railingsofsorrow

[railingsofsorrow]

losing my shit over this crumb was not on my bingo card of the week

but i did it anyway, thanks to spencer motherfucking reid

#mgg #joe mantegna i see what you're doing #they must be laughing their asses off because of the theories we're creating because of a single ig story #spencer reid #criminal minds evolution #CM17 #also #the rumple buttercup on the set? this is no coincidence idc if i sound crazy #he's back #ros speaks; #gube istg if you're playing us #HE'S ALSO IN LA BTW

[railingsofsorrow]

don't walk out

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: “we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave.”  pairing: s.reid x gn!reader  w.c: 1K warnings/content: implied abandoned issues; argument; silent treatment (brief); language; angst.  A/N: guess I'm on a roll today. I just love some angst. 

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

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“is that supposed to make me feel better?”  

lights had barely been turned on when you spat out a response, breaking the tense silence. your apartment was tidy, nothing out of order, even the pillows where settled two on each edge of the couch like you always did before leaving for work.  

it was the expected. three days away on a case didn't exactly mean your house would turn upside down, would it? unanimated things didn't move on their own. but one thing that was turning upside down was your mood. not only did the journey home came with lots of turbulence, but Spencer had to make an unpleasant comment that made your blood boil. was it wrong that you just wanted to not look at him right now? you were even considering not sleeping beside him tonight. 

“for fucks sake.” you mumbled under your breath when he had stayed silent. he's ignoring you now. great. throwing your work bag on the couch, you didn't even take your shoes off as you moved back toward the door. you can't handle his passive aggressive act and you certainly won't handle his silence treatment.  

“where are you going?” he called out, shuffling out of the bedroom upon hearing the sound of keys dangling. no. no, you're not leaving, are you? “what—” 

“i'm gonna take a walk, spencer.” 

it didn't take a second for him to rush over and stop your exit by blocking the door. “what are the car keys for then?” desperation clouded his tone and you felt guilt building up in your chest, but it wasn't bigger than your frustration.  

“I'm gonna drive.” 

“at this time of the night? you hate driving at night.” 

“are you my father?” he almost flinched at your sharp tone. okay, he deserved that hostility. he's been nothing but rude to you the entire jet ride back home. it's not that you did anything — even if you had done something, it does not justify the way he was treating you —, the case had been hard. it involved kids. the team wasn't fast enough. he wasn't fast enough. you almost got hurt. it was a lot to absorb in a short amount of time.  

he never wanted this: you walking out while you were mad at each other. no. you had made a deal long ago. you both were laughing after your first stupid argument, something about forgetting to fold the laundry.  

“okay, but we can be like this, right?” you said, nudging him. “we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave.” 

his eyes soften and he almost turns to mush. he understood then that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. and yes. you would be mad and you would upset each other but leaving was off the table. he could do that. there was nothing he'd want more. 

but now he'd cross a line. didn't he? how dare he do that? how dare he cause you do want to walk out? 

“i'm sorry.” spencer is still at the doorway when you ask him to move. he won't move. he can't. “i really am. I shouldn't have said that. it was out of line.” 

“really?” you snap. he hears the edge in your voice and the crack. it breaks him. he just wants to hold you, he never meant—means to hurt you. “then why did you? why would you even think about something like that?”  

he holds back his breath of relief once you've put the keys back in the bowl. the lump in his throat diminishing slightly. 

“i was upset. angry— at the case. the whole situation, not you.“ he clarified. “sweetheart, i'm sorry. I didn't mean it.” you're searching his face for some indication of lie that you won't find. “i'm sorry.” 

“you're an idiot.” your anger is gone, there's just frustration now. maybe at yourself, because you can't really stay mad at him as he stares at you with those eyes.  

“i am,” he admits, no ounce of hesitation in his tone. he's fairly certain he is, in fact, an idiot. “i'm sorry.” he repeats and he will repeat over and over again until you forgive him. he will beg if he has to. “don't leave, please.” 

and that is not fair. it's not. he can't make you mad and say sorry and all will be forgiven. he can't look at you with those eyes and think things will be magically fixed. 

but then your armor cracks. suddenly, his behaviour makes sense. 

we can fight and we can be mad but we can't leave. 

“i wasn't going to—” you're ashamed at this point. you were so blinded by anger that you'd do something you promised to never do. “you know I wouldn't leave, right?” then his desperation in reaching the door before you makes sense and you're taken back to the moment you promised not to walk out in a fight. that's exactly what you where about to do.  

“i'm sorry.” you say, staring at the keys in your hands. “i didn't think before acting.”  

spencer nods slowly, taking a step closer towarss your frame. “and I didn't think before speaking. I'm the one that should be sorry.” 

you caught a glimpse at his twitchy fingers and takes one of his hands into your own, letting the keys slip to the floor as you yank him to your arms. he only complies by squeezing you against him. and finally, both of you have what you've been craving since this case started: each other's comfort.  

and then, you repeat. “i wasn't going to leave, you know that, right?”  

“yeah.” he burries his face into your neck and his voice is muffled by your skin. “yeah, I know.” 

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie @ninkieminjaj ; 

#spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

[railingsofsorrow]

5 hours apart

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: “I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts.” “I don't want you to miss me. It's tearing me apart.” from this prompt list.

pairing: spencer reid x svu!detective!f!reader

w.c: 3.7K

warnings/content: long distance relationship; crying; sadness; discussions of a case related to kidnapping (brief); migraine; this o.s approaches healthy siblings dynamic and some childhood trauma, be aware; discussions about marriage; spencer does not beat the pipe cleaner allegations.

A/N: decided to do a crossover one shot between criminal minds and law and order: svu (my newest obsession)because I love both shows (and nick amaro has older brother vibes) and it fit pretty well. there's like a few Spanish terms that I used and please consider that I did Spanish in high school and had a few classes afterwards, forgive me if I made some misspellings.

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

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There are two missed calls on your phonescreen when you turn it on. The heavy load of paperwork you needed to finish plus the migraine that did not leave you alone forced you to turn your phone off during the daytime so you could concentrate on working. Amanda and Fin telling you to go home wasn't as effective as your boss ordering the exact same thing upon seeing your tired state. Thankfully, by the time he did that, you had already finished everything and you happily obliged.

The keychain clinking against the doorknob makes you drop your shoulders in relief. You aren't home but it's close enough. It's been a few months since you have stepped into your brother's place, but it's the same as you remember. Grey couch, the spotless kitchen island that you can see as soon as you walk in, the innumerous pictures of your brother and your niece scattered around the walls.

You throw your dark brown blazer on the loveseat across the room and sit on the couch unceremoniously, pressing play on the latest voice message.

“Hey... It's me. I called you before and it went straight to voicemail, I... I forgot to say something.” You snort, hair falling off of your ponytail as you let it loose down your shoulders. Never have you ever seen your boyfriend forget something. “I'm sorry I couldn't make it. I know I promised and I really wanted to go but the case, it was a serious one, they needed me.” The guilt in his voice breaks a part of you inside. “I-I'm sorry I let you down.” There's a beat, some voices in the background that you can't make out who it is because they're too far away. “I love you and I'll make it up to you, okay? Call me when you can, please.” And the message ends.

You only notice you start crying when a sob echoes through the room and the sound comes from you.

You were never mad at him. Deep down, you expected him to cancel on you because of a case, you knew you would if you were needed. Both if you are not the kind of people who let your people hanging, especially if the reason is work. And that's fine, when you started dating Spencer, that was the first thing you understood, as he did.

Being far away from him is what kills you. You manage to work long-distance. He visits you on his (rare) day-offs, you escape for a few days to Virginia. It works. It's how you do. But there are moments in which you just need him close and it's not like you can drive over to his apartment right away. 5 hours apart does that to a couple. It's not unbearable, but it's painful.

You miss him.

So you dial the number you know by heart, sniffling quietly on your bubble of loneliness in the empty apartment.

You don't know where he is, if he's home, if he's in a completely different timezone. You don't care.

It rings twice before his voice fills up the call. “Hi—Hey, angel.” He sounds frantic. You smile thinking he must have been waiting for your call.

“Hey, Spence,” you respond, folding your knees on the couch. “Are you home? I didn't text first to see if it was a good time to talk, sorry.”

“It's always a good time to talk to you.” He says without hesitantion. “I'm on the motel, packing.”

“Oh, so did the case end okay?”

You can feel the relief through his exhale. “Yes, we found the boy on time. He's finally back with his parents. Home.”

Your mouth twitches, “that's good.” And you make sure to add as you always do, “you saved a life today, I'm proud of you.”

His soft awkward chuckle causes a tearful grin out of you. You can practically see him blushing.

“Thank you. It was... It's a good feeling.”

“Are you happy?”

“Not really.”

You brows furrow slightly. “Why? Did something happen?”

“I miss you,” he says. “I am happy that we saved someone today, of course but... You know, the first person I wanted to tell it to was you. I just— I miss you. So much it hurts.”

You close your eyes as the tears slip one by one down your cheeks, you felt their salty taste. Your chest clenching as you stay silent for what feels like several minutes until Spencer's concerned tone breaks the silence.

“Angel?”

“Please don't miss me. It's tearing me apart.” Your request doesn't quite make sense but you don't have time to think it through before you say it. It just what comes out of your heart.

“Please, don't cry.”

You let out a tearful laugh, attempting to dry your tears foolishly.

“I'm always missing you, sweetheart. I'm sorry but that's inevitable.” He adds, sadly.

“It hurts so fucking much.”

Spencer clears his throat and you know he's either refraining from crying himself or trying to mask it.

“I know. I'm sorry.” He pauses. “I wish I was there.”

You shake your head even though he can't see it. “'s not your fault. It's your job, you can't help it.”

"I hate it that you're crying and I'm not there to comfort you."

"I'm fine," you whisper, sniffling. "Don't worry about me. Today was just... A shitty day, really."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You hum, fiddling with the soft fabric of the light green hand-knit throw blanket your brother always left on his couch. "Migraine." It's what you say and all he needs to know to wince in the other side of the line.

"Did you take something for it?" Spencer is aware of your frequent migraines and how much they bother you.

"Yeah, it's okay now." You reply even though there's a little painful pang in the back of your back right now.

"Maybe you should try to sleep a little. Did you know that sleeping seven hours every night impacts on your focus, body weight and immune system? Actually, adults aged from sixteen to sixty years should all get at least seven hours sleep every night, but that's almost never happens because of people's usual hectic work schedules-" He sucks in a breathe upon noticing he's rambling non-stop. You laugh and suddenly the harsh grip on your heart diminishes a little. His voice appeasing the momentary heartache you're going through.

"Says you. Who never sleeps, anyway. And work on caffeine 24/7."

"Hey," his tone has a tinge of amusement but he pretends to be offended. "I sleep."

"You do when I'm there. Cause I force you."

"Oh, you're so cruel to me, angel."

