frost burn over his right eye, his brother is supposedly dead “from an accident” and the other brother and sister in the family regularly witness domestic, emotional and physical abuse dealt by their father to the rest of their family.

And no teacher thought “this seems like a potentially dangerous situation, I should tell someone about this”

Oh yeah, they didn’t because endeavour was the number two hero and was an authority figure and trusted him.

Just thinking about this adds a whole new level of “this is fucked up” to mha. The series in itself is about raising children to be soldiers, but its very telling in saying that it’s portrayal of high ranking public figures, such as endeavour, getting away with absolutely horrific shit behind closed doors for such a long time is realistic, and honestly, scary as all fuck.

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto #enji todoroki #todoroki enji #endeavour #fuck you endeavour #natsou todoroki #fuyumi todoroki #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #rei todoroki #charlie’s posts #thoughts with charlie

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builtaworldwithyourlove · 5 months ago

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Free Falling

Chapter Two

2k/ (eventual) husband!joel x f!reader /minors dni

‘I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel’

Summary: you take the leap to leave your stagnant relationship, and end up falling into the arms of a man who will give you the life you always dreamed of.

Content: loveless relationship, mention of TW: domestic violence, emotional abuse, age gap (reader is mid-late 20s, Joel is late 30s-mid 40s), angst, allusions of cheating, sad sad sad but Joel will save the day, slow burn, smut, fluff, oc(reader’s boyfriend and friends/family), mention of reader grieving loss of her dad, swearing, smoking, alcohol consumption, lovely lovely baby boy Joel, reader is a sweetheart, sexual tension, no smut just yet, some physical description of reader, Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

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Saturday morning was glorious. Your bedroom was fortunately positioned so that the sun shone through your white cotton curtains, and woke you up naturally. Although you didn’t get to revel in the peace for long, as Leo decided to scale the curtains and cry for help as he got stuck in limbo.

With a sigh, you rolled out of bed. You scooped Leo up in your arms and held him whilst you made the rounds opening all the windows and setting the house up for the day.

The coffee machine was the most important visit of the day. You were an early riser, so your 7am coffee was the surest way to keep you somewhat personable. You put some music on and started to tidy your kitchen, when your phone started ringing. It was Joel.

‘Morning, could you text me your address? I’ll be there within the hour.’

‘Sure! I’ll get the coffee ready now’ you replied.

Joel chuckled ‘See ya.’

Someone’s not a morning person, you thought to yourself.

You let Joel know to let himself in round the back in case you didn’t answer as you were getting yourself ready. You ran up the stairs, trying to ignore the excitement in your chest. It would be the first time you’d have some potential male attention, although he was an old family friend, surely he wouldn’t see you in that way. You got out of your head, made your bed and sprayed it with your fabric freshener, then lit a stick of incense followed by your favourite sedona sandstone candle.

🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷

You showered and drenched yourself in cocoa butter and your Flora Luminare perfume. The doorbell rang and you skipped downstairs to answer.

Joel stood there, towering over you. He was gorgeous. Chiselled, tanned, the deepest brown eyes and softest looking lips.

He stood there taking you in. You were shorter than him, your hair fell down to your waist and he was encompassed by a cloud of your scent. He could’ve fallen to his knees in awe of you. He remembered the brief moments he had seen you before. It was always after one too many beers, but he knew he found you were beautiful. You made him laugh too, you were always as if butter wouldn’t melt, trying to keep your asshole ex-boyfriend sweet. But he remembered you sneaking smokes in the front yard at family parties, or downing a shot of tequila in the kitchen on your own when things got too much. The sparkle in your eyes never dulled, and your smile never faded.

‘Hey, thanks for coming so early’ you smiled.

Joel shook himself out of his daze. He winked at you and put his hand on your shoulder.

‘No problem, show me the damage darling.’

His eyes twinkled and he smirked as you placed your hand on Joel’s. You squeezed his hand and gestured him in.

He examined every part of your house on the way to your bedroom. The baby pink accents, the kitten toys scattered all over the place, and the framed pictures of you with your friends and family.

You quickly joined him with a mug of coffee. You sat cross-legged on the bed. You were wearing baby pink yoga pants and a plain white cropped tee. He looked you up and down, very brazen and not ashamed. You blushed and adjusted yourself to let Leo join you.

‘You the clumsy type then?’ Joel sized up the hole in the wall, and looked over his shoulder at you, with an eyebrow raised.

‘Erm, my ex-boyfriend. Fragile masculinity and alcohol’ you looked down and Joel cringed. He faced you and rested his hands on his hips. Your throat went dry and you couldn’t tell if you were turned on or terrified of being told off for letting yourself in that situation.

‘I’m sorry, baby’ Joel dropped his head and started fixing the wall.

You watched him intently. His arms flexing as he worked his magic. You let Joel finish as you went downstairs to fix up some food for him to take with him.

🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷

‘The wall’s fixed. Anything else I can do?’ Joel startled you and you hopped round and laughed.

He took the second mug of coffee you offered him and gazed at you.

‘I need my locks changed’ you rifled down your drawers unable to find the replacement locks, then you remembered you had put them in your glass cabinet.

The pictures of your dad faced outward as you opened the door to the cabinet, and Joel felt his heart drop. He was so fond of your dad, and couldn’t imagine the shit you had been through this past year.

He chuckled and took the locks out of your hands.

🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷

‘I’m all done, is that everything?’ Joel poked his head round the doorway of your dressing room. You grinned as you finished applying your lipgloss and turned around to Joel.

‘Yes thank you, Mr Miller’ you winked.

He turned as if to go. ‘Wait, wait, wait’ you clambered up out of your seat, ‘I’ll see you out.’

Joel gestured to let you lead the way and you half curtsied. He was intrigued. You were so high energy and like a ball of sunshine, and he felt like he was 18 again.

He got his stuff ready and began to head back to the car.

‘Erm, Joel. I’m having my family and friends round tonight for some drinks. I’d love you to come, to say thank you for your help. Clara and Rufus will be there, so will Mum and the girls’ you felt embarrassed and desperate, but Joel made you feel safe.

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, text me a time’ Joel winked and waved as he headed back towards his truck.

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You were a woman infatuated. Joel occupied every corner of your mind. You slid on your flip flops and grabbed your purse before heading to get food and drink for your night of hosting.

You stopped off to drop Rufus and Clara’s lunch to their shop.

‘Now when were you going to tell me Mr Miller is devastatingly handsome?’ You burst through the door of the florist.

‘Well I thought it would be a welcome surprise’ Clara smirked.

‘He’s already called. Said he’s looking forward to seeing us tonight, and that you are an absolute angel.’ Rufus hooked his arm around you, roughing you up as you both do.

‘Eeek! I’m obsessed’ you twirled round and waved yourself out the door. You blew a kiss and practically waltzed down to your car.

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‘Come here anytime from 4:30pm. Wear something pretty😉’ you felt bold after the margaritas you had downed whilst getting ready with the girls. Lottie, Jess and Rhea were your absolute world. You were dancing around the bedroom and dressing room, blaring your music and feeling half tipsy.

It was 3:37pm, and Joel sat at home waiting restlessly to leave. He decided to call your Auntie and Uncle and get a lift with them.

‘Who are you texting?’ Rhea snatched your phone out of your hand.

‘Stop, you can’t even judge me on this. He’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen. He fixed some bits up in the house yesterday. Knows Rue and Clara, an old family friend. He’s coming tonight’ you girls all squealed in unison.

Rhea still had your phone and headed straight to Facebook. She got Joel’s profile up right away and mocked you with it. She accidentally liked a photo from 3 years ago, and her face dropped. You all went silent before freaking out. She threw your phone to the center of your bed.

It lit up:

Facebook:

One new friend request- Joel Miller

Chaos ensued, and you were quick to accept it.

Joel texted you letting you know they were on their way. You felt giddy.

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Your mum and sisters arrived and you set your sisters up in the summerhouse at the end of the garden with some of their friends they had bought along. You made them mocktails and let them have free roam of your beauty drawers and facemasks beforehand.

You switched on the fairylights around your garden, and you and the girls sat debriefing on life with your mum and her best friend.

Joel and the rest of your family creeped round through the side gate. You stood up to greet them and your auntie and uncle held you tightly before sauntering off to see your mum and sisters. A few more family acquaintances turned up, and people you know and love, but this was all a daze as Joel kissed your cheek and pulled you in for a cuddle.

His dark curls were swept backwards, with the exception of one that fell over his forehead. ‘Thank you for having me’ he whispered into your ear.

You traced down his arms to his hands, and you squeezed them as if to say thank you. His hands lingered on your waist, perhaps a second too long and the girls couldn’t help but wolf whistle.

Joel laughed, and headed over to meet everyone.

🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷

The night was beautiful, everyone had too much food and drink, but everyone was happy and content. Your sisters and friends had crashed out in the spare room, which was fine, you loved having guests. Your mum left after you assuring her you’d be fine to drop the girls off home tomorrow. Your friends had booked an uber to go to the club, but you were more of a homebody, plus Joel had stuck around and you didn’t want him to leave.

You cleared the glasses and bottles away in the kitchen, Joel offered to help but he sat at the table and watched you instead.

You offered him a cigarette from your hidden box which was in the empty biscuit tin. You sat next to eachother on the backdoor step. The sun was setting and it caressed his features and soaked them in a golden hue. Everything had been moving in double speed since you met him, and now was the first time you got to take in every bit about him, and was also the first time you noticed he did the same to you. He made you laugh until your stomach hurt, and you made him feel relaxed. As you laughed, you leaned into his side, and he wrapped his arm over your shoulders and placed a kiss upon the top of your head.

You looked up at him and he kissed you. Deeply and passionately and carefully. You relaxed your arms over his shoulders and as you deepened the kiss. Then tested the waters and held onto his neck, under his jawline, and pulled him towards you.

‘I wanted to do this since I saw you,’ Joel tilted his forehead pressed against yours, and you grinned. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘No plans, tackling the aftermath of this I think. Why do you ask?’ Joel stroked your thigh with his thumb. It was cold from nursing a beer, but it was welcome.

‘Would you like to go on a date with me?’ Joel felt shy, and anxious.

‘I wouldn’t want to do anything else. Text me the details, and I’ll be there’ you blushed and kissed his cheek.

‘I’ll pick you up at 5pm baby’ Joel kissed your cheek and headed out as he stumbled towards the cab he had booked.

He sat in the back of the cab and motioned a phone with his hand and mouthed call me. You blew a kiss and waved him off, giggling like a school girl as he waved out of the window of the car.

🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷🧸🪷

You showered and headed to bed, high on life and feeling like you were floating.

‘Good evening Mr Miller’ you tried your best at flirting, and following Joel’s orders to call him.

‘I’ve been wondering when you’d call’ he yawned.

‘Bad timing?’

‘Never bad timing with you. I’d answer your call at any second of any day.’ His southern drawl flipped your stomach.

‘I’ll remember that, I may need you a lot from now on.’ You rolled over and snuggled into your pillow.

‘You get some sleep baby. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow’

You hung up the phone, texted Joel goodnight and slept through the night in peace.

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wombywoo · 6 months ago

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Sorry if you already answered this- but I am DYING to know more about Quinns prophetic visions. What does it mean that he puts himself in ‘near-death’ situations to have one? Could you give an example? Also do they last long/ put him in a trance or is it quick. If they last long I could imagine the first time it happened around Vincent him being totally freaked out and trying to make sure he was ok (maybe he was worried Quinn was having a stroke/seizure)

sorry it's taken me so long to respond I'm sick today 😩😭

I do have a very long answer and it's under the cut! (tw for mentions of self-harm, injury, drugs, domestic violence, non con) this is so heavy I'm sorry please read at your own discretion.

So--the first time Quinn's visions appeared was in the aftermath of the bus accident that nearly took his life. He'd been impaled in the shoulder with a metal pole, lost a lot of blood, and ended up coding when he got to the hospital. While in recovery, he experienced an intense seizure-like episode, which the hospital staff assumed was a side effect of his fever spiking dangerously high. But no--turns out his 'vision' and the delirious ramblings he tried to warn everyone about came true a week later (it was a major catastrophic event; I will touch on this later at some point..)

Hereafter, a series of injuries and illnesses in his preteen years enabled him to grasp the basics: if he gets personally close to death, a vision is granted (and it's usually a portent of something supernatural and horrible).

There were several....attempts to test the limits of this, as well as a dangerous theory: did he only experience the visions because the events he'd seen were meant to happen, or did the events happen because he saw them?

Interesting, interesting....

When Quinn experiences a vision, the effects can vary. Usually, he does exhibit something similar to a seizure--there's violent thrashing, sometimes screaming, or other times he drops to the floor, seemingly paralyzed. An outsider might assume he was dead if they didn't know better.

The length of an episode also varies: they can be as little as a couple of seconds to up to thirty minutes (at least that's the longest he's had so far)

Another thing to note is--his visions always take place from the point of view of someone else. Whatever event he's witnessing is shown to him from behind the eyes of a person present at the scene. As such, if the POV dies, Quinn reacts accordingly (thrashing, screaming, etc)

He also has other clairvoyant qualities, in that he appears to have an uncanny sense of luck in the field. What makes vampires so notorious to combat is their enhanced speed (when aiming, it's less a matter of where they're standing now as opposed to where they will be in a flash of a second) Quinn has a keen ability to prejudge where the target will be, and is almost always successful in taking an accurate shot.

After certain...events in his teen years--Quinn swore to put his prophecies behind him, and for a long time, he did his best to suppress them. It was only serving in the military and thus being thrown into danger regularly that forced him to confront the benefits of his 'gift' once more. A harrowing field injury left him a vision on the eve of a big mission: one that would fail from the things he saw. Quinn attempted to relay this 'newly discovered intel' to a higher-up, but it was ignored, and the subsequent failure played out just as he'd seen it.

Despite knowing very little about whether he'd ever be able to drastically change the future, if at all, Quinn took it upon himself to try to use the visions as a guide for future endeavors. With that came a sense of personal responsibility: if he had a chance to see a glimpse into a probable future, this could potentially save the lives of his squadmates. But he couldn't very well be exposing himself to danger regularly in order to induce a vision, could he. So he developed...other methods.

Drugs became his 'easiest' option, and that was still a huge gamble. A hit strong enough to run the risk of OD usually was enough to give him a vision. And acquiring them was simple enough--his ex bf Marc was a willing supplier. But using them in the field was not really a choice Quinn was comfortable with, especially when his CO found out and was ready to discharge him on the spot (they...worked something out)

His other options were more...creative, but usually required a partner. When his best mate Danny was first asked to drown him in the bathtub of the safe house they were holed up in, it was met with, ah...a lot of resistance. Quinn had attempted this on his own once, and yeah....that was nearly fatal. It took a lot of convincing, but eventually Quinn did persuade his friend to hold his head under the water long enough for him to stop thrashing, and then resuscitate him only to watch him writhe on the floor in apparent agony. Not at all recommended!!! good friends do not do this to their bros ❌ Danny was extremely traumatized and fucked up over the whole thing, and Quinn swore he'd never ask him to do it again (spoiler: he did)

The dangerous self-harm options just seemed to escalate though. It didn't help that Quinn's (psychotic) boyfriend was the biggest enabler of all. Marc was a violent lover, both physically and mentally. Yet Quinn didn't mind in the beginning; his mental state is not the greatest (can you tell??) so he often used Marc as an outlet to punish himself :'D There was an...incident with choking that went a little too far, and after witnessing Quinn's episode first-hand, Marc eventually figured out the basics as well. And as a result...well. Let's just say Marc appreciated hearing details of future events (for investments and whatnot) and was not at all inclined to entreat his boyfriend's safety above all else. This led to....various incidents of forced suffocation (most of which were not consensual) god this is really horrible, I'm sorry... They did break up, finally, but there's still a sense that Marc isn't done with him yet...

Eventually, Quinn does reach a healthier mindset with the help of his therapist and his commanding officer (and Fig!). At current, he hasn't had an episode since his last field assignment and injury, and hasn't induced one in over a year.

His developing relationship with Vincent comes with the eventual explanation of...all that, as well as a new catch-22--now that Quinn has someone he cares about more than anyone else, the 'personal responsibility' starts to stir up once more. Especially with a recently learned development--taking Vincent's venom-neutralizing pills is enough to induce a vision.

This can definitely complicate things....

And in the back of his mind, that notion still remains: is he the one causing these things to happen, by witnessing them in the first place??

Interesting, indeed....

So there you have it! It's not everything, and I'm still brainstorming a few of the details...but this is most of what I've thought up thus far~

Sorry I rambled when all you asked was a simple question :'D

#asks #quinncent #a deeper look into quinn's backstory #trauma is real viewer discretion is advised #I have a few more questions to answer but I'm working with half a brain rn so it may have to wait ;_;#I sure hope this is cohesive and not a pile of meaningless nonsense :'D #lore⟡

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femsolid · 1 year ago

Text

TW: Trans activists

For more than a decade now, trans activists have been harassing those who belong to a feminist philosphy we call radical feminism or the women’s liberation movement.

Radical feminists, like most feminists, believe that men use sex to oppress women. Meaning they oppress women through sexual exploitation and by perpetuating sexist discrimination towards those who belong to the female sex. They were the first to research and expose violence against women as endemic and traumatizing, and to create shelters for rape and domestic violence victims. Those shelters are now being vandalized and defunded by trans activists.

Because radical feminists don’t believe in gender identities, gendered souls, gender roles or any form of innate personality based on sexist stereotypes, they have been receiving rape and death threats on a daily basis. The acronym “terf” was soon invented and is now used to describe any person who doesn’t support the trans movement, even if they’re not feminists, just as long as they're women, though lesbians and feminists tend to be the primary targets.

As a whole, the trans movement claims that its biggest enemy and threat, its most pressing matter, its most dangerous opponent is the women’s liberation movement or what they call “radfems” or “terfs”. This is where their energy and anger is directed, typically in the form of sexist and sexual harassment, intimidation techniques, violence, censorship and social isolation. So let’s talk about that.

From the book Hate Crimes in Cyberspace:

Cyber harassment involves threats of violence, privacy invasions, reputation-harming lies, calls for strangers to physically harm victims, and technological attacks.

Victims’ in-boxes are inundated with threatening e-mails. Their employers receive anonymous e-mails accusing them of misdeeds. Even if some abuse is taken down from a site, it quickly reappears on others. Victims’ sites are forced offline with distributed-denial-of-service attacks.

While some attackers confine abuse to networked technologies, others use all available tools to harass victims, including real-space contact. Offline harassment or stalking often includes abusive phone calls, vandalism, threatening mail, and physical assault.

The Internet extends the life of destructive posts. Harassing letters are eventually thrown away, and memories fade in time. The web, however, can make it impossible to forget about malicious posts. And posts that go viral attract hundreds of thousands of readers.

Online harassment can quickly become a team sport, with posters trying to outdo each other. Posters compete to be the most offensive, the most abusive. An accurate name for such online groups is cyber mobs. The term captures both the destructive potential of online groups and the shaming dynamic at the heart of the abuse.

Cyber harassment disproportionately impacts women. The U.S. National Violence Against Women Survey reports that 60 percent of cyber stalking victims are women, and the National Center for Victims of Crimes estimates that the rate is 70 percent. Of the 3,393 individuals reporting cyber harass-ment to WHOA from 2000 to 2011, 72.5 percent were female. The most recent Bureau of Justice Statistics report found that 74 percent of individuals who were stalked on or offline were female, and 26 percent were male.

Researchers found that users with female names received on average one hundred “malicious private messages,” which the study defined as “sexually explicit or threatening language,” for every four received by male users.

According to the study, “Male human users specifically targeted female users.” By contrast, men are more often attacked for their ideas and actions. John Scalzi, a science fiction author and popular blogger, has found online invective typically situational. When he writes something that annoys people, they tell him so. People do not make a “hobby” out of attacking his appearance and existence as they do female bloggers.

The nature of the attacks similarly attests to bigotry’s presence. Hate expresses something uniquely damaging. It labels members of a group as inhuman “others” who do not possess equal worth. It says that group members are inferior and damaged. Bigotry conveys the message that group members are objects that can be destroyed because they have no shared humanity to consider.

Cyber harassment exploits these features by exposing victims’ sexuality in humiliating ways. Victims are equated with their sexual organs, often described as diseased.

Once cyber harassment victims are sexually exposed, posters penetrate them virtually with messages that say “I will fuck your ass to death you filthy fucking whore, your only worth on this planet is as a warm hole to stick my cock in.”

Rape threats profoundly impact women: over 86 percent of rape victims are female. Virtual elimination may follow the imagined penetration: “First I’ll rape you, then I’ll kill you.”

One woman who faced online abuse noted, “Someone who writes ‘You’re just a cunt’ is not trying to convince me of anything but my own worthlessness.” Despite the gravity of their predicaments, cyber harassment victims are often told that nothing can or should be done about online abuse. Journalists, bloggers, lay observers, and law enforcement officials urge them to ignore it. Victims are called “whiny baby girl[s]” who are overreacting to “a few text messages.” Often victims are blamed for the abuse. They are scolded for sharing their nude images with loved ones or for blogging about controversial topics. They are told that they could have avoided the abuse had they been more careful.

A related message sent to victims is that the benefits of online opportunities are available only to those who are willing to face the Internet’s risks. They are advised not to expect anything different if they want to make a name for themselves online. The choice is theirs: they can toughen up or go offline.

The Internet is governed by society’s rules. Life online bleeds into life offline and vice versa. The notion that more aggression should be tolerated in cyberspace than in real space presumes that virtual spaces are cordoned off from physical ones.

Most victims do not report cyber harassment to the police because they assume that nothing will be done about it. Sadly, they are right. Law enforcement frequently fails to act on victims’ complaints even though criminal law would punish some of the behavior. Victims are told to turn off their computers because “boys will be boys.” Online harassment victims are told that nothing can be done; they are advised to ignore rape and death threats. During the summer of 2013, high-profile women were subjected to a torrent of online threats. The feminist activist Caroline Criado Perez received hundreds of graphic rape threats via Twitter after her successful campaign to feature more female images on British banknotes.

Members of Parliament and female writers who publicly supported Criado-Perez faced the same, including bomb threats. One tweet featured a picture of a masked man holding a knife with the message, “I’m gonna be the first thing u see when u wake up.”

Because the Internet serves as people’s workspaces, professional networks, résumés, social clubs, and zones of public conversation, it deserves the same protection as offline speech. No more, no less.

Without doubt, the free speech interests at stake are weighty. Free expression is crucial to our ability to govern ourselves, to express our thoughts, and to discover truths. For that reason, government cannot censor ideas because society finds them offensive. Truthful speech must not be banned just because it makes people uncomfortable.

But credible threats, certain defamatory falsehoods, social security numbers, and nude images posted without consent contribute little to discourse essential for citizens to govern themselves and discover truths. Their net effect is the silencing of victims. Victims could blog, post videos, and engage on social networks without fear of destructive cyber harassment. They could raise money using networked tools unencumbered by rape threats, reputation-harming lies, and distributed- denial- of- service attacks. They could take advantage of all of the expressive opportunities available online. Protecting against online harassment would secure the necessary preconditions for victims’ free expression.

With the help of law and the voluntary efforts of Internet intermediaries, parents, and teachers, we might someday achieve a free and equal Internet. We need to take action before cyber harassment becomes a normal feature of online interactions. A hostile online environment is neither inevitable nor desirable. We should not squander this chance to combat discriminatory online abuse; it is early enough in our use of networked tools to introduce equality of opportunity as a baseline norm of interaction.

#trans #terf #feminism #radfem #radical feminism #cyber harassment

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sweatervest-obsessed · 2 months ago

Text

Last, Last Time (alternate ending)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her pronouns)

WC: ~8.2k

TW: Angst, guns, violence, mentions of domestic violence, blood, swearing, depression, kidnapping, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, heartbreak, arguing, the grieving process, drinking, screaming, crying, being under pressure, and anything else that comes with a criminal minds episode.

a/n: based on S15 E6 - first date. I love u aubrey plaza <3. Also inspired by the song Last, Last Time by Boys Go To Jupiter.

hey guys! some people had asked me about a happy ending version of this, and I've never really written an alternate ending before, I was struggling with whether I wanted this to be good angst or not, so having been swayed....here is the alternate ending!

Original Spencer Masterlist

“Spencer I won’t—I can’t keep doing this. I’m sick of arguing in circles.”

“Y/n…”

The look in his eyes almost took you out but your heart had already been broken long, long before this argument. If anything, you were starting to feel this sense of freedom as you broke his heart.

“Please. Y/n. Just–I don’t—Just give me a few days to convince Hotch to let me have some time off and we can work on this please.”

“Wait for the potential of us?”

“God Spencer this can’t be fucking news to you. We’ve been drifting apart for months now.”

“I know, I know. You have been so patient with me and I’ve just been….there was that whole thing with Cat and then….I-I was trying so hard y/n…”

“No, first there was that whole thing with Maeve.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Oh that’s not fair? Really? You’re going to tell me the entire Maeve thing isn’t fair to you?”

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer’s hand came up to his face and it dragged down, aging him significantly with the fatigue written all over his face.

“So you’re just going to pack up everything, break my heart, and leave? Were you even going to say goodbye, or was I going to come home to an empty home and no note…”

“I-I don’t know Spencer. I just don’t…”

The tears were starting to creep in, and you had to place the box down before you lost it.

“This isn’t easy for me either…” Your chest heaved.

“I’m tired of arguing Spencer.”

Your eyes met his. You felt Spencer’s arms around you before you could even feel the tears hit your cheeks. Your arms immediately went to his neck, so familiar. No longer home.

Spencer’s voice muttered into your ear. “Don’t cry Jolie. It’ll be okay..”

About three years ago, Spencer had decided that he didn’t like that you had nicknames for him, and he had none for you. He spent weeks workshopping different ones : Sugar, Honey, Pumpkin, Sweetheart, Darlin, Pookie, Lover, Sunny (like sunshine), Sunshine—it was a wild week trying to figure out who he was talking to. Then one day, offhandedly, he was trying to tell you about this french film he had been watching, and trying to get Emily to watch with him.

He called you ‘tres jolie’, and blushing you had asked him what it meant. He told you it meant pretty.

And it stuck.

Now? It stung.

All you could do was squeeze tightly onto him, not ready to let go.

“You’re so pretty when you’re lying through your teeth.” You whispered after a few moments, pulling away out of his arms.

“I.” You swallow and step back, out of his reach. “Maybe I’ll.”

Spencer just looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold in the tears that were streaming down his face.

You grabbed the last box on the counter and your keys, and walked out, for the last time.

You awoke in your bed, eyes adjusting to the complete darkness the blackout curtains provided you.

Another fucking night thinking about your decision those four years ago, and trying to decided whether your life had gotten better because of it.

You still weren’t sure.

Moving to get up from the bed, you decided to leave the curtains closed for now, feeling as if you could melt from the sun touching you.

You turned on the bathroom light and started your morning routine. Wash face. Take meds. Brush teeth. Fix hair—

Somewhere in that process, you got lost, and just stared at yourself in the mirror. You weren’t sure for how long. All you could do was replay the last four years.

Did you make the right choice?

Something was missing. It was missing from the spot on the couch. It was missing in the mug cabinet. It was missing in the kitchen while you played music and moved around by yourself.

But you were happy. You have been able to throw yourself into your job, and open your own firm. You had your dream career, with some of the most amazing friends you could have asked for.

None of which you would have met if you stayed with him.

Maybe it was true what they say, you can only have a career or love, but not both.

The only thing taking you out of this spiral was the ringer on your phone going off.

You peaked out of the bathroom and saw the name light up on your phone.

Emily Prentiss

__________________________________________________________________________

The door to the round room opened up and in walked Spencer Reid. “Catch me up.”

The second woman was tied up, mouth slightly open, and eyes filled with tears, while a man on the other side just had his eyes closed, tired. .

Spencer just stared at the photo.

Rossi nodded at the picture. “She's not obscuring her face, telling us she's got nothing to hide.”

He never pulled focus away from the screen, mouth dry at the thought of what today was about to be.“Any ideas on the unsub?”

______________________________________________________________________________

Receiving a call from the FBI was not entirely new to you, since you had been engaged to one of their agents, but receiving one now? Something was deeply wrong from them to have to send you a call.

You hesitantly pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey Y/n, it’s Emily Prentiss—“

“I know who you are, Emily. It’s been a couple years, not millions.”

Emily hummed a brief laughter, and you could hear other voices behind her, unable to make out anything.

“I know this is hard to ask of you, but would you stay on the phone with me and come in?”

“What?”

“I need you to stay very calm Y/n, but I need you to stay on the line with me, leave your apartment as soon as you can, and drive to the BAU.”

“Uh, yeah Em. I’m so sorry, I, uh, I completely forgot about our plans today. Let me get ready, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Are we still meeting at your place or did you have a different location in the city?”

“We’ll be at Quantico.”

Quickly you pulled on a pair of jeans and threw a sweatshirt over your pajama top and grabbed your keys off of the counter.

Today was already stressful enough, what was the point of adding a bra.

It was a very tense hour of driving, that was only about forty since you knew how to drive above the speed limit.

Both of them have such grim looks on their faces, but at least they were trying to pretend like the situation wasn’t as bad as it appeared.

Emily engulfed you in a hug. “Missed you Y/n. It’s been too long.”

“Well Em, next time I break up with someone I’ll consider your feelings first.” You squeezed her back, dryly laughing at your own joke. At least it caused Emily to snort.

“Y/n this is SSA Luke Alvez. Luke, this is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He gave a small smile and nodded at you.

“I wish it were under different circumstances.” You looked over at Emily.

“Let’s head inside?”

You nodded and the three of you moved inside.

Sure, you hadn’t been here in a while, but you knew your way to the BAU Bullpen if your life depended on it, which was ironic since that was what this kinda felt like.

As soon as you were safely in their round table room, Luke shut the door, and stood by it, Emily coming and sitting down next to you.

“What do you know about Cat Adams?”

That bitch.

______________________________________________________________________________

“I would like to go on a date. With you.”

Spencer stared at her, face stoic as ever. “A date?”

“Yes. I want to look pretty. And I want to have fun.” She looked him up and down. “And I won't even get physical, ok? Unless you want me to.”

Spencer sat down across from her. “Come here. Closer.”

Cat leaned in, a small smile on her face, absolutely intoxicated by being so close to him.

“The only date that I'll be there for is the one where they stick a needle in your vein.”

Cat scoffed. “You're just going to let her father and sister die? I don't think so.”

“I never said it was a father and daughter. You're already slipping.” He stood up from the table. “We'll find them. We always do.”

Cat leaned back and crossed her arms. “Not tonight. Tonight I win.”

His resolution had yet to change, “The score between me and you is two to zero. By tomorrow morning, it'll be a clean sweep. Enjoy eternal nothingness. It's a metaphor for your life.”

And with that, the door slammed shut behind him.

______________________________________________________________________________

Both the profilers watched a series of emotions run rampant across your face, before you settled on a somewhat displeased smile. “A lot.”

They exchanged a look, and you didn’t have the energy to pretend like you didn’t know what it was.

“Don’t start with me today Emily. I know what you’re doing. Ask me the questions you want to ask. Don’t try to trick me into giving the answers you want. Don’t profile me.”

Part of being engaged to a profiler meant you picked up on some of their own quirks. Which meant you saw Alvez bite his tongue and try to hide his smile. And you noticed that Emily, on the other hand, hid her smile a bit better but it was still there.

She nodded and pulled a file from across the table. “I’m assuming you know the basics since she, uh, is obsessed with Spencer.”

“Glad to see he still has that going for him.” You muttered and looked into the file.

Emily shot Luke a look when he let out a huff or air, trying his damndest not to laugh.

“What is the last thing you know about her?”

You recounted the days leading up to the restaurant, and then the few days after, decidedly stopping short of the engagement breaking off a week later.

They shared another look, and you didn’t enjoy whatever it was that had moved across their faces.

“What happened?”

“Y/n..”

“No Emily, I drove all the way from DC to Quantico on the phone, I deserve to know what happened.”

“Spencer went to prison and none of you thought to call me….”

“We didn’t think you’d–”

Both of them went silent.

“So is he out?”

They nodded slowly, silently.

“How long was he in there?”

Nothing.

“I asked. How. Long.”

Luke spoke up. “Three months.”

“Jesus christ.” You stood up and started to pace around the room, taking the time you needed to calm down.

Why didn’t Spencer call you?

Well you knew why Spencer wouldn’t call you.

“Okay so he’s out.” You said finally. “Why am I here—He didn’t start….did he?”

Emily shook her head. “He’s actually been really good about it.” She said softly, trying to calm you down.

You started fidgeting with your rign finger; a habit you have picked up many years ago, and have yet to lose, even if the ring wasn’t there anymore.

“Cat’s execution is coming up.” Emily started, trying to get you back on track. “And we….we found out that she’s convinced one of her former cellmates to kidnap...people…close to Reid, and we knew you’d be on that list for him.”

“She already ruined that relationship years ago, she won that one. Why would she bring me back into it?” You sat down and looked down at the file on the table. You had never really seen a photo of her before, doing your best to avoid all of the media surrounding her arrest.

She was very pretty, that much was certain.

Just as you went to say something else, JJ knocked on the door, another blonde woman behind her.

They entered and JJ gave you a small, yet genuine smile.

You returned it, but quickly shifted your gaze onto the woman behind.

Your whole body shifted slightly, into a place of defense, locking your emotions down. You knew all the profilers were watching it happen in real time, which is why Emily very casually put a hand on your knee under the table.

“Would someone like to tell me what is going on here?”

Your head turned as you looked over to Emilt, bewildered by this woman and her, well, bewilderment.

JJ walked over and sat down on the other side of you. “Uh, Max, this is Unit Cheif Emily Prentiss and SSA Luke Alvez.” She pursed her lips before looking over at you. “And this is another one of the victims affected by Cat Adams, Y/n Y/l/n.”

Max had crossed her arms and nodded. “Victims?”

You quickly onced her over, a slightly unimpressed look crossing your features. “People close to Spencer get fucked over a lot.” This came out with a sigh attached to it.

Max almost scoffed, but you watched as she nodded. “And how do you know Spencer?”

Your eyes met with Emily’s really quickly.

Emily looked over at Max. “She’s…”

“I’m Spencer’s ex-fiancé.”

It felt better to let this poor girl know, but somehow saying the words out loud left the most rotten taste in your mouth.

Watching Max’s defenses go up in real time was a little sobering.

At least Spencer’s taste in partners with attitude hadn’t changed.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Victimology is off.”

“How so?” Prentiss looked up at him as he walked into the room.

“Father and daughter. She’s never done that before.”

Lewis spoke up. “She usually kills men that remind her of her father. Children–even adult children, are off limits. Do we have an ID yet.”

Prentiss, Rossi, Garcia, and JJ all looked over at Reid, and he just pulled a hand down his face. “It’s…It’s Issac and Noelle Y/l/n.”

“Y/l/n…as is Y/n Y/l/n.” Tara looked up surprised at Spencer.

Reid nodded slowly, just staring at the picture on the projector.

While Luke spoke up. “Who is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“An old friend.” Rossi quickly interjected, before any more explanation had to be said. It was clear both Alvez and Simmons, that whoever this was, was an extremely touchy subject for Reid.

Tara, who had only known you for a little while, looked back at the picture.

Rossie spoke up. “What do we know about the partner who’s helping her?”

“It’s got to be someone from her prison.” Simmons spoke up. “She hasn’t had contact with anyone else?”

______________________________________________________________________________

After all of that, you found yourself back in a place you swore you left for the last time. It looked almost the same as when you had first moved out, but there was less of it.

Almost as if he was having trouble covering places where things used to be.

There were almost no photos on the walls, since you were half of them, and had taken the rest.

Calling someone you once loved a stranger feels wrong.

Max was just sitting on the couch in your spot. She was looking around as you and Rossi stood by the kitchen counter.

She had, understandably, decided she was not your biggest fan.

“Cat had a cellmate named Juliette Weaver. We believe the two were working together, as a way for Cat to get something against Spencer, and as payment, Cat would hurt Juliette’s ex.”

You nodded. “How does this affect me?”

“She took your father and sister.”

Your back straightened and immediately brought out your phone, to call your sister, but Rossi just placed a hand on your phone and shook his head. “If she finds out you know, then it’s all over. She’s doing this on purpose. She knows about you and Reid, but she knows that dragging you into all of this will hurt him more than anything else.”

His voice had gone low and quiet, so that the girl on the couch couldn’t hear. JJ, who was on the couch, talking to Max, looked like she was trying to block out whatever conversation was happening in the kitchen.

“So why is she here?” You whispered back.

“Because we don’t want anyone in danger, and it’s better for us if we have eyes on both of you”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “I need a cup of tea.”

Rossi nodded, and placed your phone on the counter, and you walked into the kitchen,eyes closed from the stress of the situation.

The apartment went silent, watching as you grabbed a kettle, and started to make tea. It was like second nature to you as you turned the stovetop on, grabbed a mug from the cabinet (careful to not grab one of his favorites), and grabbed some tea from the cabinet.

It didn’t dawn on you that you were drinking your favorite type of tea until the second sip, while the entire apartment was still silent.

The pity from JJ and Rossi was palpable.

The disbelief from Max was a boulder on you back, like Atlas transferring the world to your shoulders.

“Don’t even start.” You muttered, moving to sit down back next to Rossi on the kitchen stools.

He shrugged and stayed silent.

That is, until JJ’s walkie went off and she looked at Max. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

Rossi looked over at you and gave you a quick hug, squeezing you tightly. “You’ve got this kid. Remember everything we talked about.”

You nodded and gave both agents a strained smile as they left the apartment, taking Max with them, leaving you all alone in this place you once called home.

Well first you sat in Spencer’s seat but it felt too weird, so you shifted back into your spot on the couch.

______________________________________________________________________________

Prentiss nodded as they walked and talked. “But if Juliette was able to find Max, that meant she was easily able to find Y/n and her family. Plus, Y/n is not that hard to find—she’s a prominent public attorney in DC. That means Juliette must’ve had access to all of her publicly available information. “

“Well at least we found their hidden agenda.”

“No. We found Cat’s hidden agenda. Juliette doesn’t care about Reid. There’s something we’re missing here. Do a deep dive with Garcia.”

Simmons nodded at Prentis. “On it.”

“I’ll go to Reid's apartment and monitor onsite. Is there a trap and trace on his landline?”

“Garcia’s almost set up.” Simmons walked away from Prentiss, and down towards Penelope’s office.

“Well this went from bad to worse.” Tara walked up to Emily.

Emily sighed in agreement.

Lewis spoke up. “Female narcissists destroy their competition. Y/n really shouldn’t be in there.”

Emily just nodded and the two of them headed out of the bullpen. “Walk with me.”

Tara kept stride with her as they pushed through the doors. Rossi was just getting off the phone with someone and turned to look at the two women approaching him and JJ.

JJ spoke up when Rossi was finished. “So, the hospital just released the dad– Issac Y/l/n. He's on his way here now.

Rossi scoffed. “Question is, why let him go at all?”

“Matt's on that.” Emily gestures in the direction of Garcia’s office. “Juliette Weaver's real agenda should tell us where she's taking Y/n’s younger sister.”

Lewis spoke next. “I still think the play here is to get Cat and Juliette to contact each other, but I have no idea how.”

Prentiss crossed her arms. “I have a plan, but first we have to talk about Y/n.”

______________________________________________________________________________

Just then, you heard the click of the door, and stood up, watching as the door swung open.

And there he was.

This was the first time you had seen Spencer in four years.

And there he was, kissing Catherine Adams.

The woman you could give partial credit to for ending your relationship.

After a moment Spencer looked up, and took several steps away from Cat. His eyes were wide and locked on yours.

It took a lot of self-restraint to not punch the lights out of Cat, and to stand still arms crossed.

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke a little bit.

You never would say that Spencer was unattractive. In fact, it would be a lie if you ever even thought about it. But something about the past four years aged him like a fine wine.

His hair was a bit longer, he had some scruff—his baby face had melted away and standing in front of you was a man who you thought you knew everything about, but was now a stranger.

You didn’t answer him, watching as he took you in, standing in his apartment, for the first time since…

“What are you doing here?” Spencer’s voice cracked.

You looked over at Cat, who had the most devious smirk on her face.

Remember what Prentiss had said to you.

“You know why I’m here.”

Cat nodded and the two of them moved into the apartment, the door closing behind them.

Spencer just stood ten feet away from you, eyes never leaving you, and you watched him right back.

She spoke up, after a few moments of silence. “Did it make you mad that I was kissing your Fiancé?”

You shook your head. “No.”

Your focus had fully turned to Cat, but you swore you swore you could hear Spencer take a sharp inhale as you spoke your next words.

“Well, he's not my fiancé and I kind of have some other things on my mind.”

Cat didn’t scare you, but there was just something so off-putting about her. “Like what?”

“Are you gonna hurt Noelle?”

Cat shrugged. “Not if I don't have to, no. Honestly, if she follows instructions, she might even learn from this whole experience.”

You scoffed. “What does that mean?”

Cat just started fiddling with the chess set on the dresser.

“Spencer, what does she mean?” You turned to look back at him, his name feeling so good on your tongue.

Spencer, who really hadn’t stopped looking at you and sighed. “She means that Noelle isn’t learning from her, but from Juliette.”

You sat down in your spot on the couch, eyes closed, trying not to let Cat (or Spencer) see how truly upset you were starting to feel.

Spencer noticed where you sat and had to look down to conceal any notions of a smile on his face.

Cat watched him before turning and looking at you, more disdain on her face than before.

“Normally, Spencie and I, we spend our time together playing games, but tonight, I've brought you all here to make a point. You are doing so much better.”

Spencer spoke up. “With you?”

“Without you.” Cat snapped at him. “Besides, I’m not talking to you Spencie, I'm talking to her.”

She turned to face you. “Because, girlfriend, you need to know the truth about your fiancé.”

“He's not my finacé.” You were unsure about how many more times you could say that outloud.

“No kidding. When’s the last time you spoke? Right…” Cat walked over to the center of the room, right in front of the couch. “Here?”

Your head whipped around to Spencer. “You told her about that?”

Spencer was pleading with his eyes. “I had to say a lot of things tonight.”

You tried not to wince at the mention of that girl Maxine out in one of the trucks.

Spencer sat down next to you. “Everything I said—I was lying to save your family.”

Cat scoffed. “Did our kiss look like a lie?”

“No.” You locked eyes with Cat, almost challenging her.

She seemed to enjoy it.

“Oh, yeah? Who's the real me, Cat?”

“The real Spencer Reid throws women against walls. And hisses that he's going to kill them.”

Spencer stood up, squaring off against her. “That was a very different situation.”

“No, it wasn't.” Cat was holding the smirk back this time, making your gut wretch.

“Spencer…What is she talking about?” You looked from the psychopath in front of you, to Spencer, poor Spencer who has spent the entire day entertaining her.

“You tell her. She's not gonna believe it coming from me.” She huffed.

“Cat..”

“Do it.” She hissed, eyeswide with hints of threate.

Reid turned and looked at you, his mouth dry and body stiff. “Two years ago, Cat had her partner kidnap my mother. Just like tonight. She got under my skin and…”

Your chest hurt. “And you threw her against a wall?”

Cat’s smirk was breaking through whatever resolve she had. “Don't skimp on the details, Spencie. She deserves to know everything.”

Every single time she said Spencie you swore it was harder to not deck her in the face.

Spencer looked down at his hands, and then over at you. His voice had gotten quieter. “She was pregnant at the time and I knew that when I hurt her.”

“And?” She stood there expectantly, waiting for Spencer to finish. When he didn’t, her face suddenly became solemn. “The next day... I miscarried. The end.”

Spencer looked at her. “That's not true.”

Youre eyes went wide. “What?”

They just continued to argue over you.

“It is most certainly true. Check my medical records.”

“That doesn't mean I-I would…”

Cat held up her hand to him. “Stop. Look.”

Spencer looked over at you, just sitting on the couch, trying to process everything that was going through your head.

After thinking about everything you had gone through, especially with Spencer. “I thought you were better than that Spence.”

Spencer’s voice cracked. “I'm sorry.”

You clenched your hands. “He’s not mine…”

Spencer just looked over at you.

Cat nodded. “That's good. Because men are all the same. Aren't they, Jolie?”

Spencer’s eyes lit up with an emotion you rarely saw from him when you were together. “Don't call her that.”

And you couldn’t blame him. The word ran you through like a spear and you were sure if you looked behind you, the blade would be through the couch. You tried so hard to not let either of the two people near you see how much it messed with you. You couldn’t believe Spencer had told her that. Luckily for you, Cat was too busy pushing Spencer’s buttons to see the way her words won against you.

Cat hissed at him. “What, are you gonna throw me against a wall and choke me, or do you only do that to pregnant women?”

You finally spoke up. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you to see it.” She gestured to Spencer. “I want you to see that he is...no better than he was before, or any man after. They’re all the same.”

“Stop.”

Cat squatted down in front of you. “I can see it on your face. What's his name?”

You stared back at her. “It's none of your business.”

That damned smirk of hers returned. “It is exactly my business. In fact, it's my specialty. I mean, I could have Juliette and baby sister go over there if you want. They could take care of him.”

Reid looked over at you. “Say yes. Give her what she wants.”

You jumped up and started pacing, a spitting image of four years ago, unable to look at Spencer. “What is wrong with the two of you? What is this sick, twisted thing that you have? Listen, I just want to save my sister. Will you please just tell me what I have to do to do that?”

“Tell me his name. Tell me the story. That's it. And then if they can let Juliette exit stage right, then I promise you I will let her go.”

She just watched you. “You'd be surprised.”

“I don't even need a call. Just... just a photo.” You held the phone out to her. “Something to prove to me that she's still alive. Please”.

Cat just looked up at your face. “Story first.”

“Y/n. Please.” Spencer turned to you, hoping you’d look back at him. “I have been here with her before. She called the number and told the partner to kill my mom.”

“It is so tricky, isn't it? I mean, who are you gonna trust? The lying, cheating, violent psychopath... Or me?”

You looked down at the ground, refusing to look over at Spencer. “His…His name was Mike Davis. We dated for about two years. I met him a month after we…we split.”

Cat’s attention on you felt as if there were a million bees stinging your body all at different intervals, pain coursing through your body. “Good. When did it end?”

“Last year.”

“Was he good in bed?”

Spencer stood up. “Shut up.”

Cat was enjoying this. She was enjoying watching you make Spencer uncomfortable. She was enjoying hurting him in every masochistic way she could. “What? You have to know where you stand.”

“He was good…” You looked back at Cat. “Good at, um, separating me from my friends and my family. Enough that the first time he punched me in the face, I didn't have anywhere to go. And my first response was "I'm sorry, Mike." A fucking defense attorney apologizing to someone when they got hit. That's when he knew he had me.”

There was a glint in Spencer’s eyes, and you could swear they were tears, but you couldn’t tell from rage or sorrow.

Cat continued to probe. “How many hospital visits were there?”

You showed her a small scar on the inside of your elbow. “None. No, he... He knew how to hurt me just enough to hide it all, I guess. I never missed a day of work.”

“But you found the strength to leave. What did you do?”

“ I…”

“Tell me.”

“I planned. I planned and then I waited.”

Cat’s eyes lit up. “Waited for what? “

“I live here in D.C.” You looked between Spencer and Cat. “But I'm also a resident in Virginia. It takes 60 days for the permit to clear, but because I-I know some people…it was sooner.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Y/n, stop talking. Stop talking right now.”

Cat shushed him. “No, don't stop. Here. Give me the phone. Look, I'm gonna enter the text. Stick the landing and I'll hit send."

You handed her the phone and she quickly typed out a message, her thumb hovering over send.

Spencer tried to interject. “It was self-defense. He was attacking you—”

Cat was glowing, spinning around to face Spencer. “Wow, you really have a type, don't you? Quite a dilemma, too. She just admitted to murder.”

Spencer was in disbelief. “She'll beat it.” .

“Probably. But whatever feelings she might have still had for you, and whatever Maxine might have seen in you—-it’s all gone.”

The phone in your hand buzzed.

“Oh, wow. Look at that. Your sister. Alive and well. You're welcome.”

Your face hardened up, and you stood up straighter. Walking away from the two of them, you opened the door. “I got it.”

Emily took the phone from your hand and you turned back to the two of them. There was no emotion behind your eyes as you looked back at Spencer.

Cat smirked and looked up at Spencer. “I win.”

______________________________________________________________________________

The prison transport was quiet, with the two guards sitting across from Spencer and Cat. It had been silent for about twenty minutes, but then, Cat spoke up.

“Do you know why I did this? Why I really did this?”

Spencer looked down at his hands. “You wanted to prove I'm a monster just like you.”

Spencer stiffened as she placed her head on his shoulder. “You didn't have to terrorize innocent people. You could've just written a letter.”

“Would you have written me back?”

When Spencer didn’t respond, Cat knew her answer.

“Bye, Spencie. I really enjoyed our date.” She smiled at him desperately, getting dragged out of the vehicle by the guards to the prison.

______________________________________________________________________________

The elevator door opened and Spencer walked out of it, his whole body reeked of defeat, and he barely looked at Emily as she spoke. “We need to debrief.”

“I need some time Emily.” He muttered, walking right past her and into the bullpen. His expression changed when he saw you on one side talking to Tara, and Max on the other, looking up at him right as he walked in.

“Spencer, are you okay?”

Her voice caught your ear, and immediately you looked up to see her walk over and embrace him in a hug.

He stiffly smiled at her, and returned the hug before muttering that he would be back in a moment.

Watching Spencer hug her and whisper something in her ear, make your stomach lurch, and you had to turn away.

Spencer walked over to you, and you stood up as he approached.

“Uh, Tara, would you mind giving us…”

She nodded at him and walked away.

Both of you went to speak, trying to say something to the other.

“I should explain all of this.”

Spencer shook his head. “You don’t have to explain any of that Y/n—it doesn’t.”

You cut him off. “Spencer, please.”

The two of you moved out and voer into the kitchen, providing a bit more privacy than before. “It was fake—most of it was fake. I didn’t kill anyone, Spence. I was just lying to her to get her to send the text from my phone. It was all…It was made up.”

He just nodded, staring at you, eyes cloudier than a storm crossing an ocean.

You gave him a soft smile, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Both of you could feel the pulse between it, but your hand stayed where it was.

“Mike Davis is alive, and I don’t really know about well. But he…we dated for about two years and he did…he raised a fist one time but never actually…he never hit me. I threw him out that night. I’m okay.”

Spencer lets out a breath slowly, just trying to take in everything you were saying.

Spencer watched as what little resolve you had left crumbled under his gaze, and you looked up, trying to keep the tears at bay.

He gently wrapped his arms around you, and helf you tightly, like all those years ago. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.” His words melted into your skin as you wrapped your arms around him.

After a minute of standing like this, the two of you broke apart, and one of his hands came up to your cheek, wiping away a single tear that was left.

You took a step back, the irony of this mirror image not lost on you, and you guestered back into the bullpen. “You have…You have to talk to Max.”

Spencer’s face dropped a little at the mention of her name and he shook his head. “I’ll…I’ll deal with her in a second. She wasn’t the one who had to face a woman who completely….”

“Changed and fucked up what I thought my life would be. Yeah, I know. But she also cares about you.” You laughed a bit, putting back together a resolve that was nonexistent.

“Spence, They filled me in on everything that happened between both of you in the past couple years, and they asked me if I would be willing to…help them beat her.”

He didn’t like that you knew about everything that had gone down. He was so happy you were okay. He was a little impressed by the way you beat Cat at her own game. He was upset that you put yourself in danger. You could read him like you read one of your favorite books, knowing which emotion was coming up next.

“They gave me an ear piece and everything.” You gave him a small smile, trying to make light of something.

Spencer shook his head. “You’re not trained—that’s extremely dangerous of you.”

You sighed and nodded. “Unfortunately Spencer, this is…this was the life I was used to when we were together. I knew the stakes. I mean the briefings I had with Hotch after you relapsed…”

Spencer just clammed up and stood a bit straighter. “ I didn’t know that..”

“It was like that on purpose. I didn’t want you to think that you were a burden or too much or—I was doing it for the potential of us…” You cut yourself of, flinching at the parallels between this and your previous final conversation.

Garcia walked over and placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to interrupt darlings, but I just need you both to know, Cat Adams had a miscarriage, but it was months after whatever encounter you had. It’s not your fault. We looked at her records.” She was speaking low for you both, yet both of you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

You looked over at Garcia. “Thank you Pen.”

Taking another small step back from Spencer, even though every single neuron in your brain was firing off, telling you what you were doing was wrong. “I should, I should grab my stuff, and go back. Penelope?”

She had a rueful look on her face, but she nodded and took your arm, walking you back over to the desk where your stuff was.

Spencer flexed his hand, almost as if he wanted to grab yours and never let go, but he just walked over to Max.

You started to collect your things, but got sidetracked by a conversation with Rossi.

You missed the small conversation that Spencer had with Max. You missed the way they hugged, and the way that the two of them walked out of the bullpen and to the elevator. You missed as they disappeared for a few minutes.

“Rossi, I promise to do better about keeping in touch. I swear.”

“I don’t just invite anyone over for dinner, you know. It’s an exclusive invitation.”

You smiled, almost all real. “Trust me. I know. Besides… the phone is a two way device, so you have to text me first sometimes too.”

You looked over for Spencer, the smile on your face shifting ever so slightly into one of sadness when he wasn’t around. And no one would have noticed, if not for the fact that you were in a room full of profilers.

“Well everyone, I…this was lovely. We’ll have to do this whole ‘getting my family kidnapped’ again some time.”

This remark caused a few laughs and some smiles, as you said your goodbyes, and Emily walked over to the elevator.

She was about to say something, but the doors opened and revealed Spencer. He seemed like a weight had been taken off his shoulders and you smiled at him.

Emily excused herself, giving your shoulder a squeeze, and leaving the two of you alone.

“Let me walk you out.”

You nodded, and entered the elevator.

The two of you stood in silence until you reached the parking lot.

You both stepped out, and looked over at your car, before looking back at one another.

It was Spencer who spoke first.

“I’m so so sorry Y/n.” He whispered. “I never meant any of this to happen to you, and for you to get dragged back here and—”

As soon as he met your eyes, you dropped your bag, and Spencer wrapped his arms around you tightly, just holding you and resting his head on yours; trying to give you the comfort that he was rarely able to give you. You just tightly wrapped your arms around his torso and just held onto him tightly. Trying to decompress, trying to truly understand everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.

Part of being a lawyer meant that acting and diffusing situations was part of your life, but sometimes, it was just a defense mechanism. It was exhausting.

“Are you okay?”

Spencer looked at your face, pulling away slightly. You were worried about him.

He went to nod, but decided to shake his head no. “Today was…I’m so sorry she…”

“It’s what she wanted, Spence, and unfortunately she just…” You whispered. You tried so hard to find the right words.

After another moment in his arms, you took a step back and shook your head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Y/n…”

“Spence you have a girlfriend.”

“Y/n.”

“And I…I don’t know if I could put myself back to where I was four years ago.”

“Jolie.”

“We won’t.”

“You can’t promise something like that.”

“I can. I will.”

You shook your head. “Max…”

“We broke up.”

Spencer gently grabbed your face, giving you enough time to back out.

You didn’t.

His lips locked with yours, his thumb rubbing against your cheek as the two of you shared one more moment, just for the two of you.

Catharsis didn’t even begin to describe the feeling of the ache in your bones subsiding. Every single moment of stress, of doubt, just melted away and left you grabbing a hold of Spencer’s shirt and pulling him impossibly closer.

It was going to be different. Everything was not the same. You both had grown, you had changed, and for the better. But eventually, you were always supposed to find your way back to this moment, with yourself in Spencer’s arms and your lips on his lips.

It was solidified when a few months later, Spencer left the BAU to become a full time professor in DC, and moved into your apartment, abandoning the one where Cat had ruined your life not once, but twice.

It solidified as the two of you made time for one another, constantly finding new cities around the world to explore.

It solidified forever when he placed a ring on your finger and whispered I do in front of your friends and family.

It was always meant to be, and sometimes, the path to forever, is everchanging.

But at least you were able to do it with Spencer Reid by your side.

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