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zara-renata · 16 days ago

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The Jog | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: You go for a jog, encounter some wanderers, get injured, Sylus helps make you better. You know, a typical Christmas oneshot.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, Second person POV, Sylus POV. Not part of the Sylus series, with a slightly more damaged (haha can you believe it) MC than in the series, with a relationship development that differs significantly from the Sylus series. This story contains: angst, canon typical violence, serious bodily injury, medical intervention, MC with self-destructive tendencies, grief, hurt/comfort both physical and emotional, a (hopefully more sensual than graphic) brief NSFW interlude towards the end, a happy ending.

It was supposed to be a simple job. An alert on your hunter watch. A location near where you’re jogging after work. You’re wearing insulated tights, short swords strapped to your back, an Association standard-issue pistol strapped to your hip. Not an average person’s jogging outfit, but you never know when you’ll be needed. And the weather’s probably not ideal in the average person’s opinion—a misting, gentle rain that creates halos around the streetlamps you pass on the gravel path through the long park along the riverfront on the outskirts of Linkon City. It’s dusk, now, but the rain is drowning the air, and it feels like night already. You love the wet hush, the sweeping shush of dead leaves in the winter wind, the spatter of puddles with each footfall. The poor weather means there are very few people out tonight, and you can let yourself relax in solitude. No one to worry about passing if they’re going too slow, or whether you should smile or just ignore anyone you encounter as you run past in the opposite direction—all the minute demands of being a human amongst other humans, trying to weigh kindness versus available energy, a hunter as a role model versus just a person trying to survive each day.

Just you, your footfalls, your breath. Running used to be meditative to you. One of the few times you could actually get your racing mind to be fully present, shutting out all the noise of worries constantly spinning in your brain like your motorcycle’s wheels— reviewing for exams, then training, the regulations of your job, the code of conduct for dealing with the public as a role model and a public servant. Your latest failed relationships. The embarrassing things you blurted during a meeting, or during obligatory after-work drinks with colleagues. While you ran, you could be mindful, when it was just you, your pumping heart, the joy in the strength of your legs, your even breath and healthy lungs. You could be present in your body, for once, instead of only living in your head.

Running used to be meditative for you, until it wasn’t. It has been harder to find that calm headspace, every time you lace up your shoes and just go—like so many things in your life now, there is the Before, and there is the After… After Caleb. Because before, running was a joyful indulgence in the power of your body. And it was one of the few things you shared with him, through all the years in which your lives were intertwined, and then through the years in which your lives slowly unthreaded as you grew older and life took you in different directions. You would run with him as a reckless child, exploring parks around your grandmother’s house, playgrounds for tag and cops and robbers, hunter and wanderer. Later, you would run together after school during the off-seasons of track and field or cross country. It was one of the few times you both could fully relax, your footfalls mirroring each other, each of your competitive edges often pushing you further and further, harder and faster. The joy you felt sprinting as hard as you could at the end of a long run, only to collapse in the grass with your chests heaving, laughter spilling out of you like apples falling from a tree during the season of harvest. And you took it for granted—because the one constant in your life was Caleb, your running shoes, his teasing. Even when he was away more and more on flight missions, and you were busy at the Academy and then as a new Hunter, you both would do your best to carve time for each other in your schedules, And those times always included a run. Each time, you were secure in the knowledge that there would be a next time. You thought the laughter would be never ending. If you won that final sprint, you’d taunt him, flinging friendly insults about him getting soft in his job that kept him behind the yoke of the ships he piloted. If you lost, you’d accuse him of foul play as he used his longer legs to reach the designated finish line of that weird tree further up at the corner, doesn’t it kind of look like it has a face? Okay-ready-set-go, ooh you snooze you lose, it’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention and now I got a head start!

“Better work harder if you want to keep up, pipsqueak,” he’d say, reaching over to pat your sweat soaked hair, much to your annoyance. You’d swat his hand away and demand a rematch. He’d just laugh, and say “Next time. Next time, see if you can beat me.”

“Pfft, next time I might be too busy for your ass,” you’d grumble, taking it all for granted. The one constant in the blur of fighting wanderers and mind-numbing paperwork and the compulsive need to get out there and do it all over again, day after day.

That was Before. Now, After, you’d give anything to be able to grab his big hand and hold it to your messy hair. To be able to say, yes, next time. Next time, and the time after that. Until we’re old and gray. And you will carry the memories of what little I can remember of my childhood inside you, and I will carry your own youth in me, and we’ll laugh about the things only we know, about Gran’s cooking, about late nights giggling under a blanket, flashlight in hand and the latest graphic novel issue between you, way past bedtime. About sneaking the cookies Gran had made and told the two of you that you were allowed only one a day—then desperately brushing the crumbs from each other’s mouths and cheeks when you heard her footfalls approaching on the polished but worn wooden floorboards of the only home you can remember. About how quiet she’d sometimes get, as she contemplated you with a faraway look on her face. About how she’d suddenly hug you, out of nowhere, and whisper an apology in your hair, clutching a little too tight. You were too young to recognize guilt, at the time. You never knew what she was sorry for. Not while she was alive, anyway. How cruel, that so often life requires death for answers to ancient questions to rise to the surface—a tectonic shift to crack open the earth and reveal the bones buried below.

All of these memories that you now carry inside you, alone, in this After.

You breathe in. You breathe out. It’s full dark now. The miles are stretching out behind you now. You refuse to look at your watch, and let time pass over, through you. You could have been running for only half an hour, or for two hours. It doesn’t matter. Until you’re utterly exhausted, you won’t quit. You need to sleep.

The river flashes between the trees, blurred, shadowed trunks and the glittering water streaks like headlights on a rainy highway. The more the memories come, unrequested and unwelcome, the faster your footfalls become, as if you can outrun the images, the sounds, the scents. Caleb’s clean sweat. How he tells you to use shorter strides if it ever gets to be too much. Just slow down. You don’t have to stop. Just do as much as you can, allow yourself to catch your breath. But never, ever quit. Little steps, until you reach the end. You can do it. You can do it. He shortens his stride, looking ridiculous as the big body he has grown into moves forward with little bitty strides to allow you space to breathe, to regain your strength and be able to push him at the end in your traditional sprint against each other.

But now that he is gone, there is no end. There is no finish line. In this After, it’s only day after day, and you have to keep running, keep busy, keep meeting wanderer after wanderer, keep staring at your ceiling through your sleepless nights, only to get up and do it all over again. Because he’s gone, and you’re still here. No matter how much you shorten your stride, the small steps you take, you will never be able to rest. He told you that you can't quit. You can never, ever quit. You don’t want to think about the holidays coming up, the first since you lost your family. What will you do, as the snow begins to fall, and Caleb isn’t there waiting behind your Gran’s door, the fire already crackling, the presents under the tree?

Your thoughts drift to Sylus. Sylus, who came into your life like a wrecking ball after Caleb exited like… like a bomb. Sylus, who offered to disappear from your life altogether, if you accepted his bet of surviving the encounter with some business rival. The bet you refused to agree to, and in the refusal left the door open for him to walk through. And he has—he barreled through it, slammed it so hard against the wall that it fell off its hinges. You can’t shut your door on him if you tried, now. Sending you gifts. Showing up when you least expect it—out with colleagues, at the arcade, even on a few jogs. Saying such sweet, straightforward things, all in his teasing, playful, taunting manner. He has invited you to his base, into his world, leaving his own door open for you to walk through. But even though you have come to trust that he is currently interested in you, affectionate toward you, amused by you, you still can’t bring yourself to step over the threshold, from light into dark, from the safe, the mundane, into the intoxicating excitement that his life, his touch, offers you, with each brush of his fingers across your skin, holding your hand, his nose along your cheek as he hugs you goodnight. What happens when he gets bored? What happens when he decides you’ve seen too much, that you’re expendable? What happens when he disappears from your life as suddenly as Caleb did, because of the violence of his existence or because of his low threshold for boredom? You have stopped fighting him, when he sends gifts. When he invites you out to dinner. When he wraps his big arm around you during a film in the theater. When he lays you down gently on the bed, and gives such great pleasure to your body. But you are still waiting for his door to slam shut, to cut you in half in the process.

You haven’t been able to ask Sylus what his plans are for the holidays this year. Every time the thought crosses your mind, your heart hurts at the idea of him responding that he’ll have to be out of town, that he’ll be working as usual, that he never does anything special, so why should he start this year? You’ll be fine. You’ll set up a small tree in your apartment, make a toast to your dead in the soft glow of strings of multicolored lights. Go to work the next day, as usual.

It was supposed to be a simple job. You’re running too fast now, the adrenaline coursing through you as you are chased by memories that you want to erase, memories you’re afraid to forget, when your hunter’s watch, which is measuring your distance and your pulse and your oxygen levels, suddenly trills. A shift in metaflux near your location, a possible wanderer along the river’s edge.

You gulp a big breath, and urge your legs faster, your stride longer.

There’s no one around, thankfully, because the night is dark and rainy, the air cold, only you and your lonely memories and thoughts willing to brave the poor weather. Three wanderers, panther-like, with sharp scorpion tails, immediately hostile. You have to eliminate them, even as you admire their savage beauty. You catch the first one by surprise, your sneakered feet muffled on the wet grass, grabbing it by the tail right under the vicious stinger, slicing through meat to remove the threat. It twists, bucks, but you’re already leaping on it, straddling it like a bucking horse, and you drive your short sword into the side of its skull, right at its tender temple, killing it almost instantly.

The other two turn, tails whipping, and charge at the same time. You ride the falling body of the first one you killed to the ground, use the momentum to sprint between and past them, their tails missing you by inches, but your path between them has one stinging the other, and the accidental victim lets out a scream that hurts your heart with how much pain the poison must be causing it. They can’t help their nature. But you have to live, because Caleb is dead. If you let them kill you, they will kill someone innocent, someone whose existence is worthy, and useful, and then you will have failed to make up for all of your shortcomings. You have to earn your death, in the end, and you feel like what you owe the universe for living while Caleb died, what you owe the universe for still being alive when your parents died or didn’t want you, with your limping heart, still isn’t paid. You have to live, because you don’t deserve death, yet.

The stung wanderer collapses, mouth foaming, and twitches in the wet grass, now churned and slick with mud from your tussle with the first one, with the heavy footfalls of the other two. Now it’s just the one left. A fair fight. You circle each other, the rain misting along its scales, glittering in the light reflected from the river, the haloed streetlamps on the distant path. It moves like the panther it resembles, beautiful, deadly, a low rumbling drifting through the quiet evening, its tail whipping. You wait, slightly crouched, ready to dodge when it inevitably loses patience and charges at you. You’re patient. You have nowhere else to be, no one waiting for you, no one to care whether you make it home or not in the end. You wait, swords drawn, chest heaving from your jog, from the adrenaline, your ears ringing from the tinnitus but still attuned to every shift of the magnificent creature before you that you’re going to have to slaughter.

It finally loses patience, snorting once through flaring nostrils, crouching low, powerful haunches rippling, its tail curled over its back, ready to strike at the same time that it launches itself at you.

You can survive being swiped by claws, being ripped by fangs. You will not survive the poison in its tail. You force yourself to wait until the second millisecond, until it’s already in the air, before ducking and rolling toward its form flying toward you, using the slick mud to slide under it—you skid, scramble, rise behind it as its tail strikes the wet, soft earth instead of your fragile body. You slip in the mud but manage to grab it by its tail, just as you did the first one, to grab it by the tail and slice off the poison bulb attached to the stinger. As you slice, the wanderer screams like its companion, whips its body around, and swipes its vicious claws down your side, not too deep to catch on your ribs, but deep enough to flay you open, for the blood to flow.

You’re so high on adrenaline that the pain isn’t immediate. There is only you, the still living wanderer, your life balanced on the edge of your swords, your blood splattering over the muddy ground. You twist, drive both swords into the beast’s vulnerable flank, where its leg connects to its torso. You twist them, doing as much damage as possible, slicing through major arteries, rendering its leg on this side useless. It screams again, your heart squeezes. You’re sorry. You’re so fucking sorry that even in this, you have to live when this creature, doing what its nature tells it to do, has to suffer and die under your bloody hands. The wanderer half-collapses, but still tries to bite you with its gaping jaw, its glistening fangs. You dodge backwards, just out of reach, and then shove one of your swords into its maw, up, up, through the soft palate of its mouth, directly into its brain.

It collapses against you, head still pinned on your sword. You fall backwards underneath it, landing on your ass in the squelching mud. There is only the sound of your panting breath, the softly falling rain. You curl over it, rest your cheek on top of its magnificent head, regaining your breath, honoring it and the companions you were forced to exterminate.

Passing out from the blood loss is like falling asleep, before Caleb died. A pleasant feeling of exhaustion, of having done your best to earn your rest, and then slipping under, the peace of the deep, deep black.

Sylus is exhausted. Meeting after meeting, shipment inspections, having to explode one supplier to teach other fucks a lesson for trying to pass off counterfeit protocores Sylus needs for modifying a shipping container of Hightowers. He’s finally done, after working through his ‘night’ to secure alternatives to the fake protocores so that other contracts could be fulfilled on time. Sylus always keeps his word, after all. He’s exhausted, and now it’s his version of dawn, but he’s not willing to go to sleep until he checks in with his beloved. He’s in the middle of the N109 Zone, ready to return to base, but he’s impatient and pulls up Mephisto’s app on his phone before settling the helmet on his head and getting on the road.

Mephisto is in your bedroom. Your room is empty, and the windows are shut tight. There’s just your verdant houseplants spilling out of their pots, the plushies tumbled on the floor, the city’s lights filtering through the windowpanes exposed by your open curtains.

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. He has scolded you about this before—sometimes you forget that Mephisto has been programmed not to cause any damage to your place, so if you leave without letting him out the window or the door, he’s stuck. And if he’s stuck, he can’t serve his purpose, which is to keep an eye on you.

“I survived long before I had you or Mephisto to stalk me. I don’t need him to follow me everywhere I go, running down his battery so that when you actually need him, he won’t be unavailable.” You had scoffed, completely missing the point.

As far as Sylus was concerned, Mephisto’s sole purpose was to be of use to you when Sylus is unable to be there in person to be of use to you. What part of Don’t be shy when using me did you still not understand? “Have you considered that I need him to follow you everywhere you go? That I specifically upgraded his protocore so that his battery can survive a thousand trips a day between Linkon City and the N109 Zone?”

You had just patted his chest indulgently, with a strange, sad little smile on your face that he didn’t like. He opened his mouth to continue, to make sure you understood—it was important to him for you to understand this, but you had moved your hand from his chest to his throat, running your fingertips along the tender skin at his clavicle, palming the side of his neck. He couldn’t help himself—he leaned into your touch, lost his train of thought. Your other hand joined your efforts to distract him, to soothe him, to make him forget what he was just talking about, and then you were cupping his cheeks, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes. It felt so good, to be touched like this by you. For your hands to be on him, for you to be looking at him with such quiet affection. He couldn’t help himself—he leaned down and kissed you, the conversation submerged in the feeling of being treasured by you, of you touching him like he was the fragile one, like he was the precious one—submerged, but not forgotten, because you were the precious one, the one who could be hurt, who he wanted to kiss like this, softly, meeting your lips with his, over and over, gentle presses, nudging your nose with his, until you slid your hands from his cheeks into his hair, kissed him a little harder, with purpose, and he slipped his tongue between your lips like he knew you wanted, and you sucked, sucked, sucked.

He let the conversation go. Later, while you were sleeping, the silken sheets he had replaced your own crappy cotton ones with draped over your hip as you lay on your side, facing away from him, he ran his finger thoughtfully down your spine, admiring its curve in the moonlight through your bedroom window, lower, lower, until he slipped that finger between your legs and pressed back into you, where you were still soft and wet from his earlier efforts. He thought about that strange sad smile, your refusal to let him fully look out for you. He thought about how he always came to you, and you had never once taken him up on his invitation for you to come to his base. To make use of him whenever you pleased. You would accept him when he came to you, ‘ran into’ you, kissed you, but you never initiated. It was like you were still afraid to accept everything he was offering you as unconditional truth, irrevocable once offered. You shifted in your sleep, made a pleasured noise in your throat as he slipped another finger inside you, as he scooted closer behind, spooning you, filling you, as he let his mind wander back to that terrible smile of yours.

He hated that smile. A smile that isn’t a smile—a hollow mask, containing none of the joy you deserve to feel, all the time. A smile that says that you don’t believe that anyone will care if you don’t come home, now that your family is gone. A smile that says that you can’t conceive of a world in which Sylus’s entire existence revolves around you, your genuine smile, and his utility to you. That if anything were to happen to you, he’d burn down the world and fall on your sword after he had ensured that no one else survived your death.

Even though you let him in. Even though you let him touch you, you still can’t seem to understand the depth of his devotion to you. He’s been forced to live so long without you. He’s not going to endure that hell again now that he's found you.

Now, he pulls up the app that tracks your hunter watch. You’re along the river, moving faster than a walking pace, but not fast enough to be on your motorcycle. You’re… going for an evening jog? What the hell are you doing, running by yourself after a long, exhausting day in the dark? No matter how strong you are, no matter how skilled a warrior, you should take at least the most basic of precautions and let him know where you’re going if you’re going to behave in such a reckless manner. You’re just one person, against a sea of cruel humanity, against the ever present threat of wanderers.

He wants to pull you into his arms and squeeze you, to press into your skin his worry, his care, his love, to squeeze you so hard that you finally get it through your ridiculous, beautiful, anxious, clever brain that even if you don’t have a care for your own safety, your own value to everyone in your life, but most of all to him, he cares, and if you get hurt, so does he.

This won’t do at all. Sylus is exhausted after being awake for twenty-four hours, but he will always, always have time and energy to spare for you. If you want to go jogging at night so badly, he’ll fucking join you.

The winter night is cold, the gentle rain almost sleeting, billowing curtains turning the streetlamps into something soft, muted stars that Sylus’s sensitive eyes can tolerate. He enjoys the dark, the rain, the cold, as he steps out of the tank parallel to where it looks like you’ve paused to take in a view of the river. Luckily this park, though long enough to enable running enthusiasts a long, uninterrupted stretch of path to run, is narrow, so Sylus could park relatively close to where you’ve stopped and jog to you easily in a few minutes. He doesn’t need to stretch, or warm up his muscles. His body is primed, at all times, for physical action. It’s a perk of the monster within. He shuts the tank’s door and jogs to where his phone indicates you are.

Before he sees you, he can smell it. Blood. Yours. A lot of it. His heart stops beating, his mouth goes dry. On instinct, he presses Luke and Kieran’s contact in his phone. He doesn’t remember everything he says or how he says it. He gives your location, orders them to bring the bags of blood he keeps at the base, the bags with your blood type in them, just as a precaution, the bags you don’t know about, along with all of the other contingency plans has in place that you don’t know about in order to prevent his worst nightmares from coming true—of you dying before him, this time. Of him being forced to live without you, again, as he has through lifetimes already, where he never even found you. He has you now, in this life. You let him touch you, you touch him in return. This time, no matter what fate, or destiny, or any gods have to say about it, you’re both going to live. Together. He has finally found you, and he’s not going to let you fucking die on him. When he’s done with the call, he dissipates into red and black mist.

He re-materializes a few feet away from you. There you are. Two huge wanderer corpses in a muddy clearing where a vicious fight clearly took place, and you, cradling the third wanderer’s head in your lap, slumped over its impressive form. The rain falls softly over you both. Your hair is soaked through, tendrils winding down your cheek, droplets falling from the ends like dew falling from a petal. One of your lovely arms curves around the wanderer’s head, almost as if you’re hugging it, while the other is limp at your side, resting in the bloody mud, your palm relaxed and open to the falling rain.

You look dead.

You look dead, but Sylus can smell you, your life, your sluggish heart, he can hear your faint breath. You look dead, but you’re still alive.

Although you’re alive, Sylus feels like he’s going to die. He’s died before. Many times. He dies every time he receives a wound that would be fatal to anyone else. It hurts, every single time, because Sylus isn’t the type of man who dies peacefully, in his sleep, at the end of a long, placid life. Each death is violent, frightening, and deeply, deeply painful. His first death, the most painful at all, simply because he knew he was leaving you behind, leaving you alone. The most painful, and yet the least. He could tolerate the sword through his chest, knowing that you would be free from his curse, that you were already on your way to growing your own horns, your own tail, weapons against a world that could not stand against you. It hurt, but he was at peace with his decision to die for you, that first time.

Sylus knows very well what it feels like when he’s going to die. But he doesn’t remember feeling the kind of fear he feels now. A terror that he can’t scream through, because his throat won’t work. He can’t make any sound at all, as he stands frozen for a heartbeat at the entrance to the clearing, only a few feet from you, as his eyes are forced to look at your slumped form, the deep gashes along your side, partially hidden by your arm as it hangs limply, lifelessly.

You look dead.

“No.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. No. No. No. No.

He has not come this far with you, he has not started all over with you again, from absolute scratch, from your blank memory, fear and hate written all over your face, spilling out of you, so thick her could taste it over the taste of you, your scent, the scent he had been craving for lifetimes, when he found you again—he has not painfully, slowly, rebuilt your trust in him, lured you in like the feral kitten you are, leaving crumbs, treats, tricks, toys, feathers, patiently coming to you and leaving again, instead of doing what he wanted and dragging you with him to his lair, smothering you, shaking you until you remembered his face, his heart, his love. He has not gotten you to the point that you let him touch you, run his fingers along your skin, and you do the same. That you look at him, eyes soft, with affection, with laughter on your tongue, even if you still don’t quite understand the depth of his want for you, his servitude, how utterly you own him, all of him, and always have. He has not come this far with you, only for you to die before he does, from something so mundane, so pedestrian and anti-climactic as a wanderer attack—from just doing your job, and one day, you just don’t come home to him. He refuses to accept this. This is not the death you deserve. You deserve a death at sunset, entire armies turned on each other, blood like rivers across a ravaged plain, a death by Sylus’s side, as you both fight and maim and kill, the flesh of your enemies between your teeth, each of you crazed with bloodlust for your foes and lust for each other.

Or better yet. You deserve a death at sunset, in Sylus’s arms, when you’re old and gray, and you’re simply a little too tired to keep going. And Sylus will hold you in his arms, and he will press his forehead against yours, your skin paper thin and wrinkled, still perfect, still beautiful, your hair wisps of cotton around your head, and as you close your eyes for the final time, Sylus will close his, and your hearts will stop beating at the same time. A peaceful death, after a long, simple, happy life together, with flower crowns exchanged on anniversaries, your friends around the table, the wine generous, your hand in Sylus’s through all the long years that will never be long enough for him.

You’re not going to die here, under the soft, cold rain, from blood loss after a victorious battle in the dark.

All of these thoughts swirling through Sylus’s nimble mind take only a heartbeat to complete, to bring him to his resolution that he’s not going to let you die here, whether you like it or not. He kneels in the mud next to you, covers you in his leather jacket, slips your phone from your pocket and calls your doctor, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. As the phone rings, he gently, so, so gently, slips his arms behind your back and under your knees, lifts you in his arms. Your blood is still flowing, and it seeps into the tight athletic tank he had put on in anticipation of jogging with you. He turns, running shoes squelching in the mud, and begins walking back to the tank.

“It’s never good when you’re calling me this late,” comes the crisp, even tone of your primary care physician’s voice. But Sylus can hear the slight smile in his tone, even if you fail to hear it every time.

“You’re right, it’s not good. If you want to see your patient alive again, then you need to come to this location,” Sylus bites into the phone, rattling off the closest address, explaining how to find your and Sylus’s tank.

“If this is a joke, it’s not funny,” Zayne answers after a short silence.

“This isn’t a joke. Wanderer attack, too much blood loss. I already have the right blood type being brought as we speak, but you need to get here, now, for a transfusion.”

“You need to bring them to the hospital—they need proper medical facilities and treatment if they’re to have any chance to survive,” Zayne argues, his distress starting to bleed through his even tone.

“What they need is for you to stop fucking arguing with me, and do as a I say. If you care about them at all, trust that I care more, and I’ll explain when you arrive.” Sylus doesn’t even bother to hide his own agony. He needs your doctor to stabilize you, because you need to be conscious for Sylus to save your life, but Sylus doesn’t have the expertise of a medical professional to get you to the point of surviving long enough to wake up. “Now, are you going to stop wasting time, or not?”

“You have no idea how much I care,” Zayne retorts icily, and ends the call.

Sylus takes his answer as acquiescence to what probably seems like insanity to your doctor.

Sylus walks through the rain, crosses the running path, the expanse of grass and trees, until he’s back on the quiet Linkon City street where he parked the tank. His evol opens the back passenger door and he maneuvers you inside onto the middle bench seat. He strips his now bloody shirt and ties it around your torso, tightening it, trying to stem the flow of your bright, precious blood. He grabs his athletic hoodie from where it was tied around his waist that he brought in case you got cold and hadn’t properly geared up and repeats the motion, trying to create a tourniquet as he waits for Luke and Kieran to arrive, as he waits for Zayne to arrive. He pulls you back into his lap, torso elevated, presses his palms to your wounds through the fabric, orders the SUV to crank the heating to full blast. He busies himself with phone calls, arranging for medical staff to be waiting at the base.

Finally, after what seems like multiple lifetimes—he would fucking know what that feels like—the twins come screeching to a stop in front of the tank at the same time that Zayne’s low-slung, understated but very expensive sedan pulls up behind it.

Zayne drags out a large medical bag from the passenger side of his car as the twins pile into the front seats of the tank, Kieran clutching a medical grade cooler with the blood in it. Sylus’s evol throws open the tank’s sliding back passenger door, and your austere doctor manages to fold himself inside the cramped space.

“I need more room if I’m to do this. Move,” he orders in quiet disdain.

Sylus doesn’t argue. This isn’t a dick-measuring contest, this is your life or death. As gently as possible, he slides out from under you and lays you onto the long bench seat. He teleports to the third row of seats at the back of the vehicle.

Zayne doesn’t even flinch, just flicks his eyes to Sylus’s re-materialized form, from his face to his bare chest, and then turns his attention back to his medical bag without comment. He gets to work, unwinding the makeshift bandages of Sylus’s athleticwear, cleaning your wounds. He sutures the open gashes, stemming the blood flow. After it appears that your bleeding is somewhat under control, Sylus and the twins watch in tense silence as he orders Luke to hang the bag of blood from a hook on the oh shit handle above the passenger door after he has placed an IV line in the tender skin of your inner elbow and connected the tubing.

After he’s done, and the blood is sliding from the bag into your arm, he sits back against the tank’s door, arms crossed.

“Explain why you refuse to take them to a hospital.”

Sylus can’t take his eyes off you as he answers. “While I’m sure you would do a fine job of finishing stitching them up and preventing infection, I can heal them completely. I just need them to resonate with me.”

Zayne’s voice grows sharper. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Skye.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Sylus finally tears his eyes away from you, lying there, blood drained from your beautiful face, deep bruises under your eyes, hair still soaked and matted from the rain and mud. His heart, bleeding and broken.

He looks into Zayne’s pretty hazel eyes. “That’s all I can give you.”

Zayne stares in return, looking for something that Sylus can’t give. Sylus isn’t sorry for the fact that he carries half of your soul, and that you carry half of his. That in this universe, you belong to him, and not to anyone else. But he knows what it’s like, to live lifetimes without you. To look, and never find you. He’s never been in the position of finding you, only to find you bound to another. He doesn’t know what he’d do, if such a thing were to ever happen to him. He likely would not be able to look so calmly into the eyes of the person who had your heart, as Zayne is doing now. After tonight, Zayne has Sylus’s gratitude, and also his respect.

“What I can give you is a promise that you will see our hunter again, healthy and whole, because you helped tonight without asking too many questions.”

Zayne snorts softly through his nostrils. “You didn’t leave me much choice, did you?”

Sylus shrugs. “Even so. You could have stood on ceremony, insisted on going by the book, and likely killed your childhood friend.”

“No, your insistence on doing something incredibly reckless and demanding that I come to you, instead of bringing them to me at the hospital, would have killed them.”

Sylus lifts an eyebrow, enjoying the subtle spark underneath your doctor’s icy exterior. He has a backbone, and Sylus likes that. “Oh, I still would have brought them to the hospital. You just would have had to explain to your board how your heroic hunter patient disappeared on your watch after the blood transfusion without anyone seeing them leave. Because I can guarantee you that the first thing kitten would demand after waking up would be to get the fuck out of there.”

Zayne’s lips part slightly, apparently the good doctor’s version of gaping in surprise. “Kitten?” he asks, bewildered, until he sighs, looks incredibly tired for a moment, and then says, “Never mind. I would rather not know.”

He pulls a prescription pad out of his white lab coat and scribbles on it with a pen. A pen that has a cute little seal on the cap. Sylus has the strangest feeling that he knows where your fucking doctor got such a pen. He makes a mental note to remedy this injustice when you wake up later and are feeling better. “These are the antibiotics they’ll need for the next week, even if you’re convinced that your evol can fully heal them through the resonance. I’m assuming that wherever you’re taking them will have medical expertise on staff?” he asks, ripping the prescription off the pad in one decisive stroke and holding it out between his index and middle finger to Sylus.

Sylus takes the paper, letting his fingers brush against your doctor’s, just to vex him. He does not disappoint as he scowls and jerks his hand back, shoving it into his pocket of his labcoat. “If anything happens…” Zayne’s voice trails off as he returns his gaze to your still form. “Call me. I’ll come, no matter the time, no matter the place.”

Sylus can hear the plea in his words formulated as an order. He is glad you have people in your life who care for you. He makes a note to arrange more opportunities for you to play with your doctor, so you will come to realize that Zayne cares for you as well, as more than just your primary care physician. Another person in the threads of your life, woven together to form the safety net you don’t even realize you have, even without Sylus. Not that you ever have to worry about being without Sylus, ever again. But Sylus has read that it’s apparently healthy for people to have more than one anchor, more than one source of comfort. Friends. People who love you and who take joy in your presence in their life. He wants to give you that. He wants to give you everything. You belong to him, but he can’t begrudge others for wanting to bask in your light—he’ll allow it, as a side effect of you having a healthy, rich, full life. And it doesn’t hurt that it looks like the doctor will be hilarious to torment.

“Deal,” Sylus says. Zayne breathes again, a sharp exhale through his nose, and then extricates himself, along with his medical bag, from the tank, shutting the door decisively behind him.

“Whoa, boss is learning how to play well with others,” Luke says, probably wide-eyed underneath his mask.

“The hunter truly is a miracle worker,” Kieran agrees, sounding pleased.

“Enough. Kieran, drive us back to base. Luke, follow us in the other vehicle.”

They nod, understanding that now is not the time for silly banter, that underneath their boss’s calm exterior is a very worried, frightened man.

As Luke clambers out of the tank and Kieran settles himself into the driver’s seat, Sylus makes his way from the backseat to where you’re lying and lifts you gingerly, settles himself onto the seat, and gently lays your shoulders and head back onto his lap. His eyes do not leave your face, his hands do not leave your hair for the entire duration back home. On the way, he soothes himself with memories of your face, blooming with color, health, your eyes bright, the teasing curve of your lips after saying something mean to him. He soothes himself with plans upon plans about how to finally convince you that you have someone waiting for you now, someone who will not recover if you don’t come home. That you’ve always had people waiting for you, worrying for you, loving you, even without Caleb and your grandmother in your life.

Before Sylus came into your life, waking up was always something you did reluctantly, a slow drag from the peaceful dark to the painful light, something to fear, something to resist, heart pounding with the shrill noise of your alarm in your ears, jerking from a calm numbed sea into the chaotic storm of emotions, of wakefulness, of being back in your body where everything hurt.

Now, something inside you whispers that it’s safe, even as you know the pain is coming. That beyond the pain, the first gasp of breath as your face breaches the tranquilizing ocean of unconsciousness, waiting on the other side is a pair of warm ruby eyes, big hands, soft despite their callouses, a heartbeat that should be a little too fast to be calming, yet soothes you all the same. That waking up has a purpose, beyond your penance, your self-imposed sentence of surviving despite everything, in order to earn your rest when something finally, mercifully kills you. Now, there’s something to wake up for besides guilt, even though you fear it will be snatched away without warning.

You open your eyes slowly. Your body feels heavy, but for once you’re not in pain, as if from the neck down you’re still in the ocean of sleep. You blink, eyes focusing on the ornate crown molding of Sylus’s dark bedroom ceiling. You haven’t been in this room since you searched his beautiful body for the brooch, right before the auction. But you’d recognize his ceiling anywhere. You turn your head on the soft, silk-covered pillow, and just as you knew you would, you’re met with the warm glow of Sylus’s eyes. You wonder how you got here. You’ve never before taken him up on his countless invitations to visit him at his home.

He doesn’t say anything. He just reaches over and palms your cheek, fingertips sliding over your ear, thumb stroking under your eye.

“Hi,” you say, smiling at him. Because you always smile at him, no matter how you’re feeling. You smile at him when you’re happy, when he has said something hilarious, or sweet. You smile at him when he surprises you, when he teases you, no matter how hard you try to keep a straight face, to scowl at him in mock anger for his mischievousness, his intentionally trying to get a rise out of you. You smile at him when your heart is hurting, because no matter how in pain you might be from grief, from worry, from missing him when he’s right there, you care for him so much already, and you can’t help but smile when he turns to look at you.

“Don’t smile at me like that,” he says, dark silver eyebrows drawing together. “I hate that smile.”

You stare at him, feeling the joy of seeing him drain from you like he’s just shoved a knife in your stomach. He hasn’t said something so cruel to you since your first few days of knowing each other.

You swallow.

It has finally happened. He’s finally sick of you. Whatever pedestal he has had you on this whole time has finally toppled.

“Okay,” you whisper, giving him what he wants. Because what else can you do? You stop smiling. You turn your head away from him again, from his beautiful, wine-glow eyes, his soft silver hair falling over his forehead, and stare at his ceiling. You’re thankful for the strange numbness in your body. It makes it easier to breathe. To tolerate the pain washing through you. You gather your resolve. All you have to do is roll over, sit up. Put both feet on the floor. Get dressed, in your own clothes. You hope you didn’t arrive in any of the clothes he has bought for you over the past few months since he started playing the game of keeping you. The game he apparently never had any intention of finishing.

You try to do what you just imagined, but your body doesn’t listen. You just lie there, like the useless sack of shit you often feel like.

“Fuck,” he says, strangely. He must really, really want you gone.

You laugh a little breathlessly, because what else can you do? “Sorry, I’ll leave as soon as I can. I must have had too much to drink.” Because what else could explain this paralysis? Why else can’t you remember how you got here in his bed again? The last thing you remember is lacing up your running shoes for a run after work.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, tone dark. Which doesn’t make any sense at all.

Oh.

He’s not only bored with you, but he’s finally decided to kill you. You had wondered, at the beginning, what it would take for him to finally get bored. What he would do, when he was ready to cut his losses. If he would feel compelled to get rid of the now useless witness to so many of his secrets. But you had trusted him enough to keep accepting him when he came to you, when he told you how much he cared for you. When he had told you he wanted you, and that wouldn’t change. You must have let yourself believe him, based on how deeply hurt you feel now. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you, after all. This is why you never took him up on his invitation to come deeper into his world.

You always have been so fucking gullible.

You suppose that you deserve what’s coming, the fool that you are.

It’s a relief, really. Maybe now you can see Caleb again. See Gran again. Maybe if your parents are dead, you’ll finally get to meet them.

Or, if the universe is actually kind, maybe dead is just dead, and at least you won’t have to hurt anymore.

Part of you thinks that you’re a fucking coward for taking the easy way out. For giving up without a struggle. You thought you could survive anything. That you needed to survive everything, to finally earn your death. But losing Sylus’s affection must have been the last straw for you, because you’re so fucking tired. You could fight an endless amount of wanderers, and still keep dragging yourself back out to do it all over again. But after having Sylus, and then losing him… turns out, that’s the one thing you can’t survive.

“I know it doesn’t mean shit, but I want you to know that I love you. It felt really good, being your toy for a while,” you say.

“Toy?” Sylus asks, voice strained.

You wonder how he’ll do it. “Just, if you ever cared about me at all, make it quick.” You close your eyes. It’s so strange. You could fall asleep again. You’re so, so tired. You suppose, in a way, you’re lucky. Not everyone gets to die by the hand of someone they love. Who they’d die for anyway. It’s better than bleeding out alone after fucking up against a wanderer.

You feel his fingers on your neck. How poetic. How we met is how we’ll end. Sylus has always been strangely poetic.

“Will you resonate with me?” he asks through the waves that you’re letting yourself sink back into.

Why is he bothering to ask? He could just try to force it, like the first time. It would probably work, since he succeeded in making you love him. You wonder why he wants it now. You’ve only ever resonated during fights. Gun battles. Being caught by surprise by wanderers between Linkon City and the N109 Zone. He’s never asked you for it, outside of the context of violence. But then again, maybe putting you down is just another quick little conflict. If his evol is strengthened with yours, so much the easier to snap your neck. He’s such a big man though. He could do it so easily, even without his evol. Does it really matter why he wants to resonate with you now though? You would give him anything, for any reason, the fool that you are.

“One for the road, huh?” you ask.

His fingers tighten on your neck. He wants to strangle you so badly, it’s almost funny.

You lift your hand, and it feels like a 16 kilo kettlebell. You sigh as you rest it over the back of his hand, resting at your throat.

“You can have whatever you want, Sylus Qin.”

“And so can you, my beloved,” he says, and he sounds so sincere that you’re reminded why you believed his lies in the first place. Anyone, not just your idiotic, desperate, lonely, gullible self would have believed the sweet words coming from his beautiful mouth. Cold comfort, but comfort all the same.

He lifts your hand, turns it, threads his fingers through yours. You summon the very last bit of energy you have, all of the love you carry for him, and let your evol flow through you and into him.

It’s the weightlessness of sleep, of falling, of flying. Floating in a vast ocean of stars, the night sky as it actually is without light pollution, so bright that the word ‘night’ loses all meaning. As your gold waves flow into him, his scarlet and ink tendrils flow into you. Power, strength, the exhilaration of wild, unchecked energy, possibility, coiled to explode into action at the slightest twitch of your fingers or his.

The boundaries between you, between him, your minds, your bodies, thin, dissolve. The resonance has never been like this, before. Every time before, you could sense where he was on the battlefield, anticipate his movements. You could work in sync, powering his punches, increasing the speed at which he gathers energy, charging the storm that would unleash and ravage the hostiles arrayed against you. But you were still you. He was still him. Now, his heart beats in your chest. When he swallows painfully, you feel it in your throat. You are big, strong, powerful, and exhausted.

With your eyes closed, you see him. With his mouth closed, he speaks.

When you smile like that, you look so sad, I can’t bear it, he says. His arms gently curl around you, pull you into his chest. Relief floods through you, holding the person you cherish most in the universe in your arms again. And unlike the past two days, they’re awake.

Your mind is overwhelmed, the disparity between what you thought he was feeling just moments ago and feeling his actual emotions now large enough to make you feel insane. You breathe through the disorientation, focus on the words that just flowed through your mind.

Smile like what?

He doesn’t answer immediately. You just see yourself, like looking in a mirror, but from a greater height. You see your upturned face, your lips curved in the idea of a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Like a sketch by a skilled artist with their eyes closed. It’s a smile, but it’s wrong. Sylus, the intuitive creature that he is, can sense the disparity, the disconnect, between your smile and your heart. But he doesn’t understand that underneath the sadness, you are actually happy to be looking at his face, to be the object of his focus, to be able to hold him and laugh with him. That even if your heart is hurting, his mere presence can still bring a smile to your face. He said he hated your smile not because he is finally bored with you, but because the heartbreak in your smile broke his own heart.

He finally answers you with words. Like you did when you woke up. You smiled even though I know you’re exhausted. When your body has been through hell. You smiled even after almost dying two days ago.

You open your eyes, turn your head on the silk pillow to look at him. I almost died?

Sylus scoots even closer, and you realize that he’s holding his body away from your torso, even as he rests his head on the same pillow as you, runs his nose along your cheek. I found you bleeding out after killing three wanderers by yourself. You had already run eight miles before your hunter watch alerted you to their presence.

You stare at him. Notice the deep, dark circles under his eyes for the first time. The exhaustion drawing his mouth tight. Through the resonance, impressions of sour terror, heart-palpitation-inducing anxiety, clenched-teeth determination, refusal to sleep blur together. Sylus hasn’t slept since he found you. He has been lying here by your side, watching your face as you slept, for the past two days. You get the impression that he was already exhausted before he even found you.

But why?

How do you expect me to sleep, when I’m not sure if my beloved is ever going to open their eyes again?

You’re reeling. You just thought he was done with you, that he was about to end you. Your beloved?

You feel a pulse of disbelief, incomprehension, dawning understanding, and heartbreak, as all of the tangled feelings you just went through flow through the resonance from you to him. He had no idea that you have been fearing the end like this, somewhere deep inside yourself, all along. This fear, based on how you began. Based on all that you know about him, the way he lives his life, conducts his business. How easily bored he becomes playing simple games, listening to other people talk. Fear based on your own view of yourself, what you perceive as the value you have to offer other people in your life. He knew you were reluctant to come to him, yes, but he thought such reluctance was rooted in him being a criminal and you a deepspace hunter, that you didn’t quite understand how much he cares for you, and that in time, he’d be able to prove to you just how much he cares through his actions alone. Through his consistency in showing you his love.

His hatred of your sad smile compounds, grows, as he realizes the depth of the hole inside you.

Now that he can see everything, you’re so scared. You don’t want him to see, to finally realize how disposable you are, even to yourself. Your parents, Caleb and your gran leaving you behind, the association once your heart finally gives out. How you’re only surviving until you receive a sign from the universe that you’ve finally earned the peace that you believe only death can offer you.

But instead of withdrawing, instead of dawning disgust in his heart, your heart, you feel determination rise in you, in him. A firm rejection of everything he just felt from you. An efficient, resounding no. If you don’t fucking believe it yet, he’ll just work harder until you do. He’s been too cautious. He’s been so busy trying to give you time, trying to lure you in like a scared kitten, that he has inadvertently let you believe that you’re ultimately disposable to him, when you’re the one thing he can’t bear to live without. No. No. No.

But why? You can’t help but feel, ask. Why you? When the world is so vast, full of people who are so much more interesting, competent, true equals to the man now running his fingers so gently along your cheek, staring into your eyes, sending wave upon wave of wordless, overpowering love through you.

Along with the warmth, the affection, the gentle amusement, the lust, the endless fascination that Sylus is sending along through your connection to him, you start seeing visions of your own laughing face, your lips curved in a scowl or a mischievous smirk, the few times he’s managed to instigate a big belly laugh out of you, squeals of delight at the claw machine, your competitive smugness following a motorcycle race that ended in a tie, and afterwards your lips bathed in moonlight as the both of you lay in a field of flowers, staring up at the night stars on the side of the road. Your mouth, as a metaphor for every reason he loves you so much. Your thoughtful frowns, betraying your clever mind, your bloodthirsty snarls, revealing your righteous fury when engaging in battle, your grin, telegraphing your dark sense of humor, your ability to laugh in the face of the horrors of humanity, existence, the constant plague of hostile wanderers. Your mouth, slightly open, panting, little noises of pleasure escaping your lips as Sylus makes you feel good with his body, as you make him feel like a king with every satisfied whimper out of your mouth.

You had no idea. All this time, you had no idea the depth of his feelings for you. When he is away on business, how his thoughts return to you, over and over again. When he is here at his home, how he intricately plans the ‘happenstance’ encounters with you. His joining you on jogs, because he’s so afraid something may happen to you when you’re exhausted and alone.

Do you understand yet? He’s pressing his forehead to yours, still being careful of your torso, breathing you in.

You feel his heart, and he feels yours, and you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, as the connection loops through you, a closed circuit, infinity entwined. You understand that when you’re in pain, so is he. That by doubting his sincerity, his love for you, your own self worth, you’re hurting him too.

I’m sorry, is all you can think. You didn’t know, before. You may never have believed him, if he hadn’t opened himself to you like this, through your resonance.

He silently rejects your apology. Relief unfurls through you, as he realizes that you’re finally understanding. That now you and he can finally begin.

But now you’re curious about what led you to being here, resonating with him, in his bed.

If I was hurt so badly, why don’t I feel any pain?

There is the feeling of a sigh, of tension released. Like he’s finally breathing after being underwater the entire time you were unconscious, and then worried that he was done with you. The painkillers that I’ve had the doctor pumping into you via the IV since I got you back to base. They’re pretty strong.

You smile. Thank you.

His face grows serious, his red eyes troubled again. Don’t thank me yet. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, so that you could resonate with me. I need to heal you.

Heal me? You look down at yourself. The bandages wrapped tightly around your torso, the IV in your arm. Don’t I just need time to heal? You can dump me at Akso and Zayne can—

No. Sylus is scowling, full lips turned down like he smells something unpleasant. I can heal you better than your accomplished doctor. Under his thoughts snakes a winding thread of possessiveness, of pride that he can’t quite contain, even under these circumstances.

You’re bizarrely pleased with his jealousy, unfounded as it is. He’s the only person you’ve been able to see, from the moment you looked up into his disdainful face for the first time. Then why shouldn’t I thank you for it, if you can do that?

He brushes your cheek with the back of his knuckles. It’s going to hurt, my love.

You snort softly. I’m used to pain. You turn your head, feel brave enough to kiss his knuckles.

He licks his lips, briefly, uncharacteristically nervous. Not like this.

And when you’re done?

You’ll never forget the pain, but you’ll be fully healed. As if you were never injured at all.

You watch his face thoughtfully, thinking about all the times he has been injured since you’ve known him. And all the times the wounds have closed up right before your eyes. His stone-cold face, as blood turns to ash, as flesh is re-knit.

Is there any way you can heal me now, without feeling the pain yourself?

He shakes his head, as if he can’t quite believe you’ve just asked that. Still only worried about me, when you’re the one who almost died. He's incredulous.

I don’t like it when you’re in pain. You’d suffer a million injuries, to spare him one.

The feeling that fills you is his heart, mirroring yours. He takes the injuries every time, to spare you getting hurt.

When you hurt, I hurt. As I heal you, we’ll hurt together. When it’s over, we’ll be relieved, together. That’s what I’ve been offering, all along. Will you say yes?

You search his eyes, and you want to drink them like the sun-filtered wine they resemble.

Only if you promise me that you will stop taking hits meant for me. That if I’m not fast enough to get out of the way, we’ll heal together, but you won’t hurt twice because of me.

He laughs, low, breathless. He can’t believe you’re trying to bargain on his behalf in the state you’re in. I can’t promise that. Especially after the past few days. I can heal. You almost died. You don’t understand that terror.

But a part of you, deep inside you, does understand that terror. You don’t know how, but the thought of losing him makes you want to rip off your own skin, tear out your own lungs, set the world on fire. You scowl at him. He just leans down, licks your lower lip. I like it when you look at me so meanly. You deserve to be a little meaner, sweetheart.

Not towards you.

Especially towards me. I can take it. If it’s from you, I can take anything.

But that won’t do, not at all, not for you, not for what you want to give him, especially now that you know how much he cares for you in return. Sylus.

Yes, beloved?

That’s not the kind of love I want to give you.

I don’t know any other kind, darling.

Then I’ll allow you to heal me, if you allow me to teach you that love isn’t something you should have to endure. It shouldn’t hurt more than it heals.

There you are. His smile is soft, dark, welcoming like night after a long day. My sweet, master negotiator. That’s a deal I can accept.

Then heal me. Quickly.

My demanding kitten, he thinks, his affection, admiration, gentle amusement warming your exhausted heart.

He gives you what you ask for, As I will always try to do, as he clutches your cheeks in his big palms, rests his forehead against yours. The pleasant numbness is slowly burned away by an inexorable, excruciating heat along your ribs. It is like having your flesh threaded, jerked, drawn together with a blunt needle, rough twine. You can feel your sundered cells re-merging, the scuffed bones filling in, veins, arteries tugged, braided, pulled tight. The pain is much worse than any injury you’ve ever suffered, including broken bones, a bullet through your muscles, your broken body thrown to the ground in the shockwave from the bomb that killed Caleb and your grandmother.

Through it all, Sylus grits his teeth, holds you, absorbs your pain. Your ribs, his ribs, your flesh, his flesh, fused, whole.

The physical pain fades, but not its memory.

You start to cry.

A feeling of alarm ricochets between him and you. What’s wrong?

I hate that you feel this, every time. I’ve dug bullets out of you, just for you to have to go through this. Every time. You have to be more careful, from now on. I can’t bear you hurting like this, now that I know what it’s like for you.

Now that your wounds are healed, your body whole, Sylus throws his arms around you and pulls you close, crushing you to his chest. I’ll be more careful, if you never doubt again that I feel the same for you. When you come home from a mission exhausted and bleeding, I feel the same way as you do now, imagining the times I’ve been hurt. You have a reason to come home, even with Caleb and your grandmother gone. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t go and get hurt, when I’m not there to heal you again.

You laugh through your tears, so relieved that you’re no longer in pain. That you can move freely, the numbing effects of the pain medication seemingly gone along with the physical trauma on your body. Who’s the sweet master negotiator now?

You feel your own relief absorbed, rebounding, returned to you in an echo. Relief that he really could share his own healing abilities with you through his evol and your resonance. Relief that he won’t have to call your doctor again. That you are going to be fine, now. That you finally understand how much he cares for you, now. The relief morphs into something else. Something hungrier, more demanding.

He rolls you, settling his big body over yours. His agile, calloused hands yank at the bloodstained bandages wrapped around your torso. He leans down, licks the tears at the corner of each of your eyes, salt on your tongue, on his. He kisses your temple. Your forehead. Your nose. Your lips. Licks you, until you open your mouth, and he’s kissing you so hard, just shy of rough. Tasting your tongue, the slick softness of your inner cheeks, his entire being radiating a question, May I? May I? And a demand, Let me, let me. I was so frightened, holding your chilled body in my arms, your hot blood soaking through my shirt.

You send your wordless Yes, yes, of course, yes through the resonance. He lifts a hand, snaps his big fingers, a gunshot in the quiet room. The IV in your arm dissolves into scarlet and black ash, drifts into nothing. He leans down, laps at the blood trickling from where the needle was just embedded with his tongue. You taste iron as he tastes iron, and you shudder. He has succeeded in yanking your bandages from your body, and you lie underneath him, chest exposed. He moves from your inner elbow to your ribs, where you were just gravely injured, and licks long swipes across the muscles of your side, across the bone underneath. A beast, nursing a mate’s wound the best way he knows how.

His hunger, his desperation to feel your body against his body, to feel good after so much physical pain, fills you. You reach for his evol, pull it into yourself, snap your fingers, and rejoice when his soft shirt and sleep pants, his underwear, dissolve into colorful ash. He hovers naked above you, a look of surprise on his beautiful face. Perks of the resonance, you smirk. He grins, and it’s lethal to your heart—his canines sharp, his dick hard. He snaps his own fingers again, and you’re suddenly naked as well. You laugh, delighted. You grab his cock and pump it, and he groans, twisting, repositioning himself a little clumsily in the tangled bedsheets so that his cock is now hovering over your mouth and he’s trailing open mouthed kisses along your upper thigh, up to where you legs meet, before sinking his mouth over your most sensitive parts.

You gasp, bucking up into his mouth, wanting more of his tongue, his lips, his saliva dripping onto, into you. He feels your pleasure in his own body, and accidentally bucks himself against your lips. Before he can feel sorry, or regret, you tighten your hold around his big dick and open your own mouth, tonguing his soft skin, inhaling the scent of him. You stuff your mouth with him, your jaw wide open. Through the resonance, the closed circuit fires, sparks. You can’t tell where you end, where he begins, the pushing, the pulling, the taste of him, of you, the saliva dripping out of both of your mouths as you feast on each other, as you choke a little on the size of him, as he swallows, again and again, everything he is sucking from you, the wet sounds of your shared pleasure loud in the room.

When you finally come, he follows, and you swallow as best as you can. Salt, warmth, and musk. He rolls to his side, his still-hard dick leaving your lips with a wet pop, and he uses his evol to lift you—you yelp as he spins you, drops you next to him. You roll, throw your arm around him, and kiss him. He kisses you back, tongue sliding back into your mouth, and you taste yourself, and he tastes himself, through the resonance, through your messy, wet mouths combined.

Sylus. His name is a sigh, a talisman, a comfort, a treat in your mind, on your tongue.

You feel the pleasure course through him, hearing his name in your mind. He answers in kind. Beloved.

Sylus. You repeat, just to feel the spike in his enjoyment again.

He shudders a little. Never stop saying my name.

That’s an easy demand to indulge from your sweet lover, as far as you’re concerned. Okay, Sylus. You smile against his lips. He snakes an arm around you, pulls you tighter.

You enjoy each other quietly, as you each regain your breath, as you revel in the feeling of being whole, unharmed, finally understanding where the other is coming from, the depths of your mutual devotion.

I want to fuck you again, but it's already taken you longer than I expected to wake up. We’re going to be late.

You pull back a little, look at him questioningly.

I arranged a Christmas party at your place. Well, he thinks, gemstone eyes sparkling in mirth. Your boyfriend Skye arranged a Christmas party at your place. I was afraid I was going to have to cancel, and I can if you’re not up for it. But your friends will miss you.

You gape at him. My friends?

Tara, Nero, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, the twins—who are Skye’s younger cousins. Through the resonance, you receive an image of your apartment, half the small living room taken up with the biggest Christmas tree the twins could stuff in there, decorated with big gold glass ball ornaments, as well as a hilarious assortment of mismatched crow ornaments. Fairy lights strung over your windows. Pine-scented garlands hanging over the sides of your kitchen island. Big, pretty red and black wrapped presents under the tree, each with one of your friends’ names on them.

You stare into your boyfriend’s smiling, lovely eyes. But why?

Did you think I couldn’t tell how sad the idea of the first Christmas without your family was making you? He tsks, a low disgruntled sound in his throat. I’m insulted.

You hug his big body tighter against your own. You did all that for me?

This is nothing, compared to everything I am willing to do for you, darling.

You bury your head in his big, pillowy chest. Breathe in the scent of him, run your hands through the soft silver hair along his skin. He shudders. Keep doing that and I’ll definitely make us late, kitten.

You laugh, filled with such warmth. You can’t believe how wrong you were, about him, about how much you mean to him. You make the decision to live for more than just the day you can die. To live, instead of just survive. This is Sylus’s Christmas gift to you. You send the thought through the connection to him, and he palms the back of your head, gently presses your face deeper into his chest.

And what do you want for Christmas, Sylus?

You don’t know what you expect to hear as a response. Something expensive, or outrageous. Your soul, which you’re pretty sure he already has at this point.

I already have your soul. Now I just want your company. And... you receive the image of a set of pens with little cute crow figurines on the caps. You look at him in confusion. I want my own pens from my sweet little hunter. It’s only fair, since I’m the one who healed you.

You have no idea what he’s talking about. He already has your soul? Now he just wants pens because he healed you? He huffs a little, feeling your confusion. Don’t overthink it. But that’s what I want.

You decide to let it go. Like Sylus, you’re willing to give him so, so much more. But if goofy, cute pens are what he wants, you’re happy to find some for him, or have them custom made if necessary. A pulse of smug satisfaction fills you through the connection, as if Sylus just won a competition that only he knows is happening.

You drift in peaceful, satisfied silence with him. You think about how you felt when you woke up, versus how you feel now. Settled. Completely reassured. Hopeful, even. You want him to know that you're grateful, for not giving up. For insisting that you resonate with him. For showing you his true feelings when he saw how much pain you were in. Thank you.

He just hugs you, radiating contentment. There is no thanks between you and me. When you’re happy, I’m happy.

Fine, no thanks to you, you tease. You listen to his heartbeat. Think about the Christmas tree, and your friends, waiting for you, arranged by Sylus and the twins. Then Merry Christmas, Sylus.

This, he accepts. The first of many, he responds.

It was supposed to be a simple job. It was supposed to be a simple jog. There was a Before, and an After—Caleb, your gran. Small steps, each one more exhausting than the last, but you couldn't quit. You couldn't ever give up, even though there wasn't a finish line in sight, without the guideposts of your family guiding you home, without anyone waiting if you ever made it back to something resembling home ever again.

But the job almost killed you. The jog ended in Sylus opening himself to you completely, healing you in more ways than one. Now, there is a Before, and an After. Not replacing, but parallel to the Before and After of your family. Before Sylus, After Sylus. The small steps suddenly don't seem so exhausting, anymore. Maybe it's not surviving till the welcome end, but trying to live while you're alive. Maybe you have to create a new home, when one is lost to you. You nuzzle into Sylus's chest, ask a question.

The answer is so sure. So matter-of-fact. So Sylus. Of course I'll shorten my stride for you, beloved. Until you feel strong enough not only to sprint, but to fly again.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #my fanfic

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where-dreams-dwell · 11 months ago

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I haven’t read the book and only have vague recolections of the movie (though I remember sobbing violently at several points) but I hoped I’d love Netflix’s One Day adaption. And of course I did but one of the things I loved was so unexpected.

I love how they portrayed Sylvie.

Particularly how that relationship both ended and endured. How even at the start there were issues but the small kind you want to work on and work through. She knew her family were hard work but she was on Dex’s side and wanted him to be accepted: but still knew that her opinion was the one that mattered. Dex knew he didn’t fit it but he was trying so damn hard to, and hoped that if he kept trying it would be enough eventually. And she wasn’t this demon or harpy, even people who just met her liked her. She was a nice person.

So many times when the male lead is with another woman before they eventually get together with the female lead this ‘other woman’ is portrayed as toxic, unmanageable, cruel, snobbish, etc… or even just unpleasant to be around; someone we’re happy for the male lead to leave. Maybe it helps us to support the male leads pursuit of the female lead and not confront his poor behaviour as a romantic partner if that ‘other woman’ is unlikable and we’re happy to see her gone?

But here they made it clear: Sylvie is a kind nice woman who loves Dex, and didn’t handle the crumbling of their marriage well.

It was almost voyeuristic how we saw the breakdown of her and Dex’s marriage. It seemed so bloody real. New baby, no sleep, renovating the house, all of it building up until you’re being a bitch and you know you are, and you’re apologising after the fact for what you said but you don’t know how to talk around the fact that you still meant some of the things you said. And a partner who you know is struggling with direction and purpose, and you want them to do well, but *god* you’re the one fielding questions and having to go to bat for them every time someone asks, and as a result you never feel safe to take a break or question them yourself.

And (I don’t know how intentional this was) but Dex’s joking tone which is clearly meant to relax and reassure just came across as him not taking things seriously or being trustworthy. Sylvie lists a whole range of food options for Jasmine while she’s out for the night, clearly showing she has prepped *everything* ahead of time: she isn’t leaving Dex in charge of finding or cooking Jasmine dinner, she’s leading him by the hand to the ready made stuff and telling him now to reheat it. Kind of like he’s a child too. It really shows how capable she feels he is.

And then Dex jokes about giving Jasmine crisps. He’s clearly trying to break the tense atmosphere and joke around with his wife, but it just comes across as ‘I wasn’t listening to you, I don’t realise how much work you’ve done, you were right not to trust me to cook dinner because look what I immediately suggested, you can’t rely on me’.

In all their conversations the tone of their voices just show they’re not sure how to talk to one another anymore, that they know everything they say will be taken the wrong way and so they have no idea how to speak.

It felt like no one was particularly demonised or made into a caricature. Just two people who were different, put under stress until they broke and grew apart. And Sylvie had been responding to this state of her marriage by having an affair, so she is clearly in the wrong there and the one who causes the divorce etc, but… I don’t know; here it comes across more as a plea for help or freedom in the midst of her confusion and less a lack of care or thought for Dex and her daughter (like I remember it coming across in the movies).

Even when they have the brief mention of dramatics and anger around the divorce, afterwards she’s back in the picture as a level headed co-parent: joking around to relate to Emma, sharing co-parenting pains with HER too (‘Jasmin’s learning the violin?’ ‘Yes that’s why we’re fleeing the country’). And genuinely congratulating them in their relationship and marriage.

You don’t see many ex-wives in media who are so openly concerned about how their ex-husband is handling his second wife’s death. She’s present, caring and supportive. And keeps reaching out to him well after she could be forgiven for stepping back.

So yeah I loved all of One Day and yeah it made me cry AGAIN, but I also loved how real they made those significant relationships look. How adult and complicated and messy and ‘no one was a monster/you were both wrong in different ways/there is no right and wrong’ they played out as.

Just because she wasn’t the ‘love of his life’ doesn’t mean she was a footnote either.

#one day #one day netflix #dexter mayhew #emma morley #Sylvie Cope #relationships in media #the ‘other woman’ trope

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edosianorchids901 · 19 days ago

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Survive and Thrive

@sherlocktember2024 prompt - "bees"

Whenever it became necessary to force Holmes to take a holiday, he had a habit of vanishing periodically. He went for walks alone, wandered off to investigate a new interest, or simply found some quiet place where he could avoid everyone, Watson included.

Watson had gotten used to it after so many years together, and took no offense. Holmes hated being away from Baker Street, and hated not working. It tended to make him somewhat irascible.

Today, though, he had not reappeared after a few hours, and Watson began to worry. He had spent his own afternoon alternating between reading a yellow-backed novel and catching up on medical journals. He tended to neglect his own reading during busy patches, and this had been a busy patch.

Finally, though, the twist of anxiety in his stomach overruled his ability to focus. What if Holmes had not merely gone for a walk or gotten enraptured by a friendly horse in a neighboring field, but had collapsed?

His health was poor, after all, his body badly strained by this latest round of overwork. He continued to suffer from sudden, severe fatigue, as well as bouts of pain that sometimes grew so unbearable that he cried out. If he had been stricken by another such attack, he might be unable to return to the holiday cottage.

Watson put on his hat, snatched Holmes’ favorite blanket off the sofa, and jogged outside. Holmes had apparently taken his cane, which meant he most likely was not somewhere inside the cottage. Unlike yesterday, when Watson had found him in a previously unnoticed attic going through old letters that had belonged to some past owner.

The garden near the house seemed a good place to start looking, and Watson took a full circle around the cottage. In a way, this very much reminded him of his army days, of going out to search for wounded soldiers. At least he wouldn’t find Holmes bleeding to death.

Theoretically. If there was anyone who could manage to nearly bleed to death while on holiday, it was certainly Holmes.

Finally, Watson caught sight of the familiar figure and gave a sigh of relief. Holmes sat on a low garden wall, deep in the study of a cluster of sunflowers. All was well, then, and quite normal. Holmes occasionally lapsed into contemplation of flowers or plants, and usually emerged with some sort of philosophical lecture.

“No, I have not collapsed in a field somewhere,” Holmes said as Watson approached. He did not look up from the sunflowers. “I am merely appreciating the garden.”

“That’s good. Time in nature is supposed to be very healing.” Watson shook out the blanket and wrapped it around Holmes, then rested a hand on his shoulder. “I should be glad to join you, if I would not be in the way.”

“You are never in the way, my dear Watson.” Holmes flashed a quick smile at him, then indicated the empty spot on the wall beside him. “I do advise a little caution.”

“Caution?”

“Mm. I doubt the bees would take kindly to being sat upon.”

Watson cast an alarmed look at the wall, then at Holmes. “I did not trap any underneath your blanket, did I?”

“If you had, I believe I would know about it by now.”

Cautiously, Watson stepped across the wall, eyed it again, and then sat. He could hear the low buzz of bees now, a handful of them drifting from sunflower to sunflower. He glanced at Holmes again, and smiled. “Is that what you’re watching so intently? Bees?”

“Mm.” The briefest of smiles twitched onto Holmes’ face. “Bees work exceptionally hard, Watson. They are tireless, endlessly devoted to their work.”

“Bees do not take holidays, I presume.”

“No, no. They work for all their lives, and do not idle away precious time on pursuits that matter not.” Holmes held out a hand near the sunflowers. A bee brushed against his fingertips, investigating the new arrival, and then returned to collecting pollen. “All that they do matters, Watson. Each task they complete helps the hive to survive and thrive.”

“I would guess that the many people who you have helped to ‘survive and thrive’ would think that all you do matters, Holmes.”

Holmes pursed his lips. “At the moment, I do not do anything. True, I have not had a worthy opponent since Moriarty, but my more commonplace work accomplishes some little good. My sitting here idle and wallowing, however…”

Affection tugged at Watson’s heart, and he gently settled an arm around Holmes’ shoulders. “You are not a bee, old man. You cannot simply work continuously until you die.”

“Mm. I think I should prefer that.”

“I would not,” Watson said with a shudder. “I want you to live much, much longer than a bee.”

Holmes started a little, as if broken out of his trance, and then gave Watson a small, apologetic smile. “Of course. Forgive me, Watson. I am merely a little melancholy.”

“Are you in much pain?”

“Yes, and very tired. I suppose I must rest if I, too, am to survive and thrive.” Letting out a long breath, Holmes leaned into the embrace. “I cannot accomplish any good if I am too sick to work.”

“You must indeed rest.” Watson hugged him closer, careful not to use too much pressure. Holmes was even more sensitive to touch when in pain. “But you’re not entirely correct. You do a great deal of good for me just by living, old man.”

“Ah.” Holmes flashed another smile at him. “Thank you. Perhaps I might do more good for you by entertaining you with interesting facts about bees?”

Chuckling, Watson turned back to watch the bees at work while he listened. “I should be delighted.”

#granada holmes #sherlock holmes #john watson #hurt/comfort #sherlocktember2024

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princeblue · 8 days ago

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Hope you had a Merry Christmas!

Hope this is alright to ask, but I was reading through your other posts. I’m curious on your opinion on why Genya is ranked above his mother? I’ve seen arguments how it’s could be vice versa of his mother being his priority, how his mother was his #1, while Sanemi was Genya’s #1 as Sanemi probably babied Genya being the oldest as Shizu focused on other children. And the fact that Sanemi as the oldest had more time with her.

And recently I read the light novel where Sanemi was drinking with the Hashiras in Gakuen, and while poor Genya was dealing with Sanemi over the phone. Tengen then mentioned after how his mother,

“Now that Shinazugawa was an adult himself, his heart and mind were focused on supporting her.”

Anyway, sorry for the long ask. It just gets me excited to see different options and interpretations, because I’ve also seen how Genya is Sanemi’s #1 so… yea. Anyway, thank you if you answer!!

A few people have asked me this same exact question (which is totally okay!) so I’m gonna answer this one and probably delete the other ones since there’s no point in me repeating myself.

But to put it simply put: I reject with my entire heart and every fiber of my being that Shizu was Sanemi’s no.1 person In life.

To elaborate on that, I feel like saying “Shizu was Sanemi’s no.1 person” is in the same field of “Sanemi would pick kanae/Giyuu over Genya!” And that’s just… not true.

The whole point of Sanemi & Genya’s story/relationship is that they are each others people, Genya admires his brother, thinks that if Kyogo were like a true father, he’d be like Sanemi, and yet worried for his brother, wondering who babied Sanemi because Shizu did not have the time to and Kyogo was Kyogo.

And, I think this quote: “Sanemi remembered the day he became a big brother, his first look at newborn Genya with his monkey face and eyes screwed shut. When he timidly grasped that tiny hand, he was sure he saw the baby smile. At that moment, he knew he’d do whatever it took to keep this fragile little person safe.”

And then following: “other brothers and sisters came after that, and Genya grew old enough to help his big brother around the house. Together they vowed to take care of their mother and younger siblings. Even so, as far as Sanemi was concerned, Genya would always be his baby brother.”

AND:

“During the dark times, Sanemi’s sole joy was Genya’s life, Genya’s happiness. It was all he prayed for; it was his reason for living.”

Are all much more heavier, loving, and desperate than “he wanted to support her [shizu]”

Sanemi and Genya are two characters created for each other, they are each others reason for breathing, living, loving and fighting. Sanemi didn’t just favor Genya because all the others one died, he always favored Genya because he made Sanemi into who he was (a protector) and was the only other one to step up and help him because Shizu had to rely on Sanemi so she could work for the other children.

There is, in my opinion, far more textual evidence to say confidently that Genya was always Sanemi’s no.1 priority/person he loved, the death of their family only made this love stronger and subsequently dangerous.

Now I haven’t read much of Kimetsu no Gauken simply because the physical copies are hard to find in store and I’ve yet to buy any online, it still seems often that Sanemi is only ever focused on Genya if he’s not focused on his job.

And I do know that there is a scene where Tanjirou turns to Genya and straight up says “you’re his favorite, Genya!” When talking about Sanemi and his feelings, so I feel like that’s pretty clear.

So yeah, in my humble opinion, Genya was his no.1 And I just feel like if Shizu was his No.1 person, we would have gotten farrrrr more scenes and novels on his feelings about her but everything Sanemi thinks about always straight up fucking leads back to Genya.

But you don’t have to be sorry you asked! I do love talking about these things! And at the end of the day there are a lot of things up for interpretation for Sanemi, and while I heavily disagree with Shizu being his no.1 because I feel like it goes against the entire point of his and Genya’s relationship, that is me personally and if Shizu being his no.1 person makes someone else happy? then good for them, I hope they continue to be happy about that.

I hope this made sense, I haven’t felt the most cohesive lately with my thoughts, but I hope this was a satisfactory answer to your question :)

Merry (belated) Christmas & Happy new year anon!

(I will now actually take my break from answering asks lol)

* quick edit after being posted because it’s easier to do this than to reblog:

I also want to add on before anyone mentions the fact that Sanemi was willing to go to hell with Shizu: yeah he was willing to do that and I won’t take that away from y’all, but I will say however. Genya was somewhere safe, somewhere Sanemi didn’t have to worry about him, and in some weird way Genya was “home” with the little siblings.

Sanemi is also a character full of self loathing, thinking himself a murderer, dangerous, cold, etc everything that would make you go to hell.

In my personal interpretation, Sanemi was wanting to walk with Shizu to carry her, because he does love his mother, but part of that was fueled by knowing he wouldn’t have to pick Genya because he was safe, and because he was wanting to cleanse his own sins.

#kny analysis #demon slayer #kny #blue rambles #genya shinazugawa #sanemi shinazugawa #shizu shinazugawa #kimetsu no yaiba

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jalwyn21 · 10 months ago

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The thing that pisses me off the most about Swifties talking about Joe using public transport as a British person is how oblivious they clearly are to how class even works in the UK. I know some other people have said this but it just really shows their ignorance. Joe is from what would be considered an upper middle class background which is literally just a couple of steps below aristocracy in Britain. If you actually look at his family history, he's got some very influential family members. Plus, his family is clearly in a position to support not only his but Patrick's goals of acting. In Patrick's case studying internationally. And I believe Tom went to Cambridge. That's three children from London (one of the most expensive cities in the world) who've had a very expensive education.

There is such a disparity in class in Britain and London especially. Generally speaking, the people that get to have careers in acting are the ones that have the resources to fund it as well as the connections. While there are certainly working class people who become successful in the field, most don't even get the chance because of the class disparity. James McAvoy has spoken on this. Now this isn't shading Joe or his family because they are clearly good people and Joe is very talented (and I'm sure Patrick is too) and has worked hard but the fact is they have had resources and privileges that many other British people don't have. So for these swifties who would obviously know what the Alwyn's actual financial background is and the connections they have (because they seem to stalk Joe's every move) to use him travelling on the tube as something to prove how poor he is and make fun of him, is truly offensive to me personally as someone who grew up working class. I like Joe and I have nothing against his family at all but it bothers me that these swifties would take what is a genuine issue that so many people in Britain deal with and apply it to a man that most definitely has not dealt with it for the sole purpose of making fun of him.

Also, for all Taylor likes to talk about having to move to a foreign country and live in a rental house, if her relationship with Joe is any indication, she obviously did not live the life a regular British person would live. Hell even if she hadn't been with Joe at the time, she wouldn't have experienced that regular life because while Joe at the time was just a normal person, she was still Taylor Swift.

I think swifties in particular but most Americans in general can't wrap their heads around the concept of Europe. Seriously, it's a thing.. 🤷‍♀️

And yes, Joe is lucky enough to have had a good life and a good family and the best education money can buy.

The thing with Joe, is that you don't feel it. You don't feel how privileged he is because he is not disconnected from reality and he doesn't rub it in people's faces.

He genuinely doesn't think he is better than other people. Joe knows how to be normal. You know the yogurt boy jokes? Yeah, it only shows that even as a teenager he was more grounded than she will ever be. He built character. She built billions. 🤷‍♀️

And to be fair about Europe.. the public transportation is not bad so I think everyone uses it, regardless of how much money they have. 🤭

But yeah, the Joe is poor jokes are very offensive and in the poor taste I've come to expect from swifties.

Also, bragging about someone else being a billionaire is not the win they think it is. Especially if you consider that the people who made her a billionaire are probably struggling with the cost of living... 🙄

#free joe alwyn #joe alwyn #joealwyn #nonnie #q&a #jalwyn #anti taylor swift #shit swifties say #toxic swifties #parasocial behavior #toxic taylor swift #classism

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yearnforag0ny · 7 months ago

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The MD and the DVM: Chapter 2

Author's Note: This is a quick second chapter. Crossposted on ao3 under xxdeaduniverse. I have been stalking my computer, trying to see if anyone has left me criticism. Thank you for reading<3

Monday morning had been an early one. Around 3:30 in the morning, your phone blared your ringtone and rudely awoke you. Marnie had called you in a panic because one of her cows had difficulty calving. Unfortunately, circumstances like these were part of your new life, too.

By seven, you had already finished your farm chores. You looked over the field, admiring your hard work. You were slightly grateful that Marnie’s poor heifer calved so early in the morning because it gave you ample time to prepare for a somewhat exciting day. Today, you were to order your new barn and see Harvey at the clinic. You were more excited to think about the possibility of having your own cows. However, a little voice in your mind urged you to investigate him further. You didn’t know why. So far, all you knew you had in common were educational degrees, even though each was vastly different. But he sure was handsome.

After cleaning yourself up, you arrived at Robin’s shop right at opening. You walked in to see her yawing and cupping a steaming mug with two hands. The smell of coffee so early in the morning was heavenly. “Oh, hi,” Robin sputtered, clearly surprised to see you. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah, well, cows don’t wait until you’re awake to start having problems,” You chuckled.

“Did you have fun at the bar on Friday? We didn’t get a chance to talk. Demetrius refused to let me step off the dancefloor,” She rolled her eyes with a smile.

“I had a great time. Although I may have had too much wine since I can’t remember who all I was able to meet,” You shyly grinned. You knew taking the edge off was the only way you would be able to withstand meeting so many new people.

Robin laughed and dismissingly waved her hand. “Eh, whatever. I would have done the same,” She winked at you. “You met Harvey, though, right? I know Maru has always thought he would thrive with a third “intelligent” villager here.” You nodded. “We met briefly. I’m actually planning to head to the clinic after this to get checked up.” She raised an eyebrow and sipped some of her coffee. “I see.”

After all was said and done, Robin approximated the barn would be finished in three days. You held your tongue when you considered asking how she would build something like a barn in three days. The sooner, the better. As you walked out the front door, you buzzed with anticipation. Things were going just as planned.

As you took the shortcut from the mountains into town, you noticed a run-down building across the river. I guess I’m not surprised to see an abandoned building when there’s an abandoned bus and the farm was in such bad shape, you thought. Strolling past it, you found yourself in town. You paused to stare at the blue house diagonal from Pierre’s and considered the fact that not all the townspeople were at the bar Friday night. Going door-to-door would make you seem like you wanted to be more involved…right?

Doing this felt odd, but you knocked on the front door of the cute blue cottage. “Coming!” A male voice bellowed from inside. A shirtless man with a mess of brown hair opened the door. He was a little sweaty, and you prayed you were in assuming he had been working out. He leaned on the door frame and looked you up and down. “You’re the new farmer girl, aren’t you?” He said with a slight smirk. “I’m Alex.”

“Um…I’m Y/N. I thought I might introduce myself to everyone,” You said. This is certainly not who you expected to answer your knock.

“Uh-huh. My grandparents live here if you want to introduce yourself. Or you could come in, and we could do something else,” Alex’s smirk grew. You felt the blood rush to your face. “O-oh um, I actually just wanted to stop by really quick, but uh, it was nice to meet you, Alex,” You said with an awkward smile and quickly waved him goodbye as you walked away. You could hear his laughter as he closed the door. Stupid.

Well. That’s what I get for being outgoing, you thought to yourself bluntly. Maybe you would save the extra introductions for another day. You had more important tasks to attend to. You walked into the clinic, feeling your nerves begin to rise. Maru was sitting at the front desk, and lit up when she saw you. “Oh, hi Y/N! Here to get checked up?” She smiled. There was a playful glint behind her red glasses.

“Good morning, Maru. I figured it would be best if I’m going to continue working all day everyday at the farm,” You chuckled. Maru nodded and quickly gathered a stack of papers for you to fill out. As you silently completed them on the counter, Harvey walked into the front room, coffee in hand, whistling some tune. He smiled upon seeing you. “Oh, you’re here! I’m glad you decided to take my advice.” He was blushing slightly. The more you looked at him, the more you realized it wasn’t just the wine when you thought he was attractive at the saloon.

“I would feel bad if I ignored a fellow doctor,” You grinned, handing the clipboard back to Maru. This earned a laugh from Harvey. “Well, we can go ahead and get started with the checkup if you’d like,” He offered. You nodded. “You can follow me then.”

Harvey led you to a bright, sterile white exam room, not dissimilar to the exam rooms at the vet clinic you worked at in Zuzu City. You didn’t miss spending more than 50 hours a week in rooms like these. Harvey motioned for you to sit in a blue chair, and you obeyed. “When was the last time you went to the doctor?” Harvey went into exam mode immediately.

“Probably when I graduated vet school,” You giggled. “I was so busy at the vet clinic in Zuzu City I hardly had time for anything else.” Harvey smiled, thumbing over your paperwork. While he wasn’t looking, you tried to get a good look at him. You noticed gorgeous green eyes focused on the clipboard in his hands. How good he looked in a medical coat. Brown hair and a full, Tom Selleck-esque mustache. How he smelled of fresh coffee. Everything was adding up to perfection.

“I don’t blame you. I can’t imagine working somewhere like that,” He admitted. Briefly, you caught him glancing at your body. You quickly felt self-conscious but reminded yourself it was probably part of the procedure. “Alright, let’s begin. Just some routine things, you know. Temperature, blood pressure, pulse, lungs, etcetera,” He rattled off. “Okay,” You obliged while he removed the stethoscope from around his neck and placed the earpieces into his ears. You braced for his approach, blushing.

The bell of the stethoscope was cold against your chest. “How’s the farm coming along? It’s been years since I’ve seen it,” Harvey made small talk, occasionally moving the stethoscope to a different spot. “It’s taking some TLC, but it’s beautiful. I’ve always wanted to live on a property like it,” You admitted. “You like animals, doc?” You questioned. His answer was going to be important, it would make or break your total attraction for him.

“Sure I do. Just probably not to the extent you do,” He smirked, and you rolled your eyes. Not a bad answer. “I don’t think anyone could match me,” You giggled. “When everything is fixed up, you should come visit. Maybe I could sway you to join me in the animal health field,” You winked. You were being awfully frank, curious to see if he would be open to visiting Cinnamon Meadow sometime.

He nodded. “Of course, that sounds lovely,” His smile softened. “What does a guy like you do in your free time here?” You continued your effort to get to know him.

“Oh, well, uh. I visit the bar with Elliott sometimes. I like to go to the museum during the weekend and catch up on my reading,” He shrugged. You felt as though he was leaving out a hobby. You decided not to press any further when he gingerly picked up your hand to put two fingers on your wrist. You totally forgot that pulses were an important part of checkups. You blushed at the contact and felt your heart pick up at the new lack of proximity.

“Huh. Your pulse is a little high. Are you nervous by chance? I know it’s been a while since you last got checked up,” He looked up at you quizzically. You awkwardly smiled. “Yeah! Yeah, it’s been a while since I went to a doctor. Plus, the farm work really takes it out of ya,” You further embarrassed yourself with an awkward chuckle. His expression relaxed into a smile as he set your hand back on your lap. More blushing.

“I completely understand. Don’t work yourself too hard out there, huh? Especially in these coming hot months. Overheating is dangerous for someone like you doing labor,” He mentioned. Overheating might be a possibility for you right now. You nodded quickly. “Yeah, for sure,” You assuaged.

“Well, you seem okay to me. Did you have any questions?” Harvey put down his clipboard and looked up at you. You shook your head no. “Alright, I’ll have you schedule your next appointment with Maru up front then,” He smiled and opened the door for you. You were grateful this was over. He probably thinks you’re weird now, You internally face palmed as you smiled back and walked out towards Maru. “Thanks for making sure I’m not dying, Doc,” You attempted to save yourself any further embarrassment with a joke, earning you a chuckle. “Anytime,” He said, waving you goodbye and heading into his office.

You thanked god it was over, leaning on the front counter. Maru quickly had you schedule another appointment. “Alright, we’ll see you back here in three months then!” Maru smiled. You thanked her and quickly left. Three months? You repeated. Seems like too quick for another checkup…

Three days later, you had a barn. After just having finished tending to the small, green crops, you saw it in all its glory. Robin was admiring her work as you stared. You slowly approached her, still looking at the barn. “Robin, It’s perfect!” You cried, hugging her. She was shocked, laughing as she gave you a pat on the head. “You’re right, it is perfect. Let me know when it’s full of cows, okay? I would definitely appreciate being the first person to try some cheese,” She winked at you and you laughed.

“Of course! I’ve been dreaming of this day, thank you, thank you!” You let go and beamed at her. She simply smiled at you before packing up her tools and heading to the mountains. As soon as you saw her turn the corner, you basically sprinted to Marnie’s house to invest in five new Holstein heifers.

#sdv harvey x reader #stardew valley #stardew harvey #harvey x farmer #harvey x reader

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wickedsrest-rp · 2 years ago

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Name: Zane Rosario Species: Vampire Occupation: Nurse Age: 25 Years Old Played By: Hera Face Claim: Mason Gooding

"Love should be unconditional."

TW: Homophobia (mention)

From one wicked cult to another, Zane really seemed to have a penchant for joining large, dysfunctional families as he would still lovingly refer to them. Although The New Religion hadn't exactly been a cult. Zane had gotten used to the reading and re-reading of the prophesized end, only ever referred to in the pamphlets The New Religion aptly named the true scriptures, and even assumed the occasional sleep overs out in the fields waiting for the rapture were a part of regular, daily life. A life he would have happily lived out until the inevitable (but never quite predictable) end if not for the loose lips of a close friend. At 15, wondering about what was left of their future with his childhood friend and destined wife if the townspeople had any say, Zane had let it slip that he sometimes wondered if any of the other boys ever had… those kind of feelings for their fellow choir boys.

Without much explanation or goodbye, Zane was part of the adoption system now. He kept his good manners and bright outlook but the internet made its mark on the unyielding belief that the world would soon end. It also gave him an idea of why his parents and family in belief had left him to fend for himself, thrown between families for the next three years. Despite his best efforts to connect and bond, most of those who housed him had their own lives to live and preferred the pay out for housing him to actual conversation. So the search for a new family continued.

Community college was a bust when it came to making friends (15 years of communication within a gated community left something to be desired) and his distaste for alcohol didn’t much help. With money in scarce quantity and no clear path for the future in college - it was hard to wonder what you wanted to be when you grew up when there wouldn’t be a world to grow up into - Zane signed up for a new religious mission. Just because his old family had lied about… well, almost everything, that didn’t mean he couldn’t believe in something… right?

So Shining Light, a non-profit charity group of stragglers like himself, took him in as one of their own, travelling to poor areas and providing assistance where they could. Zane started out as a grunt, carrying supplies and cleaning up after the unofficial medics but slowly he climbed up the ranks to medic in training. Informal and no diploma awarded but he was helping and the people he travelled with almost felt like a family. A family that regularly changed members and deployed people to different stations but still. Until the big implosion of his makeshift family due to lack of funding, stranding him in a small town in Maine with no family and no mission. At least he somewhat knew what he wanted to do with his life moving forward.

It was at the ER, hour 15 of his 16 hour shift, when an older woman approached him. The fangs gleaming in her mouth could have been from delirium after running around all night but no. She was indeed a vampire. Their clan - their family - was in trouble and Zane seemed like the kind of person to help anyone, mortality status included. She was right. And so he did. Not to mention that a nice, caring vampire spat in the face of all the "devil creatures" talk he could regularly overhear at the hospital.

Alma, the unofficial leader of their somewhat democratic clan, offered a safe space to stay surrounded by people (vampires) who treated him kinder than anyone had before. It did feel wrong at first, stealing blood from the ER but the warm embrace of a family that had been together for decades, centuries even, welcoming him as one of their own… it was almost too good to be true. So what if the way to stay here was to let them technically kill him?

Character Facts:

Personality: Impressionable, optimistic, hard-working, caring, self prejudiced, codependent, romantic, loyal, stubborn

After years as an "unofficial medic", he's very good at improvising and thinking on his feet. General knowledge (and math) however is not something he particularly excels at.

His social skills are still a bit lacking, except when it comes to patients, which he has a real knack for talking to. Provided they're not too attractive.

Spent all of his life alcohol free and really doesn't understand what all the fuzz is about.

Has an instagram account full of filtered pictures from various spots around town including interesting graffiti or weirdly dressed guy smoking cigarette. He will also troll someone's profile taking the utmost care not to leave an accidental like.

Almost definitely undiagnosed ADHD.

#homophobia tw #retired

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mytrogblog · 8 months ago

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54. #ThelmaPart2

Kuche broke the silence. Coming from the lap of her mistress and echoing the Trog’s command, Kuche’s ear-splitting bark was a direct hit on little ole Thelma. After collecting herself, she leaned in toward this yappy critter and said something soft yet chilling in Afrikaans. I swear the translation was something like, “Go ahead, make my day, you twat, twat, twat.”

Kuche halted her bark and quivered. The Trog crossed her bulging eyes, folded her arms around her dog and pushed her chair back from Thelma. “Humph,” she scowled. I know it’s not funny, but… it was. Ya see, the Trog’s chair jiggled and needed fixing. And as she pushed back, it crumbled beneath her. Plop went both Borbala and the “twat.”

Thelma knew how to make an exit and did. I stepped back as she rounded the kitchen corner. Get out of the way, Sally, I thought. Almost out of view, Thelma made a swift one-eighty and returned. Peering down at the flattened Trog she said, “Don’t ever tell me to shut up, again.” Then, stuck out her two middle fingers vigorously and sashayed to her room.

Poor Waldo. Didn’t know what to do. He scrambled to pick up his employer, hefty as she was. But the Trog refused help and ordered him to get back to work. Me, I pivoted and scurried out the door for breakfast elsewhere.

And that was that. Or so I thought.

There’s only one food the Trog is opposed to… Brussels sprouts. Hates them. Both their smell and taste. You’d think someone with her nickname would be a Brussels lover. But not this Trog. Thelma, on the other hand, loved them. She grew up on them and they originate from her hometown of Brussels. They were her main course on her first few nights here. That was until she got an unwanted note shoved under her door. Thelma had shared the decree with me, “DO NOT COOK BRUSSEL SPROUTS IN MY KITCHEN. PU. IT IS CAUSE FOR EVICTION. BF”

The Nuthouse had been eerily calm all day after “the incident.” Maybe, it would just all go away, I thought. Midwest thinking. Hope springs eternal. I so wanted Thelma to stay.

She was a breath of fresh and unusual air.

But about 3:45am that next morning I woke up to a rustling outside my balcony. It was unnerving… was Hugh back? Nahhh. An animal, maybe. Cleopatra wandering the grounds? HA! Grabbing my flashlight and bat for light and safety, I inched myself stealthily out until I reached the railing. Leaning over it, I saw two figures on the porch with big sacks over their shoulders. They didn’t see me. Dare I flash the light? Yup, I do dare. Ever so briefly, yet long enough to catch their drift. WHAT!?! It was Waldo and Thelma in black hoodies. WHAT were they doing?

No longer frightened, I shined the light near them, but not on them. Waldo squatted and buried his head while Thelma stuck her neck out and signaled me to shush with her super finger.

What else could I do but abide by Thelma, so I gave her a thumbs-up and killed the light. But it didn’t mean I wasn’t going to check out their nefarious activities. Sly as a fox, I snuck down the stairs so as not to awaken the obvious butt of this mischievous jig, the Trog.

As I got to the bottom stair, I slightly teetered. Reaching down to see what was the cause… you guessed it, a smooshed Brussels sprout. I peeled it off my foot and dropped it on the floor. Pick it up later. The house was dark so it was hard to see. Shining my flashlight across the living room, I bravely followed the path all the way to the kitchen. They were everywhere. The Nuthouse was a field of baby green cabbage.

I made my way to the front door, kicking the little round balls out of the way. Treading very lightly, I opened it without a speck of sound. The two tricksters were active in the front yard, throwing the Brussels on the lawn, in the trees and in the bushes. Oh, this was a sight to see. Again, I wanted to wake Doho to share another classic Nuthouse moment but couldn’t. Too much possible noise. Consequently, I just watched with glee, solo. Thelma noticed my presence and walked over to me.

“Can I help?” I fervently whispered. “Oh no, I forbid it,” she denied me. “Don’t want you involved. Go back upstairs. We’re almost finished. Just need to toss a few sprouts in the pool.”She started to walk away, then came back. This seemed to be a habit of hers. “This is the last you’ll see of me or Waldo. And you never saw us tonight. Understood?,” she warned me. “Understood,” I saluted. So, I just stood there as Thelma placed a couple sprouts on top of each Gargoyle’s head, winked at me, then vanished into the night.

#humor story fun comedy roommates mytrogblog

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wordsbymae · 2 years ago

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NO BECAUSE THIS MUST BE FATE!!! I SAW THAT VERY TIKTOK AND IT WAS A KINDA INSPIRATION FOR ME^^ Also thank you for the compliment, you too! You’re so overly detailed and you go these long essay rants, and I just get so excited because I know it’s gonna be good 🦋🦋🦋. But he’s very traditional and country. I can imagine him having strict parents. His dad was a big ole gun nut from a long line of deer/bear hunters who were veterans (became one himself) and his mom a overly religious church woman, with a long line of family that either married men who positions in church or men who held positions themselves. She was Around marriageable age and her family was just waiting for a man to pick her up and marry her, and that’s what his dad just did. Saw her, followed her home, and in front of her demanded parents to hand her over to him. Eventually, they did since nobody step up to claim her and all men who were originally interested was never heard of again (he shot them all). Two Weeks Later she was legally and officially his. Nobody was concerned with the quick arrangement due to the recently spiked in missing young adult men, they never did find the cause 🤔. She was raised to be move in elegance and grace, she’s regard herself as prim and proper young woman. But for Clement (Clem to his wife) a man who grew up on the rougher and more dirtier side of town. A man who use to wrestle his brothers in the mud, in midnight sneak onto the fields of farms and flip over cows, race his father’s beat up truck on dirt roads, come home in the pinch of night covered in dry dirt head from toe, lost his virginity in a barn on some haystacks, never taught proper manners, his Sunday best (if he actually went to church) was a regular white shirt with dirt covered jeans and his failed attempt to slick back his hair, went skinny dipping, went to house parties held in the woods, use to work in a pork processing factory, was never given a curfew, education and learning wasn’t his strong suite, jump off cliffs into big lakes; she was stuck up, up tight and prissy young lady. Usually for a guy like, he wouldn’t even be able to look at a gal like her, hell if he hadn’t seen her when he did, but a couple moments down. He would had to shot her then fiancé in their wedding just to claim her for himself, for a crazy obsess and possessive man like himself that very thinking is his root to all his insomnia and paranoia. She on the other hand grew up in different circumstances than him. She was the middle daughter of two sisters, parent by a housewife and the pastor. The societal standards and norms were forced upon her from a very young age. She was homeschooled, never had a curfew because she wasn’t allowed out, was only allowed friends of her parents choosing (they were only chose by the highest status and closest relationship to the church), if being a housewife wasn’t her parents first choice she would have been attended a community college for medicine or a trade school.Very isolated and restricted home life.She would not have liked him for first time meeting.He was everything her mother told her not to want and look for in a man.He was a dirty, vulgar, gambling, drinking, poor, perverted man. But as he shoved down everything about him down her throat,she eventually come to love him.So obviously they wouldn’t get along at first. He wanted to break her, to be like “haha a prissy girl like you have to be stuck under man a like me 😜”,she even tho obviously wanted to be anywhere else besides near him, she still performed her housewife duties diligently which he liked.When she has a her very big O caused by him,her whole world tips over. She would feel like a common dirty whore. And to crush her, he would degrade her as he’s doing it. whispering raspy degradation as she comes down from her high. It was hard to hate him when he use to her eat her out like his life depended on it. Would embarrass her by refusing her a shower first after a long day of working at home, by his word “would stripe away the flavor”.There’s more, but hoped you liked :DDD

Awwww thank you!!!! Sometimes I rush through cause I don't have a lotta time to be online so I feel bad leaving you hanging or giving you less than what you gave me. Also, you have the best ideas and thoughts that sometimes I sit there and have no idea what to write because what you did was perfect and just so good!! I get so excited when I see you too and I reread them like 5 times.

How can you do this to me autumn!!!! Now I'm horny for another feral country boy. I blame you wholeheartedly. Man, I thought Joseph was the love of my life but now you bring Clement into this??? Have you no mercy?? I legit nearly fainted reading about this man.

Hehe, I have a bit of a thing for men in uniform, can you imagine Leroy in uniform??? I think he would still have his fatigues somewhere stashed away and probably would bring them out to role-play with Bunny (Once again I am projecting).

But Clement and his wife!!!!! AHHHHH

I can see her family waiting for the best suitor to come around if anything they were hoping for the sheriff's boy. But would have prefered it if another preacher come to town.

I think it would be cool if it was the first he's been to town since he got out of the military. Maybe he wasn't from that town originally and just picked it cause they needed a hunter or something like that. And he's driving through town when he sees the prettiest girl he's ever seen. He practically slams on the brakes and puts the car in reverse to follow her from a distance. He then banged on the door and asked to speak to her father. From there he states his claim. Although it didn't help that he didn't know her name and took like 5 minutes for her father to figure out which daughter he was talking about. And yes!!!! Her parents wanted to say no but no one else came forward and they couldn't let her become an old maid so they have to say yes I loved that he was just scarring/picking off all the other men who were trying to get her hand. and yeah the town is so concerned with the missing men that no one cares the preacher's daughter is marrying a veteran who lives in the middle of the woods that no one knew two weeks ago.

She is kinda mad but she was raised to be a good wife so there's not much she can do. She was expecting to be a sheriff's or a preacher's wife so she was taught to act elegantly and with grace. However, she is watching with thinly veiled disgust at her new husband's wild ways. She doesn't swear, take the lord's name in vain, lie or boast, she is a good preacher's daughter and she will make an even better wife.

"A man who use to wrestle his brothers in the mud, in midnight sneak onto the fields of farms and flip over cows, race his father’s beat up truck on dirt roads, come home in the pinch of night covered in dry dirt head to toe, lost his virginity in a barn on some haystacks, never taught proper manners, his Sunday best (if he actually went to church) was a regular white shirt with dirt covered jeans and his failed attempt to slick back his hair, went skinny dipping, went to house parties held in the woods, use to work in a pork processing factory, was never given a curfew, education and learning wasn’t his strong suite, jump off cliffs into big lakes" ------ This is an amazing description! I love that I instantly know who he is and I love it!

He would think she was such a frigid bitch, he loves her don't get me wrong, he's obsessed with her, but almost to the point where he hates that he does. She represents everything he never got, all the meals his mama had to skip, all the clothes his papa couldn't afford to repair, and all the years being squished under the fancy people's boots. She might not be rich but her family never had to starve and a part of him resents that he loves a woman like her. So different to him. People would turn their noses at him if he had ever dreamed of marrying a woman like her, let alone touching her. I love the idea that if he had missed that initial first look, he would have had to forcibly take her, shoot her soon-to-be husband and just run away with her. If you like country/folk music you should listen to charlie boy by benjamin Dakota rogers, as soon as I read that, the song came to me, it is literally that storyline, also john came home, and I was planning on writing a fic around it.

The sad thing about this reader is she is used to being oppressed so what is marriage if it not for the same thing. It would be a bit sad, and since I love happy endings, I think it would be so cute if clem could see she dreamed of being a nurse when she was a kid so he enrols her in an all-women's nursing school. She would be so happy! Every day clem takes her to school on his way to work and picks her up on the way back. He would let her study anatomy on him, and he was more than happy to help with reproduction study ;) But I see this only happening after maybe a year or so when they both have opened up their hearts to each other.

The start though is her being disgusted with him and trying to hide that, but he makes it hard to hide it when he sculls a beer and then another one during the wedding dinner. He pinches her bottom and slaps it in front of his friends. He whispers in her ear that she is going to have open her legs for a poor, filthy labourer like him and that it is her job as a wife to pleasure him no matter how he wants it. You are so right! I think he would be mean, calling her filthy things in bed to get a rise out of her (but I think she would like it, unlike Alwyn's reader, this one never wanted a sheltered life, she wanted to rebel from her parents, rebel from being a perfect woman, so him calling her these things allows her to rebel in a way, to destroy the perfect life her parents had planned).

Please tell me more !!! I loved it!!!!

Lots of love mae xx

#autumn's oc #autumn :)#yandere x reader #yandere #oc #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #yandere prompts #mae answers #female reader #clement oc autumn #tw housewife

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sangyeonsofthours · 3 years ago

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the boyz as hogwarts students; hyung line

☾ this is purely based on my own knowledge about harry potter, the hogwarts universe and what thoughts and impressions i may have about the boyz members. It is also and slightly based on kevin’s answers to a fan and a friend’s impression on the boyz that also knows a lot about harry potter;

☾ maybe there’s things that are not really canon on the hogwarts universe, but i think i could have some artistic license for my own au, right?

☾ you can read 98 line here and maknae line here!

☾ thank you all for reading my stuff, i hope you’ll like it! please, do not forget to give me some feedback ♡

SANGYEON

house: hufflepuff patronus: eagle blood status: half blood pet: eagle owl best subjects: transfiguration and charms worst subject: potions

Sangyeon is the Head Boy of his house;

Was elected to be prefect for his house when he got to the fifth year;

He’s clever and responsible, got good grades and is an exemplary student;

He’s also hard-working and super good at leading;

Always takes care of the younger ones and anyone who needs his help, to be honest;

He’s pretty good at quidditch, he’s a chaser!!!

Captain of Hufflepuff Quidditch team;

Has the potential to be Hogwarts Champion;

Girls and boys all over Hogwarts have a crush on him because he’s that kind of guy that is super funny and super cute but isn’t really aware of that;

Looks harmless but could actually hex the shit out of you anytime if it was needed;

His friends constantly make fun of him for anything (poor boy is that type of hyung who the younger ones won’t leave alone);

JACOB

house: gryffindor patronus: peregrine falcon blood status: muggle born pet: black and white bunny best subject: charms and transfiguration worst subject: arithmancy

This boy here is too pure to be real;

You could easily mistake him for a Hufflepuff;

His personality sometimes can come off as calm or quiet;

But he takes pride in being a Gryffindor and will do anything to protect his house and it’s students;

And his friends!!!!

Wanna find him? Check out the library. He’ll be there tutoring first-years;

Or maybe he could be helping Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary;

Or any professor, for thar matter;

He’s probably one of McGonagall’s favorites students;

Will end up having a brilliant career in the wizarding world, probably at the ministry.

YOUNGHOON

house: hufflepuff patronus: chow chow blood status: pure blood pet: pygmy puff best subjects: charms and astronomy worst subject: ancient studies

Even though he's a pure blood, he’s super cute and loves getting to know anything about muggle borns and muggle things;

He’s part veela… so he obviously has girls (and boys) swooning over him all the time;

Could get away with anything because of this, but he doesn’t because he’s too pure to do anything wrong;

Has the most undying loyalty to his friends;

The elves at Hogwarts kitchen totally love him! He doesn’t need to steal food because they give it to Younghoon soooo gladly;

The true embodiment of ‘he protects, but he also attacks’;

Seems tough for a Hufflepuff, but because of his soft nature he does have the tendency to cry a lot depending on the situation. He needs to be protected sometimes. Hyunjae is always there to dry his tears tho;

He’s too clumsy to be around animals and plants for too much time, even tho herbology and care of magical creatures aren’t his worst subject;

Look too soft, but if there's a problem he'll confront it and take action needed - always with good intentions, of course.

HYUNJAE

house: slytherin patronus: raven blood status: pure blood pet: snowy owl best subject: defense against the dark arts worst subject: divination

Uses magic for everything;

Is a natural in pretty much every field of magic, probably due the fact that he grew up around so much magic, being son of a long lineage of pure bloods;

He doesn’t give a damn about the pure blood shit though;

Still, he’s kinda annoying… too cocky for everyone’s liking;

Well, he’s a slytherin, after all;

But I can guarantee you, he’s super funny and a sweetheart to the ones who knows him better;

Enjoys quidditch but doesn't play for his house;

He freaking aces at defense against the dark arts. Enough to be an auror, maybe;

Flirts a lot, but doesn’t really have a girlfriend/boyfriend;

n/a: thanks for reading until here! it won't take me too long to post the next part, bc it is already written, i promise! please, feel free to send me messages/asks about the boyz as hogwarts students ♡

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asmo-baby5 · 4 years ago

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Burned

Request: @seerachii-art

Description: Mc had gotten very used to the Devildom and would wander around by themself now. They had pacts with the seven highest ranking demons right after the Prince himself and they were close friends with the angels, the powerful sorcerer, and Barbatos and Diavolo themselves. They never accounted for a lower ranking demon wanting to attack them for these relationships.

CW: mentions of burns, slight gore (not a lot)

Lucifer-

•he had gone out looking for Mc after they never showed up for dinner.

•he was very pissed that they went out alone, but he assumed if they really needed help they would call or use their pact to summon him.

•he walked through the Devildom with a very calm demeanor.

•of course, that was right up until he actually saw them.

•Mc was sitting outside of RAD with Barbatos hovering over them like a worried mother.

•"Mc, it is past time for dinner. What are you doing still at..."

•his voice faded out as Mc looked up at him.

•they were holding a damp towel over half their face and tears were flowing freely out of their open eye.

•his normal calm demeanor gave way to an eerie calm.

•"what happened?"

•his voice was low and made Mc flinch away from him.

•they looked so pathetic...

•Barbatos tried to explain what happened but he looked straight at Mc, waiting for their recount of events.

•"he was saying, saying bad things about you." They somehow got out through all the crying.

•lucifer was starting to fill in the blanks himself, but he still needed to assess the damage in order to decide what punishment would befit a lower demon who dared to harm this human.

•Barbatos helped Mc to gently pull the towel away from their face and show Lucifer the large burn covering over their eye.

•the cold towel had stopped the skin from pulling away from their face more than it already had.

•needless to say that calm demeanor quickly turned into burning hot (no pun intended) anger.

•with the help of Barbatos, who had just so happened to be leaving RAD at the time Mc was attacked, Lucifer was able to get them home.

•he offered, more than once, to fly back but they refused so he settled on just carrying them back.

•every fiber of his being wanted to go after the demon that harmed Mc, but he knew he had to get them home and settled before he could even think about leaving their side again.

•Mc refused any magical treatment, so Lucifer took them back to the human world for medical treatment.

•they ended up with a scar over the eye they had unfortunately lost sight in.

•everytime Lucifer saw that scar he'd get very irritated and would be stuck to Mc's side up until he physically could not have them with him for work.

•would pass them onto Simeon so he could keep an eye on them because he didn't trust any of his brothers to keep them completely out of harms way.

•the demon who hurt them was currently (and for the next few centuries) being used as a chew toy for Cerberus.

Mammon-

•rarely let's Mc out of his sight,

•so when they somehow manage to give him the slip one day he starts to freak out, rightfully so.

•not only that but his pact mark was starting to heat up, that only happened when Mc was in trouble.

•he retraces their steps from that day hoping to find Mc at one of the places they had visited.

•he smells them before he actually sees them.

•a mix of tears, sweat, and burnt flesh drew him towards a corner just outside of RAD.

•Mc was holding a sopping wet cloth up to their cheek and was wiping at the tears falling down their face with their free hand.

•every so often they would grimace as they moved the cloth around.

•Mammon was frozen in place looking at his human crying and shaking.

•he could practically feel their pain and their fear.

•he snapped out of it when he caught a glimpse of what was under the cloth.

•"Mc, who the hell burned ya?"

•he tried to keep calm, but let's be honest, being calm when the one person he loved above others was hurt was not exactly easy.

•"who. Burned. You?" His tone dropped to a threatening low growl.

•when Mc flinched at his tone he did calm down a bit though.

•he had to take care of them first before looking for revenge.

•when Mc explained that they were cornered by two lower demons and then lightly burned before they ran away, Mammon had to literally fight to keep from growling.

•it was bad enough for Mc to be attacked, but to be cornered by two demons was the most cowardly thing he had ever heard.

•when he checked the burn his heart clenched.

•there was a good chunk of flesh missing from their cheek.

•he flew them home and tried to convince them to get it magically treated so it wouldn't take as long and there'd be no scar, but Mc refused.

•he didnt leave their side after that incident.

•if you thought Mammon was possessive before, just wait until you see him now.

•he sleeps in Mc's room

•walks with them to school

•constantly texts them when in separate classes

•and goes with them wherever after school

•he doesn't trust anyone else with Mc's wellbeing.

•seeing the scar on their cheek ups his protectiveness and he will follow them around like a puppy.

Levi-

•he knew something was wrong when Mc never showed up for the new episode of an anime they were watching together.

•he was immediately anxious but tried to reason that maybe they were just caught up doing homework or maybe getting snacks and Beel cornered them for the food etc etc.

•yeah, his reasoning quickly turned into overthinking.

•he was about to go looking for them when suddenly he felt a pit in his stomach.

•he could just feel that something in the House of Lamentation was wrong.

•he opened his door only to be met with panicked shouts from floor to floor and the sound of running footsteps.

•like he thought, something was wrong.

•"Leviathan!"

•angry Lucifer shouts were coming from downstairs, so thats where he headed to see what was so wrong.

•he stopped in his tracks though as the view of Mc curled into a ball on Mammon's lap with a towel over their face entered his field of vision.

•he was supposed to be looking after them and the pit in his stomach only grew as he watched Mammon make very small and soft movements with Mc, something he never did ever.

•"Mc...?"

•Levi's voice was small as he got closer and could finally smell it,

•the burnt flesh on Mc's face being held together by the cold towel.

•he almost gagged, and would have if Lucifer didn't suddenly grab his shoulder pulling his senses away from the smell and sight.

•"where were you!?"

•is all Lucifer had to ask for Levi to realize that Mc got hurt,

•they got hurt on his watch,

•he couldn't protect them.

•"I- I'm ok, okay." Mc had stuttered out, the pain made it hard to string words together

•it took a moment for Levi to compose himself, and even when he did outwardly he was an utter MESS inside.

•do-dont lie, Mc..." he slowly made his way over to them, but kept his distance from them.

•they got hurt because he wasn't competent enough,

•there was no way he could let himself ever indulge in their presence after this.

•he would of course take revenge against whoever dared to hurt Mc,

•but when they reached out and gently held onto Levi's hand, their's still trembling,

•he finally decided that being with them was the only place he wanted to be.

•as much as he wanted to absolutely decimate whoever hurt them, Mc needed him there more,

•and his Henry always came first.

•besides, he was fairly certain Lucifer was already making preparations to take care of the demon.

Satan-

•he was out with Mc looking for some new books from a bookstore that just opened.

•the two got separated for barely two minutes,

•but it was more than enough time for a group of demons to walk over and taunt them.

•Mc's already poor relationship with the other demons in the Devildom had recently got worse.

•its not like Satan didn't know this,

•he was hyper aware of the fact Mc was being targeted more often by lower demons for petty jabs.

•that's why losing them in a new store caused anxiety to creep into his body and sit like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

•Mc had expressed their fear of these demons (cowards, as Satan kindly referred to them) trying something more than jabs,

•so he felt very protective over them since then, wanting them to feel safe when they were with him.

•But safe was the exact opposite of what they were now.

•Satan quickly found Mc, but he also witnessed one demon slap them,

•hard.

•hard enough that they left a burnt handprint scarred onto Mc's cheek.

•Satan could barely process what had happened.

•before he knew it his vision had gone red and he could feel a low growl coming from deep in his gut.

•he was about to go after the demons who did this but Mc stopped him with a whimper that immediately brought him back.

•he wasn't really the most calm all the time,

•but in a crisis he was the best demon to go to because he could keep a surprisingly cool head.

•once his temper had cooled down enough for him to stop clenching both his jaw and his fists, he set to work caring for them.

•As he took the time to properly dress the wound the human way, Mc explained to him what happened.

•the group apparently confronted them about Satan's reputation.

•he was once known as the cruelest and scariest demon right after Lucifer,

•but apparently rumors had started to spread that he had become soft.

•many demons blamed Mc for this change because they had a pact with him and Satan was most definitely not known for having pacts with anyone.

•as he listened to this his anger started to spike again, but he pushed it back down enough to swiftly carry the Mc home.

•he didnt want to have to rely on Lucifer for anything, but only he could come and go between the human world and the Devildom,

•and Mc needed burn treatment in an environment that would promote healing for humans.

•once he knew Mc was being well taken care of though, he finally let his anger rise and bubble at the surface.

•he got a pretty good look at the demons who hurt Mc, and Satan NEVER forgot a face.

•once the Mc had come back, the scar left by the demon made Satan's rage come back anew every time.

•he even requested that Asmo try any and all facials and treatments that could get rid of scars.

•and as for the group of demons?

•well,

•let's just say,

•you should never make the Avatar of Wrath your enemy...

Asmo-

•he and Mc were on a date.

•clothes shopping, tea, sweets, spa, and hairdresser.

•everything was going great,

•Asmo was having the most perfect time being with Mc for so long without his brothers interfering.

•that is, up until their hair appointment.

•the two were separated for a bit because they each needed different treatments done to their hair.

•Asmo didn't think much of it.

•he had taken Mc to this particular hairdresser many times already, so he never thought anything bad could possibly happen to them.

•he was proven wrong when a scream came from the other side of the building,

•the area where Mc was.

•Asmo shot up out of his chair and practically teleported to where they were.

•what he saw made this normally pretty calm demon's blood boil.

•one of the workers was bowing and apologizing repeatedly as Mc looked at them dazedly.

•but what really got to him was the intern hiding behind a corner, laughing.

•"so this is funny, is it?"

•he had snuck up behind them and asked, his voice unusually low.

•"this particular human is under the complete protection of Lord Diavolo, would you like to explain to him why there is now a burn covering half their face?"

•the intern paled at that and shook their head.

•"I would not think so. Now explain to me how this happened."

•the intern explained that they dipped the cloth that goes on Mc's face in scalding hot water.

•they knew Mc was a human and they wanted to test their limits,

•but they adamantly maintained that they never intentionally harmed Mc.

•Asmo was furious, especially because this happened in a place where he was only a few feet away.

•but he did give up on grilling the intern, deciding he'd give their name over to Diavolo and Lucifer later, in favor of comforting Mc.

•they were coming out of their daze but that meant the pain was starting to set in.

•Asmo was able to carry them out of the shop and quickly home before they could scream again,

•or cry.

•he would definitely go on a rampage if Mc started crying and killing a demon in broad daylight was not a good look for his cute image.

•he informed Lucifer what happened and trusted he would then take it to Diavolo.

•Asmo carried Mc to his room and set them in his low hanging seat so he could tend to their burn.

•thankfully it wasnt bad enough to be cause for major concern,

•but it was bad enough that Asmo was worried about some scarring.

•he was able to clean the skin around the burn and then apply a few different treatments to lessen the scarring process.

•he promised to use all kinds of facials on Mc, once they were feeling up to it, so the scars would heal quickly.

•once Mc was taken care of, he couldn't even think of leaving their side,

•so he opted to lie down on his bed with them.

•Mc fell asleep rather quickly, the trauma making them exhausted.

•Asmo couldn't fall asleep for a while though as he spent time blaming himself for the injury.

•he would never, ever, forget this day...

Beel-

•he was out to eat with Mc as usual.

•there was an all you can eat buffet that had just opened up and Beel was all willing to pay for both of their meals if Mc went with him.

•of course they did.

•it is way too hard to say no to Beel.

•while he was on his fifth plate of food, Mc wandered of to the bathroom for a small break.

•they accidentally ran into a group of demons on the way there and got into a small altercation.

•they started badgering Mc and complaining about how the nicest demon brother was no longer able nor willing to hang out with them because he'd rather be with Mc.

•it was a small, petty, argument that unfortunately ended up in a small burn that ate through the first and second layer of skin on Mc's cheek.

•the demon that did it freaked out because they knew humans were weak by my god they're way too weak!

•the group ran away, out of the restaurant, leaving Mc staring wide eyed at the floor, the pain from their cheek slowly starting to register.

•they walked calmly back to the table to grab Beel.

•"B-Beel, Beel, we need to, to leave." They had stuttered out.

•the pain was making it hard to form sentences.

•"Mc, I can get a free meal if I finish this..."

•Beel's sentence had faded off as he finally looked up.

•Mc's eyes were glazed over from the pain and blood was dripping down from the pretty sizeable hole in their cheek.

•the big demon was up and out of the restaurant in no time, carrying Mc with him.

•he didnt really know what to do in the moment but he did know Mc needed help, fast.

•he went to Solomon first because his magic is the first thing Beel's panicked mind landed on.

•Solomon immediately went to work cleaning and bandaging the wound.

•because of his medicinal herbs, he had learned a fair amount of human medicine and knew how to care for a burn.

•Beel refused to leave their side, only doing so when Solomon convinced him to call Lucifer and inform him of what happened.

•After Solomon had taken care of the burn, he talked Beel into letting Mc stay at Purgatory Hall for a few days so that the rowdy demon brothers wouldn't interfere with their healing.

•Beel was over every day, almost every hour, to check up on them.

•once the burn had healed a fair amount, Solomon was able to use his magic to prevent any scarring.

•Beel 100% blamed himself for the injury, he felt he had once again failed to protect an important part of his family.

•it took a lot of convincing from Mc and Belphie for him to stop blaming himself so much.

•he was never focused on revenge against the demons that did this as his full focus was on Mc and their recovery,

•Lucky for him, Solomon and Lucifer weren't as focused on Mc..

Belphie-

•he never really left the house and he wasn't super overprotective of Mc like the other brothers were.

•he knew their strength but also knew that if they needed him they would call for him.

•so when the pact mark he had with Mc started to heat up and quickly started to burn, he knew that was them calling for him.

•they needed his help and he was more than willing to give it.

•he left the house in a hurry as the mark started to burn more and more.

•despite trusting Mc to pretty much take care of themself,

•he couldn't deny the worry and concern rapidly growing.

•the pact mark between a human and their demon is supposed to connect them and one is supposed to be able to find the other through this mark

•but Belphie was new to pacts with humans and he wasn't quite sure how to use it to find Mc.

•this did not help his concern as he realized they could literally be anywhere in the Devildom.

•he decided to just go to all their favorite places to see if he could find them.

•he eventually found them pacing right outside the planetarium.

•it was their place, the two of them, so he mentally slapped himself for not checking there sooner.

•"Mc, whats going on?"

•he walked over to them but they turned away from him.

•he froze as one of the worst smells ever finally reached his nose.

•it was awful.

•"Mc, what happened?" He tried to reach out and grab their shoulder but he stopped when he noticed them trembling.

•"Uh, um, its nothing, nothing bad."

•their voice was trembling just as much as their body and Belphie had finally reached his limit.

•he spun them around and was about to say something but he froze.

•Mc was crying while holding their jacket over one half of their face.

•Belphie grabbed the hand that was holding the jacket and gently pried it away from their face.

•Mc grimaced with every movement and Belphie swore under his breath, hating that he was hurting them.

•once the jacket was fully gone his sleepy eyes widened and any left over drowsiness from earlier was completely gone.

•there was a large burn over their eye and the skin around it was pulling away.

•he realized that's where the smell was coming from.

•"What happened?"

•he repeated his question from earlier but this time there was no way anyone could ignore his threateningly low voice.

•"N-nothing, seriously, Im taking care of it. And I, I called Solomon and he's on, on his way to help. I'm okay."

•Belphie felt his heart drop as Mc said this.

•either they didnt trust him enough to let him help or they didnt love him enough to tell him what happened.

•he really hated both of those options.

•"I'll stay here with you until he shows up then."

•he'd feel even more awful if he brought it up and made Mc feel guilty on top of their physical pain though.

•he sat with them silently for a few minutes until Solomon showed up.

•Solomon took them back to Purgatory Hall to clean and patch up the burn.

•Belphie went with and held their hand as Solomon had to get rough to fully clean it.

•he stayed with them the whole time, swearing to never leave their side again.

•once they finally fell asleep he took it on himself to go after whoever dared to touch, let alone harm his human.

•they would pay.

•he wasn't nearly as cruel, or strong, as some of his older brothers,

•but he sure knew how to hold a grudge.

•and that promise of never leaving their side could hold off a few more hours...

#asmo obey me #beel obey me #levi obey me #obey me #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me headcanons #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me requests #headcanon requests #angst #tw burns #burns #cw burns #obey me angst

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absolutebl · 3 years ago

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Hi friend

This isn't directly related to bl so feel free not to respond ( I'd love it if u do tho)

How in the world do u manage to find time to watch so many things and catch up each week. College has started and I also have work and I can't even finish watching one single show😔.

Been stuck on Dark Blue Kiss for more than a week now.

And you maintain such a detailed blog toooo!!!

I really do admire u🥺💞

Ah. Well I live the blessed life of someone who works very very hard with only one goal in mind.

Freedom from obligations.

Which is to say, I’m a workaholic who has chosen not to marry or procreate, and my parents are still relatively autonomous and independent. I’ve had at least a part time job of some kind or another since I was 12 (my parents are both laborers with strong work ethics) and I genuinely enjoy working.

I feel no need to own expensive objects or large things, including a house or car. I don’t like or collect *stuff* of any kind and my living expenses are extremely low (being mostly vegetarian helps with that). I live rent controlled and the only things I really spend money on are eating out and travel. Most of the time I combo travel with a conference and manage to get someone to pay the flight portion as a business trip, and the rest becomes a business expense.

Instead I do crazy shit like save most (and invest some) of my money. I don’t buy anything on debt. Even when I was getting an education I did work study, and then took time in between my degrees to work in industries I hated but were lucrative in order to pay back my debt. I should say, that while I grew up poor I didn’t grow up below the poverty line, so I’ve never not had my basic needs met. And while I don’t have much family, I am very rich in friends, so I’ve always had a safety net, although now I kinda am the safety net. But I was never truly disadvantaged in life.

I’ve built myself up as an expert freelancer in a very specific niched field that has to do with data analysis and has made me one of the few people able to do what I do. I can set my own hours and (basically) set my own price. It helps that I have the kind of brian that likes statistics, numbers, and data a whole lot. It also helps that I can apply that brain to my own finances, business, and lifestyle without feeling constrained. I’m always turning down jobs and putting projects on the back burner because I’m already committed.

But I’m my own boss which means that I can work when, how, and where I want to. Live frugally and take off time when I feel like it with no obligation or guilt.

It also means I can structure my day around BL, and type happily away at this dumb blog because if, later, for any reason I have to work spreadsheets or a keynote until 2 am, that’s fine too.

It works really well for me and my personality, but it does require a lot of self discipline, so I know it’s not for everyone. But I can recommend the lifestyle. I get to be one of those things most other people I know struggle with: content.

I guess that’s my secret.

Happiness is a crap shoot, mostly transient and erratic, but contentment is an achievable goal.

Aim for autonomy and contentment.

Then you can watch all the BL you want whenever you want to.

Oh.. yeah. I also watch a lot of shows at 1.25-1.5x speed. And can crunch numbers and run regressions etc.. while I watch. So. There’s that too.

#life advice #sort of #really you kinda need to be a certain personality type #asked and answered

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neverfalling · 2 years ago

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The arrival of Alice and Beck into her life in quick succession brought on more remnants of her former life, most notably the same ferocious nightmares that grew common as she entered her twenties. She was twenty and running uncontrolled down a hill with frozen bare, bloody feet, twenty three and terrified of nameless shape she couldn’t quite place, screaming Beck’s name uselessly at her back until her voice was hoarse, twenty five and drowning over and over again as she tried to convince herself it was just a dream. It was the lattermost that found her shaking and drenched in sweat as she slowly rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. A long time passed since she last considered herself to have someone to talk to when she awoke like this, abrupt and afraid, and so she sat still and listened to the thick silence that blanketed her dark house.

Evangeline tapped the phone on her nightstand and the glow of the screen illuminated her bedroom so brightly she winced before peeking at the screen with eyes nearly squeezed closed. Half past four and she had an early shift at Rosemary’s in a few hours, which meant she had a choice between a restless few more hours of sleep or a quiet morning spent in a haze of exhaustion. Familiarity pushed her to the second, and so after clumsily dressing and stumbling over a pair of boots as she tried to find them, she headed outside.

Magic still came with the same sense of dread that it had since her mid-twenties, but in the little bit of time she’d spent with her younger sister, pieces of it began to hurt less. The evening Alice pulled her from the fire, she explained a spell their mother taught her when she was young, a spell she repeated now wordlessly. Tiny beads of golden light formed in her hand as rainwater might, and as they gathered, she pulled them towards her fingertips and finally into a bubble that drifted soundlessly near her shoulder, radiant and warm and its creation absent of the heavy guilt that usually seized her with the use of any magic outside the elemental.

Perhaps the only reason she never really loathed the feeling of the earth at her fingertips was because its presence existed as a baseline in her thoughts, a thrum of energy below her feet or a low resonance that hummed in her bones when she entered a building made of stone. The lighthouse, despite the poor circumstances of her stay there, practically sang to her. These lone walks before dawn allowed her to grow accustomed to the sorts of rhythms present in the remote area surrounding her house. Mostly raccoons or little voles, their movements tiny and perhaps undetectable to a witch of lesser skill, though occasionally she also picked up the careful pattern of a deer’s light feet as it picked through the field on the periphery of her senses. There was none of that now, none of that but the unfamiliar footfalls of something trying not to be noticed.

Muscle memory took over, though she so rarely found herself in this position when she hunted, not with Beck’s keen eye and the ease with which she kept the greatest of dangers out of Evangeline’s immediate vicinity. The blonde witch continued to walk, her magic now deep within the earth. They were nearer now, steadily closing the distance. She worked best at a distance where she could control an outcome using a combination of spellwork and earth magic; the nearer they drew, the more her chances dropped, particularly while without a hunter to keep a threat occupied.

The sunny bubble of light winked out of existence, and the second darkness closed around her, the witch raised a great spine of earth from the dirt and rock where she last felt the presence of the apparent intruder, and she was rewarded with a distant grunt and the reverberation of contact through her feet. Light helped, yes, but the skill of finding a landbound enemy was hard-won through ages of practice, giving her something of an advantage if her opponent required it to find her. Finding her target in the dark came to her as though she’d never stopped. Years spent idle dulled her reflexes, however–one hit wasn’t enough, and even as she blindly raced towards the house again, her pursuer once again drew close enough to strike. Now keen to her tactics, her hits were fewer and glancing until a blow that clipped the side of her head dazed her and a sweep behind her legs sent her to the ground with a violence that knocked the air from her lungs.

This feels targeted, she thought bitterly, but before she could tug that thread any further, another crack to her temple caused pain to explode from the spot and sent stars careening across her vision, quickly followed by heavy nothingness.

#self para #self para: evangeline #beca said short and i said... this is... short... yes...

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babymetaldoll · 4 years ago

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DIWK - Chapter ten: "Set me free my honey bee"

Word count: 11,6K

Summary: Let's jump 19 months in time and see how painful it has turned for reader and Spencer to hide their feelings for each other. JJ leaves the team, and a new member joins the BAU.

Warnings: Angst and hurt. Fools being assholes. Cursing, of course. Mention of CM cases and spoilers on S06E11.

A/N: Please don't hate me. Just remember things usually look like the shit before they get worst, and then everything is better. I hope.

Masterlist

┅┅┅┅┅┅┅༻❁༺┅┅┅┅┅┅┅

(Y/N)'s point of view

Time is a weird thing. I remember when I was in school and time didn't pass fast enough. Semesters were eternal. It felt it had been years by the time summer vacation arrived. The complete opposite happened to me at the BAU. Suddenly, time passed too quickly. A whole year and a half went by in the blink of an eye.

I told Spencer about it, and he sent me a paper published by Professor Adrian Bejan that presented an argument based on the physics of neural signal processing. He hypothesizes that, over time, the rate at which we process visual information slows down, and this is what makes time 'speed up' as we grow older.

My answer was that I thought it happened 'cos as we grew older, we did things that actually gave us joy, which made us feel the time was passing faster than before. So we argued a whole Saturday afternoon about it and created our own theories for that event.

My theory was my personal favorite, 'cos it was the only one that could easily explain why so much time had passed in the BAU, and it felt like it had been just a few weeks.

It hadn't been easy, though. Those nineteen months had been filled with some of the worst situations we had been through as a team.

After I got shot, JJ finally admitted her relationship with Will and got pregnant. That was shocking, the first BAU baby: Henry.

Sadly, Henry was the only little good thing that happened that year. Because to sum it up, a bunch of awful shit happened to all of us: Hotch was in a car explosion that almost killed him. Spencer and Prentiss got trapped in an undercover mission into an underground cult to investigate child abuse, and Emily was beaten up pretty badly. Also, Spencer got infected with anthrax and nearly died. That was probably the most agonizing moment I had lived since the whole Tobias Hankel situation two years earlier.

Also, that year Prentiss had to investigate the case of the death of one of her best friends, and I was in a pretty nasty fight with an unsub that got me out of the field for three weeks. Not to mention, Spencer was shot in the leg.

Hotch was stabbed by the only unsub that has actually won against the BAU: Foyet. He attacked Aaron and got on the lose for months, but we all knew his next move as torture Hotch's family. That's why his ex-wife Haley and his little son Jack had to go into protective custody, and he couldn't see them for months while we tried to catch Foyet.

Things didn't go as planned. And without a doubt, the worst moment that year was the day Haley died. Foyet killed her, and Aaron lost it. He literally killed him with his bare hands the moment he got him. For a solid week, I was sure Aaron Hotchner wouldn't be the unit chief anymore. Strauss actually opened an investigation related to everything that happened that day. But in the end, somehow, she understood the "bloodbath" that had happened in that house was all in Foyet's hands.

However, there's no way to deny that the whole team had changed in many ways after that year. The concept of being a family was now more present than ever. After chasing Foyet for months, we were all onto him as if he was chasing our own family, because he was.

You don't work this kind of job with a team like mine and don't get attached to them. And this goes beyond how in love I was with Spencer. The (Y/N) who first stepped into the BAU, scared to show her true self, was long gone. And despite my deepest fears, letting them in and showing them who I really was had been one of the smartest decisions I have ever made.

Do you want to know which was my stupidest decision? Falling in love with Spencer Reid. It hadn't actually been my choice. I just didn't fight the feeling either. I don't think I could have even if I tried, though. Those nineteen months brought us so close, my mom thought we were living together, and the teasing from our friends was so common we weren't even affected by it.

For Christ Sakes, even Strauss thought we were dating! She forced us to attend a seminar on fraternization, concerned after she realized we always took our vacation together. We had a lot of fun trips, though. First, we visited his mom and had an amazing weekend in Las Vegas. Then we took a few days off after the anthrax incident and went to Hawaii. Picture Spencer Reid in an "all-inclusive," drinking all the coffee and eating all the pastries possible while reading a million books underneath an extra-large umbrella. We had fun that week, did some local touring, but most of all, sleeping in and relaxing. Spencer hates the beach but got those tickets anyway.

Did everybody think we were a couple? Yes

Did it help that we shared rooms, 'cos we were already used to it? No

Did it feel like a honeymoon without sex? Yes

Could I stop thinking about sex with Spencer? No.

And all that led us to the nightmare our relationship was going to become.

Penelope Garcia was drunk. She kept pouring shots and pushing them to us. Emily was wasted as well. But she kept acting like the classy lady she is. Not like JJ. My poor baby had mascara smeared under her eyes after crying for like an hour.

We found out she was leaving the team, and it was a hard blow on us. And by hard, I mean the worst thing that had ever happened to us. We had suffered without JJ when she was on maternity leave. And we struggled without her. Now knowing the Pentagon had taken her away from the BAU was torture.

We had a goodbye party for her at Rossi's, but this was our goodbye girl's night, and neither of us was holding anything back.

We had cried, we had sung sad songs. We drank all the champagne, wine, and vodka we could find. And now, holding our tequila shots, we knew it was time to call it a night.

- "I just love you girls so much,"- JJ whispered, crying- I don't wanna work without you.

- "Boo, come here!!"- I opened my arms and wrapped them around my friend, kissing the top of her hair a few times- "I love you too, and you are going to come back so soon you won't have time to miss us. You'll see. Papa Rossi and Dada Hotch are gonna fix everything."

I was drunk. Seriously drunk. But that wasn't the reason why I was so sweet with JJ. The truth is, I was broken-hearted. Like Penelope and Reid, I didn't manage change very well, and the fact that JJ was forced to leave made me feel frustrated and mad. But most of all, it made me think of every time I had been a little bitch with her during the years. And I regretted each one of them.

- "And we won't be far!"- Emily added and caressed JJ's arm, smiling kindly- "You will still be in town, and we will not leave you alone"- JJ chuckled and nodded.

- "I know, girls. Shit, I love you all so much!"

- "We love you too!"- Penelope sobbed and moved closer, wrapping the three of us in her arms.

- "Please, take care!"- JJ wiped off the tears from her eyes and looked at us- "Emily, don't do anything stupid! Don't rush in the field, and please don't take your fucking vest off!!"

- "I won't! I promise!"

- "You have to live to be Unit chief one day!"- JJ added, and Prentiss widened her eyes, shocked.

- "That's not really my gold."

- "But you'd be queen, baby!!"- Jareau added and turned to Penelope- "And you, please make sure Hotch eats. I kept a stack of granola bars on my desk to keep him fueled during the day. He usually forgets lunchtime and skips dinner, so..."

- "Don't worry, JJ,"- Penelope nodded, and we all felt our heartbreak a little thinking about all the things JJ did in her daily basics to take care of the team, and we didn't even know.

- "How are we going to survive without you?"- I mumbled, pouting. JJ chuckled and held my hand.

- "You are a rock, and you will do a fantastic job keeping this team together. Just, please, can you and Spencer start dating now?"

I wide opened my eyes and stared at JJ. The comment surprised me. I shouldn't, 'cos the whole "you and Spencer should start dating" joke was getting old. Only this time, JJ wasn't joking. She held both my hands and looked right into my eyes.

- "(Y/N), he loves you"- I was about to argue with her, but she covered my mouth with her Cheetos smelling hand.

- "Don't say a word! Spencer loves you so much you really must be blind not to see it. And I know you love him too. It's implied in all the little things you do for him every day. So don't take it for granted. Don't think this will last forever 'cos look at me! A week ago, I was happily working at the BAU, and now I'm drinking at my goodbye party! So don't waste any more time! You are in love with Spencer, and he loves you! It doesn't take a profiler to see it. So please! Act on it!"

There was a dramatic silence after. I didn't know how to break it. I could just joke around, but somehow, it didn't feel right. It had been too quiet for too long, and that made everything harder to deny. Finally, Emily put her hand on mine, just like JJ was still doing, and smiled at me.

- "There's nothing to be ashamed of, (Y/N). You are not the first person to fall for her best friend."

- "And the Junior G Man loves you so much,"- Penelope added, landing her hand on our hands too.

- "As his friend"- I corrected and sighed. I guess that was it. After three years, I could probably start facing my feelings in front of my friends.

- "No, (Y/N)"- Garcia tried to argue, but I shook my head and stood up, 'cos all that sudden attention and affection was bothering me.

- "PG, I was in Hawaii with the man, sharing a room, walking around in a bikini, and he didn't do anything."

- "That's because he is shy!"- Emily excused him right away.

- "My bikini leaves pretty much nothing to the imagination. Do you know what he said when he first saw me on it?"- I looked at my friend and poured us another round of tequila- "And I quote, "I don't think I brought enough books. This one is too interesting."

I air quoted with my fingers as we spoke, and the three of them looked at me, speechless. I made my point and drank my shot, feeling the alcohol burning down my throat. My friends opened their mouths but didn't produce a word. I sighed and looked at them.

- "But he hates the beach, and he took you there anyway,"- Emily pointed out

- "Did he give you his speech about how he hates sandy food?"- JJ asked me, and I chuckled, nodding.

- "And about pink skin, limited and unengaging topography, and of course, the real reason he hates the beach: drug-resistant bacteria spread by seagull feces."

- "And the man took you to the beach!"- Penelope argued.

- "But he didn't do anything! he didn't make his move, didn't even hold my hand!!"- I nearly shouted- "That's why, among a lot of reasons, is how I know Spencer is not interested in me! If only I'd tell you all the shit we've been through!"

- "Please!! Tell us!!"- Garcia begged and grabbed one of my legs- "I won't live another day 'cos I won't be able to deal with the mystery!"

- "No! 'cos you are gonna tell Morgan"- I slurred- "And he is going to embarrass and tease my honey bunny, and my honey bunny is gonna get all nervous and nervous around me, and we are never going to..."- I stopped talking and looked at my friends. I was sharing too much.

- "(Y/N)?"- Prentiss looked at me, but I just shook my head and looked down.

- "I think I better go home."

- "No, you can't drive like this,"- JJ argued immediately and held my hand- "I'm not gonna let you go intoxicated. Will is gonna come pick me up, and we'll drop you in your place."

I nodded at her and stayed still. My friends smiled at me, and slowly very slowly, I leaned on JJ's shoulder and rested my head on it.

- "I love you, boo,"- I whispered, and she giggled- "I don't think I'll stay sane without you there with us anymore."

- "Hotch is gonna manage to get her back,"- Penelope assured me, and I just nodded.

- "Meanwhile, we won't replace you, and if anyone tries to push someone new into the team, we are not gonna take them,"- I added, feeling JJ's hand holding mine.

- "Don't be mean with people just 'cos you miss me. If there's a new teammate, it won't be their fault I was pushed out of the BAU."

- "But, JJ,"- I tried to argue, but she shook her head right away.

- "No, (Y/N). You can't be mean to people just because."

Clearly, my friend hoped I could be the better person. The simple question was: did I want to be the better person? Right there, drunk and sad, the answer was no.

Spencer's point of view

I kept finding myself awake at four in the morning, walking around my apartment, not able to read or to write anything. For the last months, at least twice or three times each week, I would stay awake, no matter how tired I felt, and I would haunt my own apartment, listening to my vinyl records.

The sudden lack of sleep wasn't really something weird in me. I have always been nocturnal. Besides, the news of JJ's departure had hit us all pretty hard. I had already shared my share of tears and tried to manage the fury that caused me to know we were helpless to the government's decisions. There was nothing we could do, neither us, Hotch, or even Strauss. Not that she would if she could.

My family was in crisis, and all we could do was hope for the best and stay together.

It was scary losing JJ. It made me think of all the things that could go wrong every day on the field daily. It was bad that we could get hurt or even die on our work. But that they divided us that way made no sense. Like Rossi said: our loss was someone else's winning, and in the FBI, no one cared if we lost.

I poured myself a cup of herbal tea and inhaled the smell of it. It smelled like home. Like (Y/N). She had some of her favorite teas in my apartment. She had a bunch of all her things there, actually. When mom visited, she thought we were living together. She is still sure we are dating and that I don't wanna tell her. I don't longer argue with her about it. It's useless, and it somehow feels good to imagine in another world. It was actually true.

That year my feelings for my best friend had grown in a way that made it all more difficult to deal with. I didn't just love her. I was in love with her. She was in everything I did, in each and every one of my thoughts. I could hear her laughter in my head, like a record playing my favorite song over and over again.

When she was out there in the field, I couldn't stop running all the probabilities of her getting hurt, and most of the time, I would do my best to keep her safe, knowing it could somehow interfere with the case.

Hotch had called me to his office a few times, aware something was going with me. He could read it on my face, I guess. It was scary to know everybody could read my feelings for (Y/N) but her. And it was sad to think of the worst: that she knew how much I loved her, but she didn't feel the same, and she was just being my friend 'cos she was never going to be anything else but my friend.

I drank my tea and hummed the song that sounded in my house at four in the morning: Love is a losing game. Seemed pretty accurate for my mood. I remember the day I got that vinyl. We were out with (Y/N), Frank, and Lu, looking for a present for Mikey's birthday, and we ended up in a record store, getting a million vinyl records for ourselves.

- "Are you getting all those?"- (Y/N) asked me and looked at the seven albums in my hand.

- "Yes, why? I can't?"- I answered and raised an eyebrow.

- "Sassy!"- she giggled and grabbed them- "You can get all the albums you want. But I have to give my approval first. No, you are not getting this!"- she grabbed The Beatles' Revolver and left it aside.

- "What? Why? It's only one I need to complete my collection."

- "I know, but when you get it, you'll force me to listen to it, and I don't like the Beatles,"- she argued, and I just shook my head, taking the album again.

- "Sorry, chipmunk, I'm buying it."

- "Fine. I won't go to your house for the next couple of weeks then."

- "Why don't you tell me which album you wanna listen to when you are in my house then?"- I looked at her, smiling at me and looking for a record on the shelves.

- "This! You need some Amy in your life."

And I did. Now, at four in the morning, all alone walking around, I could see her in my apartment, singing along to her favorite songs while cooking dinner, feeling at home. I wished she was there, with me, doing nothing. Watching tv, or reading. Just hanging out. I knew it wasn't healthy being in love with my friend, seeing her every day, and also hanging out with her every chance I got. But even when I knew she was never going to love me the way I did, I was going to take every chance I had to enjoy her company. If that was all I was going to get.

My phone took me from my thoughts, and I quickly walked to my room to get it. I thought it was Hotch announcing a case, but it was JJ.

- "Hey! JJ, everything ok? Is Henry ok?"

- "Yes, hi Spence. We are all ok."

- "It's four in the morning."

- "Sorry I woke you up... I just..." - she made a pause and sighed at the other side of the line- "Spencer, you know I love you."

- "I love you too. You are one of my best friends. Is everything ok?"

- "Yes, I just wanted to... remember a bunch of years ago, when you asked me to that football game?"

A million years had passed since the one and only time I had asked JJ out. It was the only move I tried to do on her, and I failed incredibly. It was awkward, and she had no idea it was a date, so she invited Garcia to come along. I was so embarrassed I never even mentioned that single event ever again, and our friendship grew after.

- "Yes, I remember, JJ. Why?"

- "When you asked me out, did you have a crush on me?"

- "JJ, are you drunk?"- I had to ask 'cos that conversation was starting to scare me.

- "Yes, but that's not why I'm talking about this. Just answer the questions, Spence. When you asked me out on that date, did you have a crush on me?"

- "Yes, I did."

I closed my eyes, embarrassed to face feelings that were far forgotten.

- "You see, I had a crush on you too back then,"- JJ said and chuckled- "But neither of us acted on it, and life continued, and now I'm in love with Will, and we have a baby, and you are his godfather."

Of all the things I thought I would listen to that day, never in a million years, I imagined I would hear JJ drunk telling me she had a crush on me when we first met.

- "Now, do you want that to happen again?"- she asked, and I didn't get it, 'cos I was still trying to process what I had just heard. So I might have had a relationship with her if only I had said something, act on it. Kiss her, ask her out again?

- "What?"

- "Spence. Do you want to miss the chance to be with the girl you like?"

- "No, but JJ, what are you talking about?"

She sighed, frustrated, and used that tone of voice with me, that very maternal specific tone of voice she used to explain things she knew were hard for me to follow.

- "When you like someone, Spence, you have to tell her. 'Cos sometimes, life gets in the way, and if you don't do what you have to do to be happy, no one will do it for you."

- "Are you ok, JJ?"

- "Yes, Spence, I'm ok. I'm home with Will. We just got here after dropping (Y/N) off her place."

- "How was she?"

- "She might have had a few too many drinks, but she'll be ok in the morning. Maybe she'd appreciate it if you brought her coffee and donuts."

- "She doesn't like donuts,"- I corrected her- "She likes cupcakes and brownies."

- "Sorry. Coffee and cupcakes... just tell her you love her, Spence. She deserves to know."

I held my breath and closed my eyes. I didn't get why JJ was telling me that, but I knew I didn't want to talk about it. So I said good night and hung up.

What was the point of telling me we could have been a couple of years had passed already? Why didn't she say a thing before? Or even better, why didn't she ever say a word about it at all? So I missed the chance to be happy with her. Great. One more regret to add to my list.

I laid on my bed and tried to remember that date. I was so nervous that day, my hands shook inside my pockets as I walked to JJ's door. She looked beautiful that day, especially when she looked at me and announced she had invited Penelope to join us.

That was when I realized she would never see me as a proper date, just like a friend. And I learned to make my peace with that over the years. My crush for JJ lasted a few more months, but it vanished when I fell for (Y/N). What if she had never joined the team? Would I have been in love with JJ forever? Jeniffer always made me feel like her little brother, and I guess that's the mechanic that works for us. We were good friends ever since we met, and yes, I had a crush on her, but we work more like siblings than anything else.

What was the point in telling me I had missed a chance with her now? I just couldn't see it.

(Y/N)'s point of view

The next few weeks were us trying to survive without JJ. The team was making the best it could, but it was hard. Penelope took the lead during the second case without JJ. She turned into our tech analyst and communication liaison, only to collapse under the pressure of having two roles.

No one was going to replace JJ. We all knew it. Literally, no one, 'cos Hotch decided he and Garcia were going to split the job, and we were all going to collaborate as much as we could, 'cos we were a team. A family. And that's what families do.

And families were the target of the unsub we were hunting the day everything changed. Again. I hadn't recovered from the departure of JJ when Rossi and Hotch walked to the bullpen and introduced us to Agent Trainee Ashley Seaver.

My nemesis.

- "Agent trainee Seaver"- Rossi smiled at her like a proud father and looked at us as we stood up, wondering who she was- "Supervisory Special Agent Prentiss, (Y/L/N), and Morgan."

- "I've heard so much about the three of you,"- she said with the sweetest tone of voice I had ever heard. Something about that felt odd.

- "I hope it is all good- Morgan flirted right away, of course."

- "Very, sir."

- "Anything specific? I mean about me in particular?"- I turned to him and failed in holding back my chuckles.

- "Please, don't encourage him, or he will never stop talking,"- I said, and Derek elbowed me playfully. Seaver smiled at us and even blushed a little bit. She was nervous.

- "Agent Seaver is on loan to us from the academy while she is remedial training with an injury."

Hotch announced. And my stomach tightened right away. There was something wrong with that whole scene. I could feel it in my guts. But I didn't know why?

- "Concussion. Hand to hand got a little out of control."- Seaver explained and kept a silly smile on her face.

- "How's the other guy?"- Prentiss asked.

- "Don't ask."

- "I was remediated in the academy also,"- Spencer said, walking over us, and suddenly I understood why I had a bad feeling about everything.

- "Agent Seaver, Dr. Reid."

As soon as I heard Rossi say those words, there was a part of me who just wanted to hold Spencer's hand and push him away from her, even before they could say hi. She looked at him like he was eye candy, and I clenched my knuckles as I stared at the scene.

- "Uhm... What was your issue?"- she asked him, and I could see the pink on her cheek intensifying as he looked at her, confused.

- "What was my issue? Marksmanship, physical training, obstacle course, Hogan's alley. You know, pretty much everything that wasn't technically book related. They ultimately had to make exceptions to allow me into the field."

Seaver stared at him and kept nodding, though I wondered if she was listening to what he had said. Spencer looked exceedingly handsome that day. His hair was very short for the first time in years, and he still had no idea how to comb it, so it was all over the place, making him look as hot as fuck.

I was so in love with him, I didn't know what to do with those feelings at all. It was hard working with Reid at that point. I just wanted to kiss him.

- "Agent Seaver's going to accompany us to New Mexico,"- Aaron announced, and I couldn't help but question him right away.

- "She is?"

- "As a consultant."- he assured me.

- "On?"- Morgan raised an eyebrow and looked at Hotch, wondering what a trainee agent could help us with as a consultant.

- "She has a unique perspective,"- Rossi tried to explain, but it sounded like bullshit.

- "They don't know?"- Seaver turned to the elderly agents, and they shook their heads.

- "Well, we weren't sure how you wanted to,"- David whispered.

- "Uh... Seaver's not my original last name. It's my mother's maiden name. Mine used to be Beauchamp. My father is Charles Beauchamp"- Ashley was supposed to explain the circumstances of her consultancy to the whole team, but she just looked at Spencer as she spoke.

- "As in the Redmond ripper, Charles Beauchamp?"- he asked her, and suddenly, it clicked. It was like my whole body was telling me I couldn't be close to her for a reason.

- "That's him,"- she whispered and kept her eyes on my best friend as he continued talking.

- "He killed 25 women over 10 years in rural North Dakota. I think that you caught him, right, Rossi?"- and David nodded.

- "Hotch was on that team, too."

- "Based on her life experience, we were hoping that agent Seaver might recognize something in the family dynamics inside the community that could be helpful. We have a plane waiting,"- Hotch announced and looked at us, but none of us said a word.

I kept my eyes glued at my feet the whole time Aaron talked. Then, Spencer nodded and walked with Seaver and Rossi out to the hangar. I couldn't even blink. I think I was in shock.

- "Her father was a serial killer?"- Prentiss asked Hotch, not getting what he was thinking.

- "That's definitely a different set of parameters,"- Morgan added. Neither of them was sold on the idea, which made me feel a little bit better.

- "I don't want her presence to get us sidetracked. It's a long shot that she's gonna see anything helpful. We work it like any other case,"- Hotch was clear, and Prentiss and Morgan nodded.

- "You got it."

But I disagreed with that.

- "(Y/N), is everything ok?"- Aaron asked me, and I tried my best to lie and be cool.

- "Yeah, I'm ok."

- "Ok. We work this like any other case. Wheels up in twenty."

But everything was far from being ok.

I sat next to Spencer on the jet, and we reviewed the case files together. Hotch briefed us, and we all pretended it wasn't weird having Seaver there. And I guess we had to pretend it wasn't odd knowing her dad was a serial killer.

- "You are very young, (Y/N),"- she said and smiled at me. She was sitting across from Spencer and me, and you could tell she had been trying to join the conversation for a few minutes now.

-" Twenty eight,"- I answered and looked at the files again.

- "And you, doctor?"

- "You can call me Reid. I'm twenty eight too,"- Spencer cut her a short, awkward, and nervous smile, and I turned to him.

- "Honey, did I leave my Mets jersey at your house?"- it was the only question that came to my mind at that minute. It was completely random, but somehow it showed a part of our dynamic that Ashley didn't know. Our friendship. Our closeness.

- "Yes, I found it last night,"- he answered and sipped his coffee- "I was gonna bring it over, but then I remembered you always borrow all my sweaters when you are home or when you stay over, so I thought maybe it was a good idea to keep it at my place."

- "I don't know, Batsy. It's my favorite sweatshirt- I raised an eyebrow, and I'm pretty sure I even flirted a little bit."

- "So? You need to keep one there."

- "But I like wearing your clothes when we are at your place. It's extra large and extra comfy."

- "Is that why you keep taking my sweaters back to your house?"- he asked and chuckled- "Last Sunday, I found four of my sweaters in your closet."

- "Sorry, I'm not even sorry,"- I said and laughed- "And what were you doing in my closet?"

- "Lucy, Ricky, can we focus on the case?"- Morgan asked and waved at us with one silly grin on his face- "We love hearing your adorable daily adventures, but we've got a psycho killer to catch."

Spencer blushed and flustered right away. I stuck out my tongue at Morgan and just shook my head. The way Seaver looked at Reid was still driving me nuts, but I felt I had shown her he was mine, childishly.

It's embarrassing to think that's not the most childish thing I did around her those days. Or in the weeks to follow. But I didn't like Ashley, and I didn't want her around my team. And it wasn't just her constant flirting with Spencer. It was the fact her father had killed my mother's sister when she was in college, and I was making my best effort to keep that fact aside from work. My personal life had to stay out of the FBI, especially when working a case.

I had to do some serious mental work trying to remember it wasn't Ashley's fault her father was a sick bastard. She hadn't hurt my family, and her father had ruined her life too. It wasn't her fault.

But one thing is knowing. Another thing is being rational about it. Spoiler: I wasn't so rational about it.

- "So, (Y/N). Do you like working at the BAU?"- Ashley asked me and looked at me through the rearview mirror. We were in the SUV, and Prentiss was driving. I was in the back seat, trying to ignore her, but she made it impossible.

- "Yes, very much,"- I answered and nodded, not taking my eyes from the window.

- "Everybody is very friendly,"- Seaver added and made a pause. I don't know if she wanted me to say something or if she was trying to find a way to say what she wanted to say.

- "Yes, they are,"- I humored her, and she quickly responded.

- "Are you and Spencer dating?"- I could feel the blood raising my cheeks as she spoke. And Prentiss flashed me a look through the mirror as Ashley continued talking.

- "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude. I just wondered because of the fraternization policy."

- "Right. Sure. Of course."

Those three words were meant to let Ashley know I wasn't buying her bullshit, So I literally spit them.

- "Spencer is my best friend. We are not dating."

Facing that simple truth had never been harder before, especially after how I saw Ashley's face light up.

- "You just seem to be so close."

- "Oh, they are close,"- Emily smiled at me and winked- "They are so close, they sometimes freak us out."

- "We freak you out?"- I raised an eyebrow and carefully hit her arm, pretending to be upset. But honestly, I was glad she was teasing me.

- "I am just saying, we are all pretty suspicious about you two. I am actually surprised you didn't share rooms tonight. They usually share rooms."- Emily explained to Seaver.

- "He was paired with Morgan,"- I pouted and looked at my phone. I thought maybe I could send him a funny text. I actually wanted to hang out with him.

- "He is very nice,"- Ashley added- "I mean, everybody is nice."

- "Yes, you mentioned it"

I was clearly not being nice. Seaver nodded and looked at the files again. I assumed she was trying to find a way to keep asking about Spencer, and I was making my best not to kill her.

- "Working with a genius must be somehow intimidating,"- she said after a few minutes. Damn it, she wasn't going to let that subject go.

- "It's fun working with Spencer,"- Prentiss said, trying to humor Seaver. And mostly, I guess trying to ease my mood and keep me from killing the trainee agent.

- "I'm sure it is,"- Seaver added. I hated her.

- "He is more than just a genius, he is a nerd."- Emily pointed out and chuckled at her words, making Seaver giggle too. I looked at my book again, but I knew I wasn't going to be able to concentrate on it at all. He was my nerd. Mine.

- "Well, it's very refreshing to be with a group who trusts and works so well together,"- she added- "I had never felt less judged and more welcome in my entire life."

I know I should have felt sorry for her. But I honestly couldn't. That was the day I realized I wasn't the good person I thought I was. There was a part of me that was a scumbag. I'm guessing knowing that is pretty helpful and positive 'cos you can work on your flaws. But I wasn't planning on working on anything at that minute, though. I just wanted to break Seaver's face.

Spencer's point of view

I didn't like working without JJ. I've never been good with change, and that was a massive alteration of our routine. I missed her, and adding Ashley to the team made things even weirder for me, even for a case. I didn't want to be judgemental, but her father was a serial killer. Of course, that would make things weird.

Besides, everybody kept bugging me, teasing me, trying to see if I liked Seaver. Penelope called while we were on the case and started taunting me, saying she knew I thought Ashley was cute. I could see she was beautiful, but I couldn't see her that way. And I didn't want anyone to say those kinds of things around (Y/N).

Why did I care so much?

I didn't want to face it 'cos I knew it was completely platonic, but I didn't want (Y/N) to think I had a crush on Seaver. I knew my best friend didn't have romantic feelings for me, and I also knew I wasn't going to make a move on her or anything. But I didn't want things to change more than they already had. And most of all, I didn't want anything to alter my dynamic with (Y/N).

But at the same time, somehow, it felt everything was already different between us.

- "Hey, honey bunny,"- (Y/N) walked to me and handed me a cup of coffee- "I thought you might need one of these."

- "You are a lifesaver,"- I whispered and sipped the cup. It was perfect.

We were on the jet on our way back home. The whole team was mostly quiet. The mood was weird. Ashley had done something quite reckless earlier and nearly got herself killed. She walked to the unsub's house all alone, not knowing he was our guy. She almost died, and none of us can even imagine what went through her head to do such a thing.

Rossi and Hotch walked to her. (Y/N) looked at me, and I could read on her face that both of us knew what was going to happen.

Ashley was alone when David sat in front of her, and Hotch stood in the middle of the aisle. Maybe that had been insensitive of us. Neither of us tried to contain her. Neither of us really knew her that well. Or at all, as a matter of fact.

- "You were not supposed to go off on your own."- Hotch went straight to the point.

- "I know,"- she whispered, and I could see how (Y/N)'s face changed. I tried to read her, but all I was able to see was... anger? I had to be wronged. She had no reason to be mad at Ashley.

- "You could have been killed,"- Hotch crossed his arms on his chest and stared at her.

- "I know that, too."

- "Why, Ashley? You're smarter than that"- Rossi sounded like a worried father. I didn't look at him 'cos I kept my eyes on (Y/N)'s, still trying to read her emotions. But what I saw made no sense. She really looked like she was angry at Ashley. Like she hated her.

- "I never got to apologize to any of the victims. The families of the women my father killed. I thought if I could just apologize to one family that had been hurt that way..."

And that was when (Y/N) snapped. She jumped from her seat and walked to Seaver. Aaron and David looked at her surprised, and Morgan turned to me, taking off his headphones. Neither he nor Prentiss got what was happening until that moment.

- "Ok. Shoot!"- (Y/N) sat right in front of Seaver, next to David, and looked at her. But she didn't get it.

- "What? What are you talking about?"

- "You just said you wanted to apologize to one of the families. So go ahead. Try."

The silence on the jet was so deep and awkward it felt no one was ever going to talk again.

- "I'm sorry, (Y/N). But I don't get what you are implying,"- Ashley's voice was a whisper. I knew she was sad and affected, embarrassed even. But I also knew (Y/N), and I could read it on her face. She wasn't joking.

- "You said you wanted to apologize to the family of one of your dad's victims, so go ahead. Apologize to me."

My first instinct was to stand up, which I did. But I froze and didn't take a step closer to (Y/N) when I noticed the severe and cold look in her eyes. I didn't know what she was talking about. But I knew she wasn't bluffing.

- "Why should I... apologize to you?"- Ashley asked her, and her voice broke at a certain point, probably scared of the answer.

- "Your dad killed my mother's older sister. She was in college,"- (Y/N) spit each word with hate and looked at Ashley, waiting for her reply. But Seaver didn't know what to do. She widened her eyes and stayed still. She barely kept her breathing steady.

- "(Y/N), maybe we should let Seaver rest,"- Hotch landed a hand on her shoulder, but my friend shook her head.

- "No, Hotch. By making that choice, she put everyone at risk,"- (Y/N) didn't take her eyes from Ashley as she spoke- "As far as I remember when you are at the academy, they teach you that in the field, we are responsible to and for your team."

- "(Y/N)... I had no idea..."- Ashley tried to apologize, I could see it, but it was clear she wasn't going to win that argument- "I am so sorry."

- "I don't know, Seaver. Did you think saying "sorry" would make those families feel better? 'Cos it ain't working here. "Sorry" won't make my mom stop feeling guilty about what happened. And, if things had gotten ugly back there, "sorry" wouldn't have made your mistake go away in case anyone would have gotten hurt. So no. Sorry doesn't help. Maybe it can ease your conscience, but when you really fuck it up, it never makes things better."

(Y/N) stood up and walked back to her seat in front of me. I let her pass and didn't say a word. I knew she wouldn't want to talk about it there. And, of course, Seaver didn't say a word. She just stood up and walked to the back of the jet, to the bathroom. Rossi and Hotch looked at each other and then looked at me.

David poured a glass of whiskey and walked to (Y/N) slowly. He didn't say a word, he just handed it to her, and she just took it and sipped it with shaky hands.

- "Thanks,"- she whispered, and Rossi nodded. Hotch raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, I thought he was going to say something, but he didn't. He just walked to his seat and opened a case file.

I moved back to my seat and opened my satchel. I had run out of candies earlier that day, so I didn't have much to give to her that could make her smile. So I picked a book and handed it to her. She took it and smiled at me kindly. I knew she was fighting back the tears, and I am sure she has held back all the emotions than being with the daughter of the man who killed her aunt since she knew who Seaver was. And she managed to do the job well. I was proud of her.

- "Wanna grab something to eat when we reach DC?"- I whispered, but for the first time ever, she shook her head.

- "I'm gonna have to catch a rain check for that dinner. I think I wanna go straight to my bed today, honey."- she sipped her glass again, and I nodded.

- "Don't worry, next time."

I was waiting for the train to go back home later that night when I saw Seaver sitting at a bench at the station, staring at her hands on her lap. I didn't see her leaving the BAU, though to be honest, I was really focused on finishing my paperwork to go home. (Y/N) had left as soon as we reached DC, but I had stayed a little longer.

I hesitated for a few seconds before I took a few steps closer and waved at Seaver. She looked at me surprised, as soon as she saw me, but didn't move. I smiled, trying to look friendly, and sat next to her.

- "Hi. What are you doing here?"- I asked her, and she shrugged.

- "I was going to go home, but I think I sat here half an hour ago and haven't been able to move,"- I turned to her and shook my head.

- "Do you want to eat something?"- after what had happened at the jet, I figured Ashley wasn't feeling so good, and maybe talking with someone could help her. She looked at me and blushed; I don't know why. But at least, she smiled and nodded.

- "Great, pizza?"

- "Pizza sounds good."

We were waiting for our food and making small talk. I kept giving Ashley pizza facts to fill the silence 'cos it was weird hanging out with Ashley. I didn't know her, really. We had worked a case together, but that didn't mean I knew her. And, of course, we had the whole jet incident. I felt a little guilty about what had happened, though it wasn't my fault at all in retrospect. I just felt like it was my job cheering her up a little bit after everything she had gone through.

- "How do you do it?"- she asked me all of a sudden- "How do you deal with the pressure of this job?"

- "You get used to it, I guess. I don't know if it's a good thing to get used to, but... it comes with the job, I think,"- I didn't know if I was doing ok comforting her. Then again, I have never been particularly good at it. Not then, not now.

- "Did you always dream about doing this?"- she asked me, and her eyes locked into mine in a way that made me feel slightly uncomfortable.

- "Y... yes. Ever since I was a kid, catching the bad guys,"- Seaver nodded and sipped her coke- "You? Why did you get into the academy?"

I regretted my question right after I asked, just 'cos I realized she might have done it to understand her father's behavior. It was only apparent that had shaped her actions.

- "I guess you know that..."- Ashley answered and smiled, her eyes looking straight into mine. I know I blushed. She is a beautiful woman, though I wasn't thinking about her that way. It was an odd feeling being observed that way.

I was glad our pizza made it to the table, and we were forced to stop talking, and I could focus on anything else but her. Not that I didn't want to look at her, but... I think the right way to explain it is to call it "uneasy." That's how I felt. I wanted to be friendly with her, she had a horrible experience consulting with the team, and I was sure she wasn't really having a good day.

- "This might sound weird, but... do you think I can call you sometime?"- Ashley asked after a few minutes. We were eating and talking about nothing important. I nearly chook at her words and looked at her, nodding.

- "Sure, why?"- I didn't mean to be rude. I just didn't know why she might need to talk to me again.

- "I just think maybe you could help me with a few assignments at the academy."

- "Yeah, of course."

Ashley Seaver smiled and nodded at me, pleased. She took a sip of Sprite, and I could read her, trying to find the words to continue speaking.

- "I'm glad. I was sure you were going to say no."

- "Why?"- I furrowed my brows, confused- "I'm not a big fan of phones, but I can handle a casual phone call."

- "No, I just didn't think your girlfriend would like... I mean, I think (Y/N) hates me, and as her boyfriend, I thought you... would... I don't know."

- "I'm, we are... we,"- I was completely flustered as I tried to rearrange my thoughts. Seaver looked at me innocently and waited for my words.

- "(Y/N) isn't my girlfriend"- it bothered me to admit that simple fact. Why? 'Cos it hurt to think we looked like a couple, but we weren't. Why did Seaver think we were together?

- "Really? But..."

- "She is my best friend,"- I explained poorly. She nodded and hesitated before saying what she was thinking. It was obvious she was trying to arrange the words in her head.

- "It's just that you two... sorry, I'm overstepping,"- Ashley blushed and shook her head- "She is... strong."

- "Yes, very."

- "I think I started with the wrong foot with her."

- "Well, I don't mean to justify anything, but if your father hurt,"- I made a pause, trying to find a way to say it that wasn't so painful.

- "Killed. My father killed her aunt,"- she corrected me with a cold and monotonous tone of voice. I just nodded and sipped my water.

- "She is an amazing person,"- I don't know if I was trying to excuse (Y/N)'s earlier behavior or if I just loved her so much I needed to tell people how awesome she was.

- "I'm sure you will pass this,"- I assured her- "Once you get to know her, and she gets to know you."

- "I don't think she will give me that chance. Besides, I was just clear to assist with only one case."

- "If you want to stay, you can request your remedial training be here. And if Hotch approves it, I could talk to (Y/N). I'm sure she will like to know you better."

Why did I say all that? I had no idea.

- "Thank you, Spence. You are really sweet,"- Ashley moved closer and held my hand. I stayed very still, absolutely awkward.

- "Yeah, I don't... like... holding hands,"- I quickly moved it away and tried to smile at her. She stayed still, not understanding my reaction but trying to act normal.

- "Sorry."

- "That's ok. I'm a germaphobe, that's all."

After pizza, we left the place and said goodnight. I told Ashley I was weary (which was, in fact, the truth) and got her a cab to take her home. After that, I walked to my place. I felt like I needed to be alone for a while. My head was overwhelmed, and in the latest couple of weeks, I had severe trouble sleeping.

I had migraines that nearly blinded me. I was scared they meant I could develop the first signs of schizophrenia, like mom, 'cos they were coming more and more often. It wasn't that bad yet, the light didn't hurt my eyes, and I didn't have any sign of hallucination, but still, I knew it could be serious.

I tried to think of a reason why I might be having those severe headaches. I was eating correctly, mostly 'cos (Y/N) forced me to eat. No, she didn't force me, but she made sure I had all my meals at work, not just coffee. And usually, at the weekends, we would spend our time together, and she was a fantastic cook. So it wasn't an alimentary issue.

I wasn't sleeping well. That wasn't new, but it was getting serious. I wrote and read a lot at night 'cos I couldn't fall asleep until late. I didn't know why. I just couldn't rest. My body ached, and my brain wouldn't sleep. The only nights I could actually get some rest were the ones when (Y/N) stayed with me. It was a blessing when Hotch paired us to share rooms, 'cos I could easily fall asleep when she was around. Her presence soothed me in a way that I didn't understand. Let me put it this way, I know it might sound cheesy, but the beating of her heart set the rhythm for my own, and at night it would bring me peace.

I reached home that night and sighed. I knew I wasn't going to rest easy. (Y/N) wasn't there with me. So I made myself a cup of herbal tea, (Y/N) had a lot of those in my house, and I drank them when I missed her. The smell coming from the cup made me feel like she was close.

How pathetic I had become! But I could only share those thoughts with myself. No one knew I had feelings for her, and I was going to deny it till the end, no matter what had JJ said. I couldn't take that phone call from my mind, and on those sleepless nights, I kept overthinking and overanalyzing everything.

I got into bed with a few books and my cup of herbal tea. I took a look at my cell phone, two new messages.

- "I miss u"

(Y/N) sent, and a warm feeling spread on my chest as I imagined her whispering those words as I read them

- "Breakfast tomorrow before work?"

- "See you at seven-thirty."

I typed and sent it.

What could ever happen if I told her how much in love I am with her? I would lose her, and I'd be alone. She didn't feel that way for me. It was a fact. I was just glad she was my best friend, and I could share everything with her. Was I pathetic? Yes, very, but in a way, it felt it was just all I deserved. Not more, not less. Just being in love with a girl who didn't love me back.

At least she wasn't dating Paul anymore. I hated that guy.

(Y/N)'s point of view

Spencer was waiting for me outside our usual coffee shop, already holding two cups of coffee. His short hair looked dreamy as she smiled and took off his sunglasses. It had to be illegal being that hot. But, seriously, how didn't he get laid? He was fucking dreamy. In the four years we had been best friends, I saw Spencer in many hairstyles, and each of them made him look like a model.

Falling in love with Spencer Reid had been a process I hadn't actually been fully aware of. But I was completely conscious I needed to hide those feelings from him and from everybody at the BAU.

Ok, fine, I had somehow faced part of those feelings in front of my drunk best buddies at Penelope's house, but I never actually confirmed anything. I had just... shared some of my frustrations, I guess.

- "Good morning, honey bunny,"- I smiled and sighed as I stood in front of Spencer, watching him grin back at me and hand me one of the coffee cups.

- "Good morning, chipmunk. Did you get some rest?"

- "Yes, I fell asleep as soon as I reached my bed. I was exhausted."

- "I'm glad you are fully rested."

- "What did you do yesterday?"

- "Nothing,"- he answered quickly and turned around- "I got you a carrot muffin to go."

- "Thank you so much. I'm starving. I didn't even have dinner yesterday."

- "Really?"

- "I told you, I reached home and crawled into my bed."

We walked outside the coffee shop in silence. Spencer bit his donuts, and I ate my muffin. It was nice and calming being with him doing domestic things in life.

I hated how much in love I was with him 'cos I knew I had to shake that feeling away. He was never going to have feelings for me. I was a regular human being, and Spencer Walter Reid was a genius. He deserved better, he was actually never to think about me that way, and I refused to ruin our friendship with those feelings.

- "So, Comic-con is coming. What are we doing this year?"- I asked as I drove us to Quantico.

- "I was thinking we should do something classic,"- he looked at me, nearly beaming on his seat- "We haven't done Star Wars yet."

- "Really?"- I frowned, confused- "All these years? Are you sure?"

- "(Y/N), eidetic memory,"- he argued, and I chuckled- "So, how do you feel about Leia?"

- "Do I have to be Leia 'cos I'm a girl?"- I asked him, and he flustered right away.

- "What? No, you can be whoever you want to be. I was just, it came to my mind... I didn't,"- I giggled and looked at him for a second.

- "I'm messing with you, Batsy. I always wanted to dress as Leia. Surprisingly, I never had. Padme once, it was a mess, but never Leia. Who are you planning to be?"

- "Maybe Luke... or Obi-Wan. Morgan suggested C3PO once."

- "If I'm Leia, you should be Han,"- I don't know why I said that out loud. I thought about it, I pictured it in my head, but I knew I shouldn't have said it. Then why did those words leave my mouth? I don't know.

- "Han Solo... yes... yeah, sure. Of course! We can pick our outfits this weekend."

- "Great! What do you think would look better? Slave Leia or classic all in white Leia?"- Spencer didn't answer. He just sipped his coffee and looked outside the window.

- "You would look good in both,"- his cellphone interrupted our conversations, and I thought it might be a case. But I was so wrong, it hurt.

- "Hello? Oh, hi, Ashley,"- I nearly hit the break as soon as I heard him saying her name, but instead, I turned around and looked at him.

- "Good, yes. On my way to work with (Y/N). Oh, that's good."

I didn't care what she was saying. I just needed to know why that bitch was calling him. I was blind in jealousy, and I was having a hard time hiding it.

- "Really? Emily? That's... that's great. Sure, we'll see you around, gotta go. Bye."

- "What the fuck?"- I swear, I didn't think what I was saying. Those words just slip through my lips straight from my guts. I hated Seaver.

- "That was Ashley."

- "Figured when you said "Hi Ashley." What? Are you best friends with her now?"

- "What? No! No way! She just wanted to say hi... and... She.... asked for my number 'cos she wanted to help her with some of the academy's projects,"- Spencer was so nervous he actually stuttered as he answered my simple question.

- "Of course, she did,"- my voice was bitter and hurt, but most of all, ironic. And I don't know if Spencer didn't want to understand me or actually didn't get the hint, but he just continued talking.

- "She wanted to tell me she requested her remedial training be at the BAU."

- "What?!"- that wasn't subtle. I actually yelled- "I'm gonna have to see her again?"

- "If Hotch approves..."

- "Fuck!! That's awful!!"- I hit the wheel, frustrated.

- "She's not a bad person, (Y/N). Her dad was a murderer, but that doesn't mean..."- I turned to look at Spencer for a second, and he just shut up- "Sorry."

- "I don't like her, Spencer."

- "Yes, I know."

- "Her dad killed my aunt!!"

- "I know..."

- "And on top of that, that bitch is..."

I had to bite my lips and focus on the road, actually holding my breath for a few seconds, just not to open my mouth and ruin it all.

The main reason why I hated Ashley Seaver wasn't just because of what her father had done. That itself was enough to keep her away. But on top of that, she was flirting with Spencer. She wasn't even subtle about it; she was nearly all over him. I saw her! She wanted him, and he had no idea! He was blind to her attention. Unless he liked it. Did he? Shit, I hoped not.

- "She what?"- Spencer whispered, scared of my reaction.

- "She plays the pity card the whole time. Bad things happen to all of us. You don't have to make it who you are, she does, and she expects sympathy."

I grabbed my muffin and took a big bite of it. Spencer sighed and stayed quiet for a moment, giving me space to decompress, I think.

- "Did you know the origins of carrot cake are disputed by many countries?"- I looked at Spencer, and he nodded- "Many food historians believe carrot cake originated from the English recipe of carrot puddings, eaten by Europeans in the Middle Ages when sugar and sweeteners were expensive, and many people used carrots as a substitute for sugar."

- "My mom would fight all those historians and convince them she invented it. Her carrot cake is the best."

- "And I would agree, the cake she baked for your last birthday was amazing."- I nodded and heard him chuckle as I kept my eyes on the road. I wanted to focus on the memories of my last birthday and how fun it was, but something was bugging me.

- "And why did she call you to tell you what she wanted to do?"- I parked the car outside the BAU and turned to Spencer. He opened his mouth, but no word came from it. So I asked him again.

- "Honey, why did Seaver call you to announce she would take the remedial training at the BAU?"

- "It... might... had been my idea,"- he whispered and held his satchel tight against his body. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't believe it.

- "Why on earth did you do that, Spencer?!"- I shouted as I got out of the car, grabbed my purse, my clean go bag in case we had a case, and started walking towards the building.

- "It wasn't like a suggestion. She just..."

- "I can't believe it!!"

- "It doesn't have to be that bad! It's just for a few weeks..."

- "Hopefully, Hotch won't accept."

- "(Y/N), come on,"- Spencer held my hand and stopped me- "This is not like you. Yeah, you don't like her, but you are making it a big deal, and it's not."

- "I'm starting to think you are crushed on her,"- I didn't want to say those words. They just slipped.

- "What!? Why? No!! I'm not!"- the high pitch on Spencer's voice was a clear sign of how uncomfortable he was with the conversation.

- "Then why are you defending her?"

- "I am not! I'm just saying maybe you are acting a little bit... irrational about this whole thing. She hasn't done anything bad."

- "Other than jeopardizing the whole case yesterday?"

- "Right, other than that..."

I felt Spencer's hand in mine, and I swear, I couldn't stop thinking about how it felt. It kept sending shivers all over my body. His thumb rubbed small circles on my skin, probably trying to calm me down, and it worked. I followed it with my eyes for a second as I took a few deep breaths and nodded.

- "Ok, I won't make a big deal if she stays."

- "Thank you."

- "Just... don't ask me to be her friend."

- "You don't have to be her friend."

Spencer stood in front of me and smiled. I swear all I could think of was kissing him. And a part of me felt it was getting harder and harder to resist. He put on his sunglasses and kept his hand in mine for a moment until Penelope's voice took us from our little bubble.

- "Good morning, my wonder babies!! Ready to fight crime?"

I actually didn't know what I was getting into.

Hotch had taken the day off. We were around the one-year anniversary of Haley's death, and according to what Rossi explained to us, Jack wasn't feeling so good. It was said it would be just a day or two, but I had the feeling it might be a couple of weeks. Hotch would always put himself second, but he would do whatever it took to keep him safe when it came to his son.

Morgan had been asked to take a trip to Petersburg Federal Correctional Complex to do a risk assessment on a case, so Spencer, Prentiss, and I were in the bullpen. Garcia was in her office, and Rossi was in a meeting with Strauss. I'd say it was a very calm morning, catching up with all the pending paperwork we had. Spencer had just gotten me a cup of coffee when I heard Seaver's cheerful voice.

- "Hi guys!"- she walked in with a big smile and waved- "How are you?"

Spencer looked at me as we all said our hellos. I could almost read "Please, be nice" written all over his face, and for a moment, I was willing to do as told. I didn't want him to suspect why I was so annoyed by her after all.

- "I talked to Hotch"- Emily smiled at Seaver and moved a chair for her- He signed off your remedial training, and I'll be your training agent. I'll supervise your work. I already told Rossi too, so it's official.

Ashley jumped from her chair and hugged Emily. I rolled my eyes and stared at the file on my desk. I really wasn't ready to deal with her. I wasn't prepared to deal with someone trying to steal Spencer from me.

Ok, Spencer wasn't mine to keep, but we had been inseparable for four years, and I didn't want to lose that. I didn't want to lose him.

I had never been ready to deal with Spencer dating other girls. The few times girls had hit on him had been awful. Once, Morgan took him to a club when we were on a case, 'cos the unsub was picking his victims there, and he taught him how to pick up girls. The bartender ended up giving him her number 'cos my dorky best friend was charming. Derek still remembered that moment from time to time, quoting it as "The day he turned Spencer into a man."

I loved Derek, but fuck, I hated him sometimes.

- "Welcome to the team,"- Spencer waved at Seaver from his desk and turned to me, raising an eyebrow.

- "Yeah, welcome,"- I added and cut her a short smile.

- "I'm thrilled to join you guys for a few weeks. I always dreamt of being here. I'm ready for making it up after the last case."

- "Don't be so hard on yourself,"- Prentiss interrupted her and smiled friendly- "You remained calm under pressure, and the case was solved. That's all that matters."

I had to control myself not to snort after Emily's words. Instead, I kept my eyes locked on my desk like I had done before. I was so focused on it that I could have actually developed telekinesis skills and moved the freaking file with my eyes.

- "I just wanted to say thank you to all of you,"- Seaver's voice was soft, in a mix of fear, excitement, and... something else I couldn't read.

- "Especially you, Spencer. I really enjoyed our talk last night, and I have the feeling I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Thank you for the pizza. I owe you dinner."

- "Don't, it was nothing,"- Spencer flustered and stood up quickly, grabbing his pile of files and walking away, arguing he needed to ask Garcia something.

I did my best not to move a muscle. I didn't want Seaver to know how much I hated the fact she had shared what seemed to be a lovely evening with Spencer. One he didn't actually mention when we talked about what we had done the previous evening. Why did he decide to keep me in the dark? I couldn't understand that. Maybe he just didn't want me to know he actually had feelings for Seaver. Maybe he had asked her out, and because he knew I hated her (though he really didn't know why), he decided not to tell me what was going on.

I had been wasting all that time in love with Spencer. I knew I would never act on those feelings, and clearly, he didn't have feelings for me. So... maybe it was time to let him go.

How could I let Spencer Reid go when I never actually had him?

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Next update: June 16th, 2021

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