Your lips widen into a smirk. "That I am."

The conversation carries on for a while, until you figure out which time it is where he is and immediately orders him to go to sleep because he has an early flight to catch in the morning. He's reluctant, but he eventually lets it go because you need to sleep too and you will talk in the next day again.

Before he hangs up, he asks, the first time he hesitates in the call. "Uh, does- does your brother hate me?"

Your brain takes a few seconds to grasp what he's implying, until you remember what was supposed to happen this weekend. Spencer would come over to your place in New York to meet your brother.

You bite your lip, straightening your legs out on the ouch. "Yeah, about that..."

"He does, doesn't he? I don't blame him, I did screw up-"

"Wait, baby, that's not it. I... I actually didn't tell him." A pause, you curse under your breath. Now he must thing you didn't want him to come. "Spence?"

"Did I pressure to do something you didn't want? I should have asked you if you wanted meet to meet him, right? I think I kind of invited myself over and-"

"Stop." You cut him off. "No, Spencer. You didn't pressure me into anything. I want you two to meet, of course I do. You're one of the most important people to me, but I really forgot. I'm not making up an excuse."

"Alright, yeah. Okay." He says and you hear a door closing and wood creaking. He must be sitting on the bed.

"I love you." You receive the mental image of the scrunch of his nose and the smile he can't help whenever you drop the L bomb out of nowhere. "And you know he doesn't have to approve anything, right? Nick has no say in who I date or not."

"But he's your brother, he's important to you and I would meet him someday anyway because- I, well." Your body shakes with laughter and the phone almost drops from your hand.

"What, are you proposing now, genius? Through the phone, really?"

"Don't make fun of me." Spencer warns playfully.

You take a few seconds to process that he doesn't deny it. You said it as a joke but he didn't even deny it that he thinks about marrying you. God, your chest could combust.

"You think about it?" You ask, shifting your position to bring your knees to your chest. "Us? Someday?"

"You mean getting married to you? Yes. I do. We haven't discussed it yet, but... Yes, I do think about it."

"Mhm."

"Has it ever... crossed your mind?" He's reluctant, shy to ask even. You find it cute as everything Spencer Reid does. Marriage is something that never really crossed your mind, to be honest. You think is nice when people get married and show their love to their loved ones, but your parents' relationship carved a fear deep within your chest and your entire perception of love had to be relearned through the years they separated. One thing that you learned is that no person and no relationship is the same. It's not because your father broke your trust and destroyed a part of your and your brother's childhood that your future partners will do the same. It is easier said than done, but you're coming around to the idea.

"Not before you." You admit quietly.

"Oh."

“Yeah.” You ponder out loud. “It scares me a bit, that I consider spending the rest of my life by your side. Doesn't it scare you?”

“It does,” he replies. “But the idea is nice to think about.”

You smile, letting out a soft breath. “Yeah, it is nice.”

A male voice calls out for him in his end and you know he has to go. You had already taken up much of his time, anyway.

“They want to go to a bar nearby to celebrate.” Spencer explains to you, not sounding too thrilled about the idea.

You snicker, “go have fun, genius. You deserve it. Try to enjoy it even if this is not your usual idea for fun. I love you.”

“I love you more.” Spencer says and laughs at your groan of protest on the other side.

“We're not going to be one of those couples who never hang up because you love me more or no, I love you more, Spencer.”

“I just like to mess with you.” He admits with an edge of amusement to his tone. And damn you miss the smirk you know he's making right now.

“Yeah, I know. Now go, have fun. And have a safe flight tomorrow, text me when you land?”

“Of course, angel. Try to sleep a bit, you need the rest.”

You smile. “Sure. Bye, Spence.”

“Bye, angel.”

An hour or two goes by since your phone call with your boyfriend and manage to cook some dinner and then throw yourself back on the couch while a random show is played on TV. You end up falling asleep and wake up upon hearing the jiggling keys against the door of your brother's apartment, rubbing your eyes in your disoriented sleepy state. Checking your phone, the screen says 11p.m.

Nick stops midway from his way to the couch, where he was probably about to throw himself at. From his tired eyes and hunched over stance, you are able to tell how exhausted he is. “Why are you always here?” Nick throws himself on the floor instead, his head falling against your knees. The tone he used would make you slap him right behind his ear, if you weren't still with your mind in that phone call and a million miles away from New York. “I thought you rented an apartment. Or is it that you just miss me?”

“I don't miss you.” You mumble, voice muffled by the soft fabric of the blanket covering half of your face. “I see you every day, idiot. How can I miss you.”

Nick raises an arm towards your calf and you immediately kick his hand away before it can get to your feet. He chuckles, fluttering his eyes open for the first time since he got home. He glances up at you, who's glaring at him. His smile falls.

“What's wrong?”

You shrug, pulling your knees up to your chest and turning your head towards the TV. You weren't paying attention since the show started, you had no idea what is going on. “I cooked dinner. Left you a plate on the microwave. Go eat, I bet you didn't have a proper meal. You never do.”

“That's not true—”

“Eating burritos isn't a proper meal, Nick.” You groan as he tries to take another look at your face. “Stop it. I'm fine.”

“Yeah, I don't buy it. What happened?” If there's one thing your brother is, that thing is anxious. Nick is a worrier. And he's completely paranoid about knowing what's going on to find a solution before the time runs out. Even if there is no time to run out. He gently tips your chin up, frowning. “Why have you been cryin’?”

You turn your face away from his reach, sitting up on the couch. You take a moment to form your answer and he's anxiously waiting for it, coffee-brown eyes inspecting your matching ones.

You decide to go simple, but it's also the truth. “'s not a good day, that's all.”

He blinks and then the concern opens some space for understanding in his expression. And just like that, he figures out what's been making you upset. You don't doubt that he really knows, since your brother and you always understand each other with a look.

“D'you wanna talk about it?” His usual sarcastic tone gives place to a softer one. The one he uses in moments where his little sister needs her older brother.

You shrug, letting out a sigh before resting your head against the couch, eyes studying the ceiling. “It's nothing, I just... I miss Virginia, that's all.”

Nick hums, nodding. “You mean you miss the skinny kid from the FBI.”

A laugh bubbles out of you unexpectedly, you playfully shove his shoulder as he offers you an unimpressed look.

“Stop being mean to him.”

“Me?” Nick pulls himself up to the sofa, groaning when his joints complain as he stands up. “'m not being mean to anybody.”

“Okay, grandpa.”

“Hey,” he throws a pillow at you, narrowing his eyes threateningly. “you don't get to be mean to me.” You roll your eyes. There he goes playing the older card that just makes him look exactly like an elderly. “Why don't you take a few days off? I can't remember the last time you did that.” Before you can respond to that, he frowns, turning to you as if he just had thought of something. “Or why doesn't the skinny kid come and visit you? It's not that hard.”

“He was gonna to that this weekend.” His raised eyebrow makes you sigh and shake your head. “He had a case last minute, so he couldn't.”

He pauses, munching on his cheek. You question his thoughtful expression.

“What? No jokes now?”

“It's serious then? You and him.”

You blink at him, puzzled by the question. It wasn't what you expected. “W—yes. Why would you ask that?” He had walked up to the kitchen to grab a bite of whatever you had made him and you followed right behind.

“Nothin’,” he says, turning the microwave on and stepping towards the fridge to grab something to drink. “I just never saw you in a serious relationship.”

You pause.

Okay, you had a few flings in your life, it's not like your love life is messy, it is actually pretty simple. You and the people you've previously have relationships (or situationships) enjoyed having fun. You weren't looking for anything serious and when you were... well, your job got in the way. Until Spencer Reid. He's the unexpected occurrence that showed up during a local case to investigate a series of murders in the city of New York and both of your teams worked together. If someone told you before that you would get attached so quickly to someone and consider driving five hours just because you missed them then you would have laughed in their face.

Your brother might actually have a point. He had never seen you in a serious commitment before, he has, however, had the opportunity to try and scare off some of your partners — the ones he accidentally met, at least.

“I don't need to disclosure every aspect of my love life to you, Nicholas.”

You crossed your arms as the corner of his lips lift in a knowing smile. “Stand down, tiger. I just made an observation, no need to get defensive.”

“I'm not.” You say, shifting on your feet, suddenly self-conscious with the whole conversation. It's difficult to talk about someone so important to you to another someone that's important to you. You've never share much about your personal life and inner struggles with anybody, and that has everything to do with the man you call “father” in the biological sense. But Spencer managed to push through these walls and he didn't demeaned you because of your trauma, neither did he treated you as if you were made out of glass, that you could shatter at any given second. He understood you and you understood him, which is why love has always been within your reach in your relationship. It was only a matter of time.

“He's important to you, isn't he?” The microwave beeped but none of you move.

“Yes.” You utter, playing with the ring on your index finger. “I know we don't— we don't talk about these stuff...”

“We can if you want to—”

“No, it's not— That's not it. I mean. You're my brother and we have a good communication but I never felt the need to formally introduce anyone to you because you're family, Nick. You're my only family,” you finally look at him. “If it ever got to the point, one day, where it was worth it for me to do that, then I would. I just thought that I wasn't made for love, you know?”

You see him rushing to disagree with you and probably say you can't think like this and that is not true, so you intervene before, smiling.

“But I know that that is not true, alright? Porque le quiero y sé que él también.” His eyes soften at your claim and you feel like crying again because you miss Spencer and you wish he's there with you. “So yeah, it is serious. And the reason he was going to come visit me was to meet you properly.”

“What?”

“Yes. That was my reaction too.” A fond smile takes over your mouth. “He insisted he wanted to meet you because he knows how important you are to me.”

“Oh.” He is officially caught off guard and it makes you chuckle. That is a rare image you're seeing in front of you. No one catches Nick Amaro off guard. One point to Spencer, I guess. “Well, now I just have to meet this chico who stole my sister's heart.” He's back to his playful persona, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair, and you flip him off. “Let's see if he is all that you claim he is.”

“He's a good guy, asshole.” He hums, munching on his food. “You'll see,” you say with a small grin while you turn back to the living room to lay back on the couch.

“We'll see.” He mumbles from the kitchen, shaking his head when a thought crosses his mind. He can't believe you fell in love, he still sees you as an annoying toddler who wouldn't let him be at school while he was trying to impress his friends because you were too shy to make your own and would cling to him like a lifeline. In all honesty, Nick has always enjoyed your company, it makes him feel grounded. He cares about your well-being and tries to protect you from every bad thing you have to face, but he knows he can't. Sometimes, you gotta face things on your own. And, sometimes, you don't need your older brother to shield you from pain. It's hard for him to accept that, especially after what you both endured through your lives.

You're all grown up now and he has to stand down his overprotective side because you can handle things, he knows you do. Though he'll be there, in the corner, having your back as always. Because that's what brothers do.

Hopefully, this Spencer Reid will pass the test.

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[translation]

Porque le quiero y sé que él también. = because I love him and I know that he does too

chico = boy, kid

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie @ninkieminjaj ;

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction

[railingsofsorrow]

I've updated my taglist form! some people told me they were having problems selecting the options. hopefully, I fixed the issue. let me know if there's something wrong with it again plz!

#taglist #ros speaks;

[railingsofsorrow]

hey people, my requests are open after 5000 light years. is there any song from the tortured poets department + a specific character y'all would be interested in reading something about? 👀👀

#spencer reid x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader #kol mikaelson x reader #emily prentiss x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin × reader #sirius black x reader #lily evans x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #marauders era fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #requests open!!!

[railingsofsorrow]

“you said you were good at your job because you think of every outcome. well guess what, so do i.”

SPENCER REID THE MAN THAT YOU ARE????

#entropy #keeping up with cm #criminal minds season 11 episode 11 #THIS EPISODE IS THE BEST ONE OF THE WHOLE SHOW DON'T YOU DARE SAY OTHERWISE #cat adams #spencer reid

[railingsofsorrow]

guys... I come to confess something.

i have that thing where every new hyper fixation includes a pretty boy with brown eyes

#they must work with magic to make us feel like that #it always happens #see? I'm not alone

[railingsofsorrow]

guys... I come to confess something.

i have that thing where every new hyper fixation includes a pretty boy with brown eyes

#i've been thinking about this for a while #spencer reid #nick amaro #stiles stilinski #i fall for those traumatized man every time WHY #daddy issues maybe? definitely. #ros speaks;

[railingsofsorrow]

I'M SO HAPPY AJJXNSD

⭒The Silent One⭒

#4 Azriel x Fem!OC

⭒Part 1⭒Part 2⭒Part 3⭒Part 4⭒

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Cassandra visits Vale. They get the information they need and Cassandra…gets revenge and we see a glimpse of her powers lurking under the surface.

Warnings/Tags: graphic depiction of violence. mentioned/implied rape. mentioned/implied castration. female rage. protective!azriel. protective!bat boys.

Authors Note: All likes, comments and reblogs are welcome, appreciated and encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! Bold italics are mental communication, regular italics are inner thoughts.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

“What’s going on?” Cassandra asked, looking at Rhysand then Azriel. 

“Is everything okay?” Morrigan asks, setting her bags down, Cassandra following suit. 

“We tried to question Vale today,” Rhysand responded, straightening out his suit jacket. Glancing at Azriel, who still wore that look of pure death. 

“Tried?” Morrigan asks, her own arms folding across her chest. 

Rhysand took in a deep breath, looking at Cassandra, a slight frown on his face. 

“He said he’ll only answer our questions if you’re in the room—” 

“No.” Morrigan cuts him off immediately, straightening her spine.

“Mor,” Rhysand warns. 

“You’re actually considering it? You would let her be in a room with that—that monster,” She snarled, stepping closer to her friend’s side.

Cassanda’s eyes met Azriel’s again, less intense as if to comfort her but his shadows still a fury around him.

“He wouldn’t get anywhere near her. It’s not your decision, Morrigan,” Rhysand said, mouth in a tight line. 

“It’s not yours either, it’s Cassandra’s,” Azriel said, “He doesn’t have to touch her to cause more trauma. You do not have to see him if you don’t want to.” 

“But it would be a great help to easily get the information from him,” Rhysand said, giving his brother a warning look. 

Cassandra chewed on her bottom lip. Morrigan was still standing partially in front of her, legs spread apart, arms crossed as if she would fight Rhysand if he tried to step towards her. Rhysand had an expecting look on his face and Cassian looked…awkward? Maybe he didn’t like his friends arguing this way. Cassandra knew she didn’t. 

“What would I do, just stand there? Would I—would I have to talk to him?” She asked, and Rhys shook his head. 

“No, of course not and yes you would just be there in the room,” Rhysand answers and Azriel hisses. 

“That is not the full truth,” He says, siphons surging on the back of his hands, shadows darting in every direction. 

“Azriel—”

“Tell me, Rhysand, please. I can handle it. I want to help but I have to know what I’m getting into,” She said, straightening herself out, stepping from behind Morrigan. How could she expect them to believe she could handle things if she stayed cowering behind Morrigan or Azriel? She could do this.

Azriel fixed her with a look, as if he was proud of her actions. 

“He initially asked for Neema. She shut that down quickly. He then specifically asked for you because he…wants to look at you,” Rhysand explains and Cassandra felt her stomach flip, nausea overcoming her. 

“I can get the answers we need in other ways without traumatizing her further,” Azriel growls at his brother, noticing her distress, “Cassandra, you don’t have to—”

“Look at me,” She repeated breathlessly. Blinking her eyes furiously to fight the images trying to flash before her. “That’s what he used to do. He couldn’t touch me because I would be damaged goods—he’d get less money for me. So he would make me stand there unclothed and look at me while he touched himself or Neema. Just let me look at you is what he would say.” 

She heard the harsh breath Rhysand let out, she didn’t look his way. 

“Cassandra,” It’s Azriel’s voice in her head but she shakes her head, breathing deeply.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In. Out. 

She opens her eyes and looks into those hazel ones, patients and concern swirling there. 

“You’ll be there?” She asked, and he nodded instantly. 

“Of course, I’ll be there,” He answers.  She nods to herself. Thinking. 

“What happens to him after he’s questioned?” She ask, would he be let go? Locked away?

“He’ll be killed,” Rhysand answers bluntly. 

“Good.” Is her answer. “I’ll do it.” 

“You’re sure?” Azriel asks, worry creasing those brows while a relieved look comes over Rhysand’s face. 

“Yes,” She answered. “When?” 

“The sooner the better,” Rhysand said, and though he still looked relieved that Cassandra agreed she could see the apology in those violet eyes. 

“I would like to put my things away first,” She said, Azriel crossing the short distance between them. 

“I’ll help you bring your bags up,” He offered, giving her no room to protest before he scooped her bags up easily. 

As they entered the house she could hear Mor as she began yelling at Rhysand. 

Azriel let her lead the way to her bedroom, she was getting fairly good at navigating the halls. She liked to roam around in the middle of the night when everyone else was sleeping. This house was huge but she was sure she could get to the main areas of the house with little to no help. 

When they got to her room she pushed the door open and walked in. She looked over her shoulder to see Azriel standing at the door. She raised an eyebrow in question and the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. 

“I can’t come in, remember,” He says, and she was glad to see some of that light amusement return to his eyes. 

“Oh, well, come in,” she said, he looked skeptical for a moment before slowly extending his leg through the doorway before stepping fully in. 

“Rhys doesn’t mess around with his wards,” He says when he notices the look on her face. “If you hadn’t invited me in and I tried to just walk in I would have ricochet off it straight into the wall back there.” 

Cassandra let out a breathy laugh, gesturing to the bed for Azriel to put the bags down. 

“Did you have a good day with Mor?” He asked gently and she turned to him with a small smile and nodded. She was grateful he asked. Talking about the day would distract her from what they were going to do after this. 

“It was amazing, Azriel! I've never experienced anything like that. It was a bit overwhelming if I’m honest but Morrigan made it easy to enjoy myself,” She smiled again as he perched himself on the end of the bed, his attention focused fully on her. She grabbed one of the bags pulling it over—the one with all of the pastries in it. 

“We went to this lovely little bakery,” she started, pulling out various treats. “Morrigan told me to pick out anything I wanted—everything looked and smelled so good, it was hard to choose.”

“It does smell delicious,” Azriel agreed, eyes scanning over the arrangement of food laid out on the bed, wrapped in papers and boxes. 

“These two bags are just some clothes Morrigan helped me pick out, that one is a gown, I’m still not sure what I would need it for but it is very pretty,” She told him, grabbing that bag, unzipping it to show him the gown, the one that perfectly matched his siphons. If he noticed he didn’t comment. 

“That is very pretty, you could wear it for Starfall coming up,” He said, a small smile on his face when she looked up at him. 

“Do you think it would be possible for me to visit my mothers grave that day?” She asked, as Starfall was one of the few good memories she had with her mother. 

“Of course, you never have to ask, we can go visit her any time you’d like,” Azriel promises, “What else did you get?”

Cassandra smiled at him, showing him the rest of her haul from the day. He snickered at the books but just as Morrigan had, said he would be more than happy to help her learn to read. It made her happier than he probably realized. 

After she finished showing him everything he stepped out of the room so she could freshen up—change her clothes and mentally prepare herself. 

She changed into an outfit that was a bit too big for her. Long sleeves and long pants. She didn’t want him to see her skin, she didn’t want him to see her at all. But what he did to Neema? To so many other girls? To her? She couldn’t sit by and not help get answers, justice. 

She knew Azriel noted the outfit she was wearing but chose not to say anything. 

“We’re going to winnow there, are you okay with that? We haven’t done it since that first night,” Azriel asked and Cassandra simply nodded, stepping closer to him, tucking her wings close to her back as he wrapped an arm around her. 

The place they arrive at was beautiful yet terrifying. 

“Where are we?” She asked, looking around. He doesn’t answer out loud as he leads her down a dark avenue. 

“This is the Hewn City. The rest of Prythian does not know of the existence of Velaris. They believe Rhysand only rules over this part of the Night Court—the Court of Nightmares.” 

“Oh.” Is her answer, she tries not to look at anything or anyone as thet move through the streets of this underground city—no, not underground, inside of a mountain. She wondered if it was the same mountain the House of a wind was on—she would ask later.

The walk was mostly silent. They walked across many bridges and flights of stairs. Going through most of the city. Down and around and down some more. Her legs and feet hurt and just when she was ready to tell Azriel she couldn’t go anymore they halted. 

Cassandra looked at him in question. He simply nodded towards the wall, she didn’t see anything. 

“He’s behind here,” Azriel explains, his eyes scanning her face. 

“Okay,” she nodded slowly, not totally understanding since there was no door. 

“Rhys will be there the entire time. Cassian will be there the entire time. I will be with you the entire time. Don't be fearful. Don’t let him scare you. If you find yourself feeling uncomfortable tell me immediately and I’ll get you out of there. He’s chained up, he will not lay a finger on you. If he even tried he would die,” Azriel promised. She looked up at him, unease filling her and took in a deep breath as he added , “Would you feel safer if I gave you this?” 

She looked down, in his outstretched hand laid a black hilted dagger with a sharp and shiny blade. 

She reached out, taking it gently from his hand. 

“I’ve never used one before,” she whispered, looking down at the knife in her hand. 

“You won’t need to use it, but if you did Truth Teller wouldn’t let you miss,” Azriel spoke confidently. “You ready?”

 She looked up at him and nodded her head. 

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Azriel hated this. Hated it. His shadows hissed in ear not to bring her in. To protect her. To grab her and take her back to the House of Wind. 

And though he wanted to, he wouldn’t do that to her. She deserved to make her own decisions but this just felt so wrong. 

But after he sheathed Truth Teller and tied it around her waist he felt slightly better. 

She didn’t know the weight of the dagger, its power or what it meant to him. All that mattered in this moment is it made her feel safe and it gave him some peace of mind that if somehow this piece of shit got through three warriors she had a weapon that could kill. 

“Lets go,” he says, offering his hand to her, she places it there gently and much to her surprise they turn to the wall and he led her straight through. 

On the other side was a dark hall, no doors, lit only by a few lights and she grasped Azriel’s hand tighter. 

“This is where we keep a majority of prisoners that haven’t been sentenced for crimes or are being questioned,” Azriel explained, voice low and quiet.  

“Is Kamari here?” 

“No, she’s in a cell under the House of Wind. She’s not dangerous—a terrible person yes, but not dangerous to anyone she could potentially interact with. We don’t want this guy anywhere near the females and too many of them live and work at the house. That’s why he’s here. No one can get in here except Rhys, Cassian, myself and anyone we choose to allow in,” Azriel explained, stopping at another seemingly empty stretch of wall. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m okay,” she said, fingers twisting at her side. “I’m scared to see him.”  

“You don’t need to be scared but do you want to leave?” Azriel asks, taking a step closer to her, ready to scoop her up and take her home. 

“No, I want to do this,” she shook her head. 

“Okay, he’s right on the other side of this wall,” Azriel explained, trying to prepare her. “When we first walk in, his back will be to us so you don’t have to see his face straight away. You’re welcome to stand but there are chairs if you’d like to sit. Rhysand will be in charge of the interrogation if you believe he’s lying about something or leaving details out don’t hesitate to tell one of us. Rhys says he’ll have communications open so you can talk to him or Cassian easily if you need to. You do not have to speak to this guy but he will try to speak to you. He’s going to want to scare, to tell you all of the things he’s done—he knows what his fate is after we get what we want from him. You have the power here. You say stop then we stop and I take you out of there.” 

Azriel watches as she takes a shaky break, closing her eyes to calm herself. When she opens them Azriel is still standing there patiently. 

“Okay. Okay, I’m good,” She nods her head in a way that’s reassuring to herself, grazing her hand over Truth Teller before dropping her hands to her side. 

She watches as Azriel approaches the wall, stepping through easily as they had done before. Another deep breath, wiping her sweaty palms across her pants before she too walks forward, straight through the wall. 

The room is a bit brighter than the hallway and it takes her eyes a moment to adjust before they fix on the figure in the middle of the room. His blue skin and the clothes he’s wearing looks dirty, he’s chained to a chair and his head turns slightly as if sensing she entered the room, but not enough to see her yet. She wanted to cling to the wall and beg Azriel to come back to her side.

But she didn’t. 

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of cowering.

She knew the three men in this room wouldn’t allow any harm to come to her. She scanned the room, there were two chairs further away from where the male was sitting while Rhysand sat in one directly in front of the male just a few steps away. Cassian stood with his back to a large stone, giving her a small nod when they made eye contact and Azriel stood there behind the man—in a spot she could see him from wherever she chose to stand, a look on his face she hadn’t quite seen before. She could tell only one thing about that look though, he would enjoy killing Vale. 

Cassandra made her way to the opposite wall of where she had entered, choosing not to sit but to stand, using the wall as support, keeping her wings tucked as she leaned back against the wall. 

“Come on High Lord, give me my sight back now. You said I would be able to see her,” Vale hissed, the sound of his voice like a shot of ice down her spine, she suppressed the reaction easily enough. 

Rhysand looked over his shoulder at Cassandra, silently asking her if she was okay, if she was ready. She simply nodded. He waved his hand and those eyes, the ones she still had dreams about suddenly zeroed in on her. It took everything in her to suppress any reaction that time. 

A grin spread across his face as his eyes tracked her body. Up and down, taking in every detail. 

“Wow. Look at you,” he said, licking his lips, “you look even better than I remember. I…wish I could see more.” 

“Yeah, well you can’t,” Cassian is the one to answer. 

“What no hello?” Vale grinned again. 

“She’s not required to speak to you, that wasn’t part of the deal,” Rhysand’s voice thundered through the room. 

“Not that she could anyway” Vale sniggered, nodding his head, eyes still trained on Cassandra. “Alright come on, ask me the questions.” 

He sounded bored but Cassandra wasn’t stupid and neither were any of the males in that room. There was fear in those black eyes. He did indeed know his fate. 

“How long have you been in the business of purchasing females and selling them to sex houses?” Rhysand asked. 

“I don’t know, a year maybe,” Vale groans at the look Rhysand gives home. “Look, man, I drink and smoke myself out every day I lose a good bit of time.” 

“I was at the pleasure house with Kamari for 2 years and with him for almost a year.” Cassandra says, and Rhys nods in acknowledgment. 

“Wanna think a little harder about that? It’s definitely been more than a year,” Rhysand said, Vale narrowing his eyes into slits. 

“How could you possibly know that? Why ask if you’re just gonna say I’m lying?” Vale bares his teeth at Rhysand. 

“Why lie in the first place? You know your fate, lying won’t change that. You know I could enter your mind and destroy it in a second while getting the answers I seek. I’m doing you a courtesy by asking this way.”

Vale is silent for a moment before glancing at Cassandra. “Four years.” 

“How many women did you buy and sell during that time? How did you find them?” Rhysand asked, Vale took a deep breath, looking up at the roof as if thinking. 

“Probably eighty,” He says, Rhys’ face hardens further at that—Cassian’s mouth falling open slightly. 

“Eighty women in four years? Or 80 every year for four years?” Rhys asks through clenched teeth.

“Eighty in all four years,” Vale confirms and while it’s a relief, that’s still a lot of women. “Most of them were sold to me by family members who owed me money, but couldn't pay it back so they sold me a daughter, wife, sister instead.” 

“How did you learn of these pleasure houses buying females from people like you?” Rhysand asked. 

“Word gets around the streets. There’s only three that will buy the females. The Velvet Pearl, Hidden Desires and Lavender house. Kamari recruits men to find the women and sells them for money—usually addicts looking for a fix. She buys her drugs from me, that's how I got started.” Vale explained. 

“How many of them did you keep for yourself?” Rhysand asked, and Vale just laughed. 

“Not as many as you might think. It never even crossed my mind to have a little fun with the merchandise before selling to the pleasure houses. Neema—she’s the only one I ever kept seeing as she’s my mate and all,” Vale confessed and Cassandra couldn’t stop the gasp she took in. 

“That’s right,” Vale grinned. “The bond snapped into place the night her brother sold her to me.” 

“And you thought that was the proper way to treat your mate,” Cassian snarls. Vale simply shrugs his shoulders, looking back at Cassandra. 

“If she hadn’t been my mate though, I would have kept you,” Vale said, smiling at Cassandra. “Everything I did to her I would have done to you—including removing those horrid wings. Tell me, which one of these bastards got the pleasure of bending you over and fucking you—”

Vale’s rant is cut off when one of Azriel’s shadows wraps around his throat. The blue skinned male chokes, eyes widening. 

“I’d watch your fucking mouth if I were you,” Azriel hisses, only letting up his shadow’s grip when Cassandra nods her head at him. 

“At least any one of these males could get a woman into their bed without having to rape her,” Cassandra retorts, Cassian snorting out an amused laugh, relaying the message when Vale looked his way, turning back and snarling at Cassandra like a rabid wolf.

The interrogation went on for what felt like hours. Vale answered the questions Rhysand asked. Cassandra confirmed if he was being truthful or not for certain things. And they all stood there as he described every awful, vile, disgusting thing he did to the women he bought and sold. How he had brutalized and assaulted them before selling them off to be salves for pleasure houses. 

He knew none of their names. None except Neema. He didn’t even know Cassandra’s name and she was standing right there in front of him. 

He did however know the names of all the ones who sold the females—they now had a list of where to start, of how to find the females that had been sold off to the three pleasure houses. 

It’s was when they were getting ready to leave that things started going sideways. Azriel had check in many times with Cassandra to make sure she was okay. And she had been, despite this feeling in her stomach, this thrumming that made her skin feel like it was vibrating. 

“So, I guess it would be out of line to ask for a turn with you before I go out?” Vale laughed, leering at Cassandra. And it was Cassian’s fist that landed the blow to his face. 

“Fuck! You know,” Vale continued with a  laugh, blood dripping from his mouth, “your father almost sold me your sister instead. Pretty little thing she is.” 

He just wants to rile you up. 

He wants to scare you.

He wants a reaction. 

“Only he wouldn’t have got as much for her cause she’d had sex with some male. She was used—but man, if he had I would have kept her, too, I would have taken both of you and kept you just like that little bitch in my basement—“

Cassandra snarled and something inside of her snapped. Before anyone could blink she was across the room Truth Teller gripped in her hand and pressed against Vale’s throat as she crouched over him. Black eyes widened in shock—fear. Good. He wasn’t expecting it. 

“Cassandra?” Azriel’s concerned voice sounded muffled and far away. She didn’t take her eyes away from the man cowering beneath her. 

“She can shield?!” is Cassian's alarmed shout. 

“Cassandra?!” Rhys calls out, feeling whatever shield was around her vibrate as he sent a blast of magic into it. 

“I don’t think she can hear us, Rhys!” Azriel calls out. 

Cassandra could hear them but the look on Vale’s face was too satisfying to look away from. She pressed the dagger harder against his neck, digging it into the skin there, scenting his blood. 

“Are you afraid?” She asked, faces only inches apart. She wasn’t sure how she was talking to him but she didn’t care either. Not when the smell of blood mixed with urine as he pissed on himself. 

“Please, p—please,” he begged, trying to pull away from the blade digging into his throat. 

“Cassandra, come on, let the shield down, love!” 

“I remember begging you like that before you took my tongue. I shouldn’t let them kill you, everything you did to me, to Neema, to all those other girls you deserve to have done to you,” she snarls, Truth Teller thrumming in her hand as if encouraging her to slit his throat and watch him bleed out. 

“What the hell is happening, Rhys?” Cassian’s voice rings outside of that shield. 

“Fuck!” Azriel hisses as he tries to touch that shield, his hand bouncing off of it immediately. 

“I should take your eyes,” she declared. “So that you can never look at anyone again. I should take your tongue the way you took mine. Chop off your cock so you can never fuck again. I should do all that and let you live with it every day of your miserable life!” 

He cries out, struggling under her and she laughs. Right there in his face she laughs.

This is the male she had been afraid of?

This is the male that tortured her everyday in that basement? This pathetic excuse of a male. 

“Absolutely pathetic,” she spits, snarling at him. 

She drops Truth Teller from her hand, falling somewhere between their bodies as she grips his head on either side. “Look at me!” She bellows, forcing his eyes to meet hers. Panicked terror looked back at her and she smiled. 

“Kill me, just kill me, please!” He begged, thrashing under her, her wings spreading to keep herself stead where she was crouched over him—drowning out the voices beyond the shield. He’d had no remorse for anyone else, he deserved no remorse. She leans down, close to his ear, changing her grip on his head. 

“No,” she mouths against his ear as it echoes in his head. Then her thumbs are pressing into those black soulless eyes, his screams echoing around them with nowhere to go, pressing and pressing until they pop. Turning into a bloody mess under her hands. His screams don’t stop as she speaks. 

“You’ll never see again,” she said, grabbing Truth Teller once again sliding it along his exposed skin. “You're lucky I don’t take your hands and tongue. I won’t take your life either. You’ll suffer the way me and so many other girls did.” 

She slides off of him, his screams turning into whimpering cries. 

“Cassandra?” The voice sounded normal again and she looked up, green eyes meeting violet. “Are you okay?” 

“Am I okay?” She asked, glancing at the man she had just maimed without a second thought. 

“I’m not worried about him, are you okay?” Rhysand asks again, taking a step closer to her.

“I’m okay,” she nods, slipping Truth Teller back into its sheath, not hiding the angry tears that welled in her eyes. “I want him to have to live with what he’s done. Death will be too kind for the offenses he’s committed—for the way he’s violated so many.” 

“If you no longer wish death on this male so be it, we will lock him away to rot for the rest of his days,” Rhysand promises and I nod my head. 

“I only have one request,” I tell him, glancing at the man still moaning and whimpering—whispering to himself about his eyes being gone and begging for mercy. 

“What is it?” Rhysand asked. 

“Take his cock,” I demand, there’s no question or judgement in those eyes. He nods but Azriel is the one to speak up. 

“Done.” 

Tag list: @aelinwya @starlightandsouls @fullmoon-94 @aetherl0l @caticorn61 @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @div94 @purple-writer8 @little-missbookyworm @saltedcoffeescotch @namelesssav @slytherintaco @whatsupb @mariahoedt @railingsofsorrow @fightmedraco @nickishadow139 @a-courtof-azriel

#i love this so much #i could eat this #acotar #azriel fanfic #fics recs!! #acotar fanfiction

[railingsofsorrow]

the tortured poets department is finally here and since I'm a sucker for any taylor swift album.... you know what I'm thinking

spencer reid blurbs coming.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #ros speaks; #I'm finally in the mood to write

[railingsofsorrow]

why is she so pretty

LAW AND ORDER: SVU ∟ 1.08 Stalked

#law and order svu #olivia benson

[railingsofsorrow]

nick and olivia are hotch and emily codded you know why? they never get past the friend stage but they sure as hell want to

#it's in the stares #thr soft looks #if the characters weren't supposed to fall in love then why do the actors act in love 😭 #law and order svu #criminal minds #hotchniss

[railingsofsorrow]

chapter 1 | catharsis

summary: “Is there— is there something you need?” He's kind. He's so kind and his voice is better than she had ever imagined. 

All of all the things she could have said, what came out is something else entirely.

“Your hair is shorter.”

w.c: 3.4K

warnings/content: mentions of mass food poisoning; implied unhealthy relationships (it will be explored later); germaphobia; fluff.

A/N: WE'RE FINISHED WITH THE LETTERS! I was too excited to start writing the longer chapters with a detailed narrative. I know it took too long but.... here it is, I hope you enjoy! annnd, they finally meet!

navi

masterpost

series masterlist

whoever wants to be tagged for this fic, fill this out or dm me.

LETTERS — [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

CHAPTERS — [1] [2] [3] . . .

❝Catharsis❞

[n.] THE EXPERIENCE OF EXPRESSING STRONG EMOTIONS THAT PREVIOUSLY WERE BLOCKED.

━━━━━━━━━ ✉ ━━━━━━━━

“Don't even start, Reid.”

Spencer pursed his lips, shifting on the passenger seat. “I didn't say anything.”

Derek scoffed, “I can hear you thinking.”

“Thought broadcasting is a common phenomenon that happens when one thinks others can hear your thoughts. That is not physically possible. It actually might be a sign of paranoia—”

Derek groaned loudly, begging for the gods above that the traffic went easy on him for five minutes. He needed five minutes to get to the other Interstate. Five. Minutes. 

Spencer let out a snicker beside him, having too much fun in being correct as always. He had told Derek beforehand that the safest option would be to take the alternative route, even if that meant it was slightly longer than directly taking the I-95. They still would get to Norfolk University's Student Center faster. 

Derek didn't listen to him and here they were, stuck in traffic just as Spencer predicted. 

In some way, this was good. 

Spencer hated being late to anything, which was why he always double-checks the time so he can get to any place earlier, just to be sure. Just in case. That's him. A pragmatic guy. 

But when he heard where the next case was going to be, he backtracked a little. 

Spencer has been corresponding with Iris Valencia through letters for the entire month of October. It felt like more, maybe years. He knows that this feeling is quite common for people who had found some sort of connection. They have affinity. A bond, if you will. It explains the reason for your comfort after you've just met someone. You used to be strangers, but you realise they like blueberry muffins too and then you have a coffee date scheduled in the afternoon. It is that simple, sometimes. 

Spencer could never relate to that. Well, at least, not before Iris. Although he has never invited her over for coffee and they haven't spoken in person yet. 

Yet.

But it felt like it. It felt like he has known her for a long time.

The case was in Norfolk University, 165,7 miles from Quantico. The place Iris worked as a microbiology professor and which she described that her whole department fell sick because of a supposed food poisoning. 

That hasn't been the first time a university has had that kind of situation. As she mentioned in one of her letters, the Old Dominion University — another university located in Norfolk — was also on the news about food poisoning. The difference was that it had been only a small group of students that suffered the outcome. NSU had it worst, a large group of people had to be sent to the E.R. 

The BAU was called in because of recent deaths in the area. When they eventually connected it to the food poisoning cases happening in the universities, Hotch divided the team into pairs to cover more ground. The suspect list was narrowed down to three students from Norfolk State University. 

“What did you say?” 

“You and Morgan are off to the M.E's office.” Hotch repeated as they left the precinct. 

“You're going to Norfolk State University?” Spencer asked a little dumbfounded. Derek gave him a confused look. 

Hotch halted beside the car door, the crease between his brows deepening. “That's where our first victim lived... Reid, are you alright?”

That finally seemed to be the minute Spencer snapped out of it. “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yes, sorry. I was just making sure. We'll— we'll go now.”

He felt like a thirteen-year-old boy with his first crush. The accelerated heartbeat, the shaky limbs, the sweaty palms. The not knowing what to do and mostly, what Emily always teased him about and what he only recently noticed: his IQ is, in deed, slashed to half when he's attracted to someone. 

Spencer had not met Iris yet. But he felt all of those things. Through letters. For the first time in his life he couldn't find a scientific explanation for what he was currently feeling. He hadn’t met her, he hadn't seen her, let alone heard her voice. He's only seen her delicate handwriting with her t's curved at the base and her barely noticeable s's and he was quickly roped to her personality. What Iris shared with him so far, that is. 

Spencer studied people for a living. That's a quick way of putting his occupation. He investigated behavior and he entered minds that were just as twisted as the crimes they committed. Some cases stay glued on his brain more than others — it's not like he was able to forget anything, although sometimes he wished he could.

Iris had interested him more than any quantum physics book ever could. 

Spencer knows she likes birds. That's one of the first things she shared with him, actually. He also knows that her favorite author is Haruki Murakami and Spencer has read all of her recommendations, he even bought more books besides the ones she mentioned. He knows Iris hates loud noises, clowns and that she takes her coffee black and plain. He knows how much she cares about her students and that she probably loves what she does because of the way she writes about it. He knows that she doesn't believe in magic, but he's determined to change her mind. 

To Spencer, Iris was like a book. He had no idea what the cover was like and he had not read the synopsis, but from the first page and on, he decided he wanted to know everything there is to know about the story. He wanted to see if there were small notes at the edges of every page or if there were underlined quotes. He wanted to figure out the mystery before the next chapter arrived, even if the ending might be completely different. 

He had come to terms with the fact that he wants to meet her in person for a while now. But Spencer didn't plan when that would happen or if it would happen. He doesn't even know if she would want to meet him. 

Now, he was walking into the University she worked at with her letter tucked into his satchel bag as he forced his brain to focus on what was supposed to be focusing on: the case. 

"Finally." Emily raised a brow as they walked into the room. According to JJ's message an hour ago, they were talking to the Head of the Biology Department because of a lead on one of the suspects. Hotch and Rossi were speaking with Penelope through the speakerphone in a corner of the room. "Took you long enough." 

Spencer shrugged at her jab, pointing at Derek. "I told him, he didn't listen." He was softly shoved in response.

"Shut up, Reid." 

"We're waiting for Mark Dawson to come back with a professor who supposedly has some information on Meredith Fitz." JJ clarified before Spencer could question her why they were all reunited in a professor's office. "They're all in class, we don't want to raise too much attention." 

"Sorry to keep you all waiting." 

A blond man walked into the room with a brunette woman on his trail. He was dressed in a color-coordinated attire, a russet dress shirt with slightly darker khaki pants. A complete contrast with the woman beside him, she wore light blue jeans along with a maroon V-neck sweater vest and a white t-shirt below. Her hair was in a loose bun but some thick curls were falling off. She was tucking them behind her ear constantly. 

Spencer noticed she seemed annoyed. 

"This is Doctor Valencia, she's our microbiology professor. Meredith is one of her students." 

Valencia? As in—

"I can speak for myself." Dr. Valencia said through gritted teeth, shaking hands with every agent. Spencer was too busy sweating like crazy in nervousness to take notice of Emily's and JJ's pointed gaze exchange after the professor's harsh statement towards Professor Dawson. "It's good to meet you, Agents, but I spoke to the police last night, I already gave my formal statement regarding the occurrences of the last week." 

The last person to be introduced was him. 

He heard something that sounded distinctly like a choked-up sound. He didn't pay much attention until Hotch started conducting questions regarding the case. Because that was what he was focusing on, the case. His hands tingling as she drew hers back, barely giving him a look. 

"The FBI?" Iris blinked in surprise. Only now did she seem to really acknowledge everyone in the room. Her shoulders tensed up. "So that wasn't just accidental food poisoning." 

"We're investigating that," Hotch said, being vague on purpose. "It came to our knowledge that Meredith Fitz is one of your mentees?"

Iris nodded, running a hand through her face. "Yes, yes, she is. Meredith is, um, completing her master's degree in post-mortem microbiology."

"Does she have access to your lab?" 

"All of my students have," Iris said. "We have practical classes." She visibly stiffened. "Is she a suspect?"

“We're looking into it,” Hotch responded.

Iris stepped out of her frozen state, interrupting another question being thrown her away.

“This isn't— This isn't right.” She begun. “Meredith is one of my top students. She's a nice girl, she wouldn't do this.”

Emily nodded sympathetic, “as he said, we are still investigating that information. But we do need to speak with her so that can be clarified.” Before Iris could speak, Mark beat her to it.

“She didn't come to class today, so that won't be possible, will it?” Mark sent a look towards Iris that anyone in the room could read it as a pretty clear insinuation. Iris wasn't paying attention to him, she was lost in her thoughts, gaze focused on a corner of the room. 

Spencer was itching to say something, but he stood quiet.

“Neither did Fabian Helley. Another top student of Dr. Valencia here.” He added, leaning back on his desk. “You know, maybe you should investigate this particular pattern.”

Derek let out a sigh. He was done with Dawson's little game. It was clear that the guy was trying to antagonize Iris. 

“Sir—”

“Please stop.” 

Every eye in the room snapped towards her voice. Iris clutched the back of her arm as if she was trying to give herself some form of grounding. Spencer could see how much she cared for each one of her students. He's read about it, it's all in her letters, but even his coworkers who didn't have that bonus glimpse into her character could tell that. 

They could also tell she was greatly bothered by Mark Dawson. And Spencer himself was starting to get bothered by him as well.

“I'll answer your questions and anything else in my office. Is that okay with you?” 

Nobody protested against that and Mark stood by his desk, arms crossed much like a petulant child. They followed Iris towards her office while exchanging curious glances. She did answer all of their questions, hesitating slightly whenever the questions were directed towards Meredith Fitz and Fabian Helley, mostly because she did not believe they could have done such a monstrosity as mass poisoning.

“What happened to being a germaphobe, pretty Ricky?” Derek nudged his shoulder, earning a confused look from Spencer. “You shook the professor's hand. Not a single complaint as always.”

“I was being polite.” His cheeks were burning. Did he shake her hand? Thankfully she wasn’t close enough to listen to their conversation.

Derek disguised a chuckle by soft coughing and Spencer glared at him.

"I'd like to apologize about Professor Dawson. He's been on edge ever since all this started." Iris informed as Rossi and Hotch left the room to call Garcia. 

"We can see that," Emily smiled reassuringly at her. "If you don't mind me asking, is there a particular reason why he seemed displeased about Fabian Helley?" Iris shifted on her feet and everyone else in the room pretended they were not listening in on the conversation since Emily had approached her in a rather private manner.

Still, Iris did not relent. 

"Mark is always displeased by something or someone." It was the last thing she decided to share after pondering to herself. 

It wasn't until Hotch came back into the room to send each of them to interview a few other witnesses — except for Spencer, who he requested to start the geographical profile since they had enough cases as of now – that Iris seemed to glance in Spencer's direction.

Dr. Reid, who she shook hands with and didn't even properly notice until now. Iris was generally a perceptive person, she caught things quickly. Though she's having trouble focusing ever since this morning, perks of a bad night's sleep. She blamed that for not realising him sooner, that was the only possible explanation, really. His honey-brown eyes switched to his colleagues as soon as she caught him looking. 

Iris’ breath caught in her throat. The Behaviour Analysis Unit is here. Spencer mentioned in one of his letters that he works for the FBI... She truly was slow today, wasn't she? 

“Dr. Valencia?” 

She snaps out of her daze to stare at a pretty blonde woman in a dark blazer, she wore a blue t-shirt below. Agent Jareau. That's her name.

“Sorry,” Iris cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks heat up at being caught staring at him. She must look like such a creep. “I zoned out. Were you speaking to me?”

She offers her a sympathetic smile before saying, “we don't want to take much of your time. We know you have lectures to teach. Thank you for your patience.”

“No need to thank me, Agent. It's all good.” Just as each of them gave her their farewells, she was stuck in an inner argument about whether or not she should talk to him. It's not appropriate. He didn't even recognize you, wake up.

Not appropriate. Not appropriate. NOT APPROPRIATE.

“Uh, Dr. Reid?” It was barely above a whisper as if she had been scared of saying it too loud. His body turning around fast was the indication she needed that he had heard her. Thankfully, his team was a little further down the hall to notice the small exchange. “Sorry, I don't mean to get in your way—”

She's completely awkward all of a sudden. Iris couldn't grasp her mind that she's been talking to this man for over a month, flirting, trauma bonding and now she couldn’t utter a word without sounding like she didn’t know a word in the English language.

“Is there— is there something you need?” He's kind. He's so kind and his voice is better than she had ever imagined. 

All of all the things she could have said, what came out is something else entirely.

“Your hair is shorter.”

Well, fuck, Iris. Congratulations, you have officially made a fool out of yourself!

“I did not intend to say that out loud, I am so so sorry, Spenc— Dr. Reid. I just, I saw a picture of yours because of an article that I read and—”

“Iris.” 

“And I—” she froze, watching a smile grow on his lips, which immediately brought warmth to her chest. Somehow, it didn't feel as if he was laughing at her. If he was then it's a beautiful sight to uphold regardless. “Yes?”

“I thought you didn't recognize me.” Spencer bit the inside of his cheek, shifting on his feet. She observed the worn-out sneakers causing her lips to twitch in amusement. One of Iris's assumptions was that Spencer was the kind of guy to wear fancy shoes — it only made sense because of the way he dressed — but that surprised her. At least she’s not the profiler. “You know, we've only been corresponding through letters so I figured you wouldn't...”

Her lips parted in astonishment. “You recognized me?”

His brows furrowed slightly, “yes. Your name is literally on the case file.”

“Oh.”

His eyes softened at her widened eyes as she processed the information. And then his brain pinched him with the fact that that's not how we're supposed to meet. Not because of a case. I'm supposed to invite her for coffee just so I can certify if she actually takes her coffee plain black with barely any sugar on it. Or a library, so we can ramble together about our favourite authors and books. 

Not.in.the.middle.of.a.case.

“You probably have a whole file about me, huh?” Her tone was playful and Spencer remembered how he grinned whenever he read her sarcasm through paragraphs of her handwriting. He learned to find Iris's humor through her words. Seeing it displayed right in front of him, full of vivid colors and a voice he tried to imagine for so long what it was like... He's speechless and already addicted to it.

“Our technical analyst probably has.” Spencer croaked out, forcing himself to avert his gaze to his feet instead. 

Iris’s eyes acquired a spark of excitement. 

“Is that the one with the clingy hugs?”

Spencer let his mouth quirk up on the edges, “yes. That's Penelope.”

“So you know all of my dark secrets before we even share them to each other.” He could hear her playful tone that carried a bit of uncertainty in the end.

“I have no reason to read your file,” Spencer said. Because he didn't. Not unless she was an official suspect. “So no, I don't know about any of your dark secrets.”

“That's good. You won't run for the hills yet.”

“What makes you think I would ever run?”

Their gazes remain on each other for a brief moment until one of them eventually caved and looks away, necks reddening, heartbeat increasing.

“Call me Spencer.” He said, squeezing the strap of his work bag until his fingers turned white. His phone vibrating in his pocket alerted him he'd taken too much time talking and less time working. He didn't want to go. “I-uh, I've read your letter. Just in case you think I've been ignoring you... I haven't. I just haven't had the time to write you back properly.”

Iris tilted her head as she leaned against the wall. “Maybe you don't need to write me back.” What am I doing? She thinks.

He cast her a look of puzzlement before his disappointment could take over, Iris was quick to clarify what she meant. 

“Maybe we could talk instead of write.” She added carefully. Confidence wearing thin. “Over coffee? Not today, of course, you're working and I'm working and we wouldn't have time but... It's—It's a stupid idea, isn't it? I'm sorry. Pretend I didn't suggest—”

“I would love to talk instead of write.” Now that I can finally hear your voice, I can stop trying to image what you sounded like through your letters. I don't want to ever stop listening to you. 

Iris gave him a look of surprise as if she had been expecting rejection because that just might have been the most out-of-place idea she had. Asking Spencer Reid out on a date while he's in the middle of a case where she works? 

“You need to go.” She mused, giving a pointed look at the vibrating cell in his hands.

“As soon as the investigation is over.” He told her after they'd exchanged numbers through their phones. Iris nodded, smiling wildly as he took a few steps back to leave her office but still didn't quite leave.

“As soon as the investigation is over, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer halts, holding onto the doorway as if stopping himself from leaving  — or staying. She didn't know which.

“Call me Spencer.” He repeated, grabbing his phone to pick up the call. Slowly, a smile etched its way into her face and his mouth followed the same action. 

“Okay, Spencer.”

Spencer nodded, holding in a smile. “I have to go.” I don’t want to.

“Please do. I don't want the FBI locking me up because I held you against your will in my office.” A joke. He liked hearing her jokes instead of reading them. “Be careful.” She requested in a slightly more serious tone, just like she always wrote in her letters addressed to him. 

“You too,” he said, taking his time to look at her one last time before he had to sprint off to where Derek required him.

It was very nice seeing you, Iris.

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A/N: hey everyone, welcome to the next phase of SBPP. I'm excited. next chapter you'll have a deeper glimpse into iris' character and some things will come to light. i'd love to read what you guys are thinking of this fic!

taglist: @lilyviolets ; @chayceschultz ; @cultish-corner ; @lover-of-books-and-tea ; @theonecalledrue

#sun-bleached paper petals #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x original character #spencer reid x iris valencia #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #sun-bleached paper petals fic

[railingsofsorrow]

Epilogue

[peter parker x reader]

summary: harry finds your behaviour slightly suspicious & there's an evening spent between friends.

pairing: p.parker x f!reader; slightly harry osborn x f!reader; mj x felicia hardy.

w.c: 3.3K

warnings/content: jealousy; injuries (mentioned); protective harry osborn; language; migraines (mentioned); clumsy but committed peter parker (yes, he learnt from his mistakes. finally); discussion about the multiverse theory; angst but there's more fluff this time sadly; minor character's death (mentioned).

A/N: this fic has come to an end :( it was fun writing this. my first experience in writing a short spiderman fic, it was so hard to come up with a good ending and it probably still not perfect but I feel like it's a good enough one. I hope you like it too and that you'll come back to read more of my spiderman stuff, cause there will definitely be more! good reading, people <3

navi

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“So they're just gone?”  

You turn your neck to glare at your friend. Ever since you mentioned your migraines to him one day and he saw one of your episodes once or twice — a little bit more than that — he hasn't stopped bugging you about it. He wanted you to go to the doctors to get checked out. Until, well. Until the migraines miraculously vanished. Your head never bothered you anymore and you're even sleeping better, given the lack of dark circles around your eyes.  

Harry wasn’t having it.  

First and foremost, he did not believe continuous migraines were cured just like that. Overnight. Because how come he saw you incapable of watching a lecture one day and you're perfectly fine on the other?  

Either you are popping some pills or someone magically healed you.  

He didn't like any of the options. 

He was still worried, okay? Harry cares. He may not be loud with it, but it's you, so he cares. And he cares a lot. You should know better than to just outright lie to him. 

“Yes. Why does it matter? I'm fine, shouldn't you be happy I'm no longer whining on your shoulder?” 

“You're not taking drugs, are you?” 

A surprised laugh echoed around the room and he almost felt his body melt at the sight of your curled up frame from how much you were laughing.  

“It amazes me,” you said between chuckles. “that you'd think I'd pull that off.” Not without him knowing, at least. You and Harry are side by side for almost the entire day.

“I don't doubt you.” 

“You're losing faith in me.” 

“I never had it.” He huffs out a laugh when you throw a pillow at his face, hitting him right on his nose. He fell on his bed with a groan, you moved his homework out of the way before he could mess it up by laying on top of it.  

“Just... tell me if it gets to that point again, okay? 

You look at him, contemplating something that he can't figure out. With the way you avoid his eyes as you answer, he knows you decided to say something else instead of that first thought. “I will. But it won't.” He found the conviction in your voice strange. You can't know if it will ever get that bad again. Just as the migraines miraculously left, they might come back.  

He didn’t question it further. 

You went back to your homework, sharing some insights on his as he does with yours. It didn’t last long until your phone started blaring beneath the pillow you're perched on, the sound being slightly muffled by the fabric.  

You feel Harry's teasing before he can sputter out a sentence.  

“Shut up.” You hissed, picking up the call without looking at the caller ID.  

“One Direction. Really?” 

“Hello.” You pointedly turn away from his smirky face. You have to take the phone away from your ear due to some loud police sirens that come from the line.  

“Hi, hello!” The distinctive voice of Peter Parker replies. Yelling. That was the only way you would be able to hear him anyway. “There's been a thing and I— Shit!”  

You concluded the phone is thrown away because his voice suddenly sounds very far. 

You offered Harry a lousy excuse to step out into the hallway, frowning at the other voices and the police sirens you could hear.  

“Peter, you—” 

“I'm back!” Again, you take the phone away from your ear with a sigh. “Sorry, I was— I was busy.” You gathered that fact by the way he sounded breathless.  

“Are you running?” 

“No!” The noise proceeded to quieten down and you raise an eyebrow at his blatant lie. “Sorry, was I loud? Feels like I was being loud. Sorry.” A door is closing and he's groaning at the end of the line. Instead of finding it funny, you start to get worried, picturing a dislocated shoulder or maybe a deep gash on his arm like last time.  

You and Peter made an agreement. When you agreed to be friends again — part of that starting over bullshit that was your idea — you and him worked on filling each other out on both of your lives. Just catching up as good friends do. Less than a month later you were patching up his wounds as if you never had stopped doing that in the first place. Sometimes, you'd even think you were back where you started as if it was all back to the start of your story in Queens. Midtown. Making plans with Ned and Peter for the weekends. Sitting with MJ at lunch as much as she claimed she hated company. . .

There was a pull at your chest every time you remembered it wasn't like this. You weren't back at that time. You couldn't go back. You only had the now and it had to be enough. It was enough.  

“Peter, are you hurt?” But you still felt the same agony whenever the idea of Peter being hurt came across your mind. An unsettling fear settling up in your core.  

“No.” he shuffled around, clearing his throat. His voice was back for you to hear it clearly. “I'm fine. Just a bank robbery downtown and I—” he paused to let out a heavy sigh. “I'm sorry I'm late, I'll be there in a second, okay?” 

You blink, confused. “What? Late for what, Peter?” 

“Hanging out?” He said followed by a tinge of uncertainty. “Uh, you said that after class—” 

Your brows shot up in recognition. “Oh! Yeah, that's—” Then you checked the time on your phone. You were supposed to meet after class to hang out around 5 p.m. It was still 3 in the afternoon. “Peter,” you held in a chuckle. “That's like, two hours away. You're not late.” 

There's silence on his end and you start laughing.  

“Oh,” he mumbled, letting out a breath of relief. “That's— That's good. I was thinking that I was like really really late and—”  

“You're good, webs.” You softly reassured him. Peter has been working really hard to make sure he doesn't mess up with you again. That included arriving early at places. “Are you at home?” 

“Yeah, I just got here.”  

“Mhm. And you're not hurt at all?” 

“Just a few scratches,” Peter answered with hesitancy. You smiled triumphantly. Not because you're happy he's hurt but because you knew you were right. “I'm fine, alright? You don't have to come.” 

“Okay.” You said, stepping back into your dorm room, catching Harry eying your frame from your bed curiously. “No broken limbs though, right?” 

Peter's scoff put a smile on your lips. “Have some faith in me. I can handle a robbery.”  

The joke Spiderman can handle a robbery but Peter Parker is still clumsy almost slips out but, thankfully, you remember you're not alone.  

“Sure. I'll see you later.” 

“Hey,” he called your name before you could hang up so you waited for him to speak. “Do you— are you going— how are you— I mean...” 

“Peter, breathe.” 

You didn’t notice Harry's eye-roll, too busy cracking up at Peter's stuttering mess.  

“Okay. Alright. Are you going by yourself? Cause I can pick you up and we can go, you know, so you don't have to go alone?” He clarified, a strain in his voice as if he's been choking up to say that.  

“Oh. Harry and I are going to head out together, actually. He's here.” 

You patiently waited for his response. “Of course. Yeah. Okay. I'll see you later then. You and— and Harry. And everyone else.” 

“Yeah.” You sat down on the bed, biting the inside of your cheek. A weird feeling of guilt in in your chest. “See you later, then. Bye.” 

You don't know why you feel guilty about turning him down. All of you would meet in the same place anyway so it's not like you weren't gonna see him, right? It's just a matter of logistics.  

“Was that your boyfriend?” 

You gave Harry a blank stare as you threw your phone to the side to go back to your assignment. One of his eyebrows arched up in defiance, he played your game of not looking away for a few minutes before you got sick of it.  

“I wonder if the reason you're bothered by Peter is because you secretly have a crush on him.” 

He looks away first and your lips spread into a satisfied smirk.  

“Parker's not my type.” Harry uttered, leaning over your lap to mark a question that you had gotten wrong. His curls tickling your chin. “And this is wrong. It's not fifteen, it's fifty.” He decided to add for good measure, stepping out of your personal space. “I'm not bothered by him.” 

You hummed quietly, erasing the previous calculation to redo the math.  

“Who is your type anyway?” You asked, trying to cut through the tension. Every time you mention Peter, Harry's mood shifted. He got too quiet. He just didn’t like him for some reason you couldn't yet figure out. Peter and he haven't met before, that much you know. You claim you'll be out of this, because it's none of your business, some people just don't like each other, it happens. But you're curious and if the opportunity to find out the X of the equation comes, you won't run from it. 

“You'll never know.” His mumble is so low that you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't sitting so close to each other. He steals the pen you were using, earning a frown from you. “I like this one better.” 

“Buy one for you then,” you complained, not moving to get the pen back from him. You take the one he was using instead, eager to finish the assignment so you can have the rest of the afternoon free with your friends. 

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[Pete]: (Picture attached)  

[Pete]: Do you want this back? 

When you opened the text message, your breath hitched. The image Peter had sent you showed the red scarf, the one you never let go of. You hadn't seen it in a while, ever since... Ever since you paid him a visit that night. The night you were set on burning the scarf along with that collection of pictures you found in your room.  

You've been to Peter's place countless times after that, though. You wondered why he never mentioned anything.  

[You]: Keep it. 

You sighed, conflicted with that short answer. You weren't being rude, you didn't meant to be. But you didn't need the scarf anymore. Not when you have him back in your life. You realized the scarf represented everything the two of you lived and everything you didn't.  

You didn't want it back. You weren't ready. 

Not now, at least. You hoped he wouldn't be hurt by it. 

[You]: Maybe one day you can give it back to me.  

Satisfied with your reply, you slipped your phone into your pocket, standing up to help Harry carry five smoothies toward your table. Ned and MJ were on their way, as for Peter, you figured it was the same. His apartment wasn't that far from where you were.  

“I know a loser when I see one.”  

“Hello, MJ.” You greeted after taking the first sip of your smoothie. You offer her hers and she bumps your hip, sitting beside you in the booth as a greeting. “Where's Ned?” You asked, frowning now that you didn't see the boy arriving along with her. They were always together.  

She shrugged, leaning back. “He said he would be ten minutes late. He was gonna get Peter so they could go to this store nearby his place before coming here.”  

You didn't take long to acknowledge which store she was talking about. An eye roll later, you crack out a smile in amusement. 

“The Star Wars one?” 

She nodded and the three of you quickly entered a conversation about a movie that was airing on the local theatre. Ned and Peter arrived in the middle of your discussion, a few bags in their hands that earned your curiosity.  

“Did you buy the whole store?” You joked, the edge of your lips curling up as Peter sat down in front of you, placing two little bags on the corner of his seat.  

Peter raised an eyebrow at you, amusement all over his features. “Did I?” 

“Looks like it.” 

“Oh, this is—!” Ned exclaimed, taking a sip of his smoothie. Harry held back a laugh at the boy's blissed-out state. “You got it right.” He then pointed at Harry accusingly. “I love you.” 

Harry shrugged, “I know.”  

“The one time I got your order wrong—” MJ begins. 

“You never get the right one.” Ned deadpanned, interrupting MJ's speech. The girl kicked his chin under the table and Ned proceeded to kick hers back. Just before the childish fight could escalate, you pull both of their ears and hear whining asking you to stop.  

Peter and Harry were chucking and you have to backtrack because Harry wasn't glaring at Peter for the first time. Is this progress? 

After a mindless walk to the nearest park, all of you silently decided to stick around for a while longer, basking in what was left of the sunset and the hues of orange, pink and blue that mixed together to form the purple sky of the evening.  

You teased MJ at her inability to stop texting her girlfriend while in an evening among friends and she flipped you off immediately, blushing. She's been seeing Felicia Hardy for two months and from what you could see, it was becoming rather serious, even though MJ still cannot admit it. You know your best friend and her hidden smiles and secret joy because of a new person she's interested in. 

“No, no, no. You don't get it. It's like different universes in one— Actually, no. Multiple universes that are currently happening right now. You could be you, but you're, I don't know, a villain in this other universe, while here, you're just Harry.” 

Both of your and Peter's neck snapped as you turned towards the conversation between Harry and Ned.  

Harry carried a crease between his brows, confusion twisting the corner of his lips. 

“So I'm me... but different?” 

Ned nodded vehemently. He'd always get excited whenever the topic of multiverse was brought up.  

You, on the other hand, were tense and you did not have to look at Peter to know his reaction as well. 

“I'm sure in every reality you're an entitled filthy rich bastard the same way. Don't worry.” MJ’s comment was enough you breathe again. Peter’s awkward laugh at your side.

Harry rolls his eyes, “and I'm sure you're sarcastic and bitchy about anything and anyone, Jones.” 

You throw your head back to stare up at the sky. 

“Children.” You mocked. Peter attempted to hide his laugh but he was not successful. You found it endearing how his cheeks slowly turned pink. It reminded you of when you were kids, he'd turn into a tomato every time he tried to hold in his laugh. “Behave.” 

They initiated a bickering about she started it and he started it and Ned made a comment to side with Harry to add fire to the flames.  

Sometimes you thought they could remember and then reality crashed down the moment for what it truly was. It could be good and bad at the same time. Bittersweet might be the right term to name the feeling. Of course you miss everything that was, but what currently is is also good, in a way. You have your people, despite the losses, you have him back and it's all that you could ask for. 

“Peter.”  

He gives you a sheepish smile, looking down at his shoes as he buried his hand in his jacket.  

“Did you like it?” 

You close the small box carefully. “How could I not? It's beautiful. I loved it.” You said, then punched his shoulder playfully. He pretends it hurts, but you know it doesn't. “Don't spend that much money on me, Parker.” 

Peter shrugged, playing the nonchalant part. “I'll do what I want, actually.” 

“You're such an annoying little shit, aren't you?” 

He shrugged again, this time he's got a cocky grin and a little smug attitude you recognized from when he got an answer right and you got one wrong in an assignment. It's a glimpse of the carefree nature of Peter Parker. He's a little bit proud at times, but still clumsy around people, shy between strangers, and wears his heart on his sleeve for the people he truly cares about.  

“You love it.” 

“Help me,” you asked him when everyone stopped by the fountain on your way back to university. You had your back to him and he finally understood what he was supposed to do when he saw your fingers holding the two parts of the necklace behind your neck. He stepped forward, taking both parts from your hands and freezing once your fingers met. Your skin was cold. You shivered as he clasped the necklace, adjusting with a shaky sigh. His throat moved under his hard gulp. “Thank you.” You turned around with the little rose gold maple leaf pendant around your neck.  

Peter blinked at you in a daze. The streetlight illuminated your figure as you moved your hair away from your shoulders so it wasn't curling around the necklace anymore.  

You're beautiful. So beautiful.  

As soon as he saw the maple leaf pendant, you came into his mind. It reminded him of the Fall, your favorite season, which, of course, led him to you. Funny that everything, somehow, lead him to you. He doesn't know what his life would be if it didn't. Nothing would make much sense, honestly. Peter didn't know how the other Peter Parkers handled losing you in their universe. It was such a difficult thought for him to even consider. His initial goal was to protect you and if that meant he had to let you go, then so be it. He would do it. Because you deserved a life without the mess that was his life. You deserved peace and happiness. But that plan backfired when he saw you crossing the street to reach a coffee shop. It was 8pm in the evening and he was on patrol. He had stopped two robberies an hour before so he was getting ready to go home and throw himself into bed, give a rest to his alter ego for the night. Until you showed up, crossing the street so distracted that a car almost hit you. Peter pulled you back in time, a hand on your shoulder to steady you from the scare of the car horn. You had been crying and at the moment Peter's only thought was to comfort you and figure out who had made you feel that way.  

“Myself.” You laughed, tearfully. “Sorry. I wasn't paying attention.” 

He convinced himself that from that point on he had to watch over you, to simply make sure you wouldn't cross the street without looking both ways again, or trip mad and get a severe head injury. He'd watch you from afar, it couldn't do any harm. 

In reality, that was Peter's way of not letting you go and it had not been fair to either one of you. Especially you, who earned headaches and migraines and insomnia because of memories begging to come back, memories that shouldn't have been removed at all.  

Peter disappointed you. He disappointed himself too — and probably Aunt May, who must be shaking her head in disapproval wherever she was watching over him from. He's slowly making peace with himself after everything. He's finally seen that having you close by was better than the heartache of letting you go and trying foolishly to move on. He didn't want to move on from you and if that was selfish. . . that was fine. Peter was never anything besides selfless his entire life. And if you wanted to be in his life, why couldn't he want to be in yours?  

He would acknowledge the past and make the best out of the present. As for the future, well, he wasn't concerned, it would probably lead him to you. As always.  

#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #reader insert

[railingsofsorrow]

I started watching all of us are dead and I'm (again) suffering for a character who died (became a zombie) when will this world be nice to me?

#nam-ra is my 2nd favourite #gyeong-su's death was heart wrecking wtf #I'm on E10 and still mourning #if anything happens to cheong-san I'm quitting #onjo is annoying and she should have been the first one to die #I'm still mad she wasn't

[railingsofsorrow]

I got sick the day before the first day of class.... is the universe trying to tell me something?

[railingsofsorrow]

you are in love (taylor's version)

[spencer reid x reader]

SONG INSPIRATION » YOU ARE IN LOVE (TAYLOR'S VERSION) by taylor swift

summary: moments in which you realise you love him, but he has no idea.

pairing: s.reid x gn!reader

w.c: 2.4K

warnings/content: friends to lovers trope; angst because spencer is an oblivious idiot; case related discussion; fluff I promise; a whole paragraph in italics means it's a flashback.

A/N: sorry for the delay to post this I've been busy. hope you like it, have a great day <3

[part of the “taylor swift anthology”]

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masterpost

taylor swift anthology

criminal minds masterlist

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❝ morning, his place 

burnt toast, sunday

you keep his shirt 

he keeps his word. ❞

“I thought we agreed that you were not allowed in the kitchen.”

Your voice startles Spencer for a second. He flinches while trying to pull the slight burned toast out of the toaster. Your mouth is pulled into a grin as you notice his messy curls on the top of his head, his hands working fast on turning the tap on to diminish the burning sensation on his fingers.

“I am not that terrible.” Spencer hisses, pouting at his red fingertips. “I can make breakfast... I think.”

“Without setting yourself on fire? I seriously doubt that.” You tease him, approaching his hunched frame over the sink. With a soft touch on his shoulder, you take his hand on yours and lead it towards the water. You nudge him playfully. “Thank you for this, it smells great.”

Spencer lets out a huff in protest but the corner of his lips betray him. His heartbeat as fast as a racing car as if he had been running away from someone, all because of your touch on him.

Last night was a rough one for you.

You didn't feel particularly great after a case and you completely shut down anyone who tried to talk to you. That included Spencer, but you weren't able to delay your conversation as he invited you over for a movie night, a request you could tell he needed as much as you did, and you ended up sleeping over at his place as many other times before. However, this time, it was different.

Not because you slept in one of his shirts and his smell lingered near you on the bed during the night but because you sobbed into his chest and he held you into his arms, comforting your shaky frame as his hands traveled across your back and neck with the utmost care in the world.

Although physical touch wasn't his forte, Spencer didn't seem bothered to cling to you the whole night, and his touch was more than welcomed by you. You fell asleep in his bed, in his shirt and in his hold. It was the best night sleep you've had in months.

❝ and for once, you let go

of your fears and your ghosts

one step, not much

but it said enough ❞

“You think it could work out?” You asked him one day in the middle of your chess match on your way back home. Everybody else was dozing off while the two of you remained in your own little bubble. Tired but not enough to refuse a chess game.

Spencer moved one of his pawns forward, eyes traveling up to you questioningly. “What could work out?”

“You know,” you trailed off, biting your lower lip distractedly as you thought about your next move. You were going to lose anyway, might as well make the best of it to not be a total fool in front of Spencer. He'd get pretty smug after he won and though you can admit that you found it endearing, you hated losing. “Two members on the team in a committed relationship.”

“The fraternization policy—”

“Spence, c'mon.” You give him a short laugh. “Forget the stupid fraternization policy. I want to know if you think it could work out.”

He was silent for a moment, pondering over your request and you could tell he was probably gathering as many statistics as he could to provide you an answer. Truthfully, you don't know why you had asked that. Your previous conversation had initiated because you commented that you still had not found a dress to Derek and Savannah's wedding, you had no idea why it ended up on that question. You blamed exhaustion for your poorly choice of topic.

“It depends on who you're talking about.”

You shrugged, crossing your leg over the other. “No one in particular. I was just... thinking.”

“If they manage to be professional while at work then I don't see how it would be a problem.” Spencer concludes, the corners of his lips twitching as he notices your slip. He wins the match not long after. Not that you were surprised.

“Would you do it?” You were responsible for the disturbance of silence once again, but the question has been hanging over your head since your previous conversation. What if it was... us? Would it work out? Has it ever gone through your mind like it has with mine? “Actually, don't answer that. It's none of my business, I'm just sleepy and asking dumb questions.”

“Yes.” He answered after a beat, lifting his attention from the book to you. His gaze piercing into your curious one. “If it was worth it.”

❝ you can hear it in the silence ❞

“You don't have to apologize for rambling.” You said, throwing a pillow at him after he suddenly cut himself off, blushed bright red and apologized. “I like to hear you talk. All the time.”

“All the time?” Spencer raised a questioning brow as if he didn't trust your words. You can see why, given that most of the people you know rudely interrupt him in the middle of his speech about something he's passionate about.

You nodded, your mouth slowly stretching into a soft smile. “Yes. All the time. I mean it.”

His honey brown eyes scanned you for a long minute before he resumes his explanation about why Jung's ideas seemed to make more sense than Freud's. You listened to it, chipping in every now and then with a hum or a simple question. You'd do anything to keep him speaking, Spencer's voice was calming as observing the ocean on an empty beach. It's quiet and grounding. Peaceful.

❝ one night he wakes

strange look on his face

pauses, then says

you're my best friend

and you knew what it was

he is in love ❞

At some point, you drift off with your head leaning on his shoulder. His fingers carefully brushing stray strands away from your lashes. He was always so careful with you.

“You're my best friend.” You are able to hear. You don't move. You don't breathe. The following statement makes you glad you don't, because you wouldn't act with your head but with your heart and you didn't know if that was wise at that moment. “What if I love you a little more than that?”

❝ you can hear it in the silence ❞

There is a coffee cup waiting for you on your usual place at the roundtable one morning. The logo from your favorite coffee shop and you could practically taste the drink before it was even in your mouth.

He always knew your favorite order. And it seemed like he'd rather get you coffee from a place on the other side of town before work than actually exchange words with you.

A week after you slept over at Spencer's place, it all changed too quickly. He stopped answering your texts and proceeded to avoid you as much as he could during cases. You really tried to find the reason of why that could be happening. Did you do something? Did you overwhelm him in some way? But again, how was it fair to be treated so cold by your best friend if you didn't even know what you did?

So you don't apologize. You just treat him the same way. But you don't hold onto that coldness for long, because after the evening came around and you earned a busted lip and a concussion from an Unsub, Spencer finally seems to acknowledge your presence. He doesn't leave your side for the whole time the paramedic is examining you.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you say, clenching your jaw after the paramedic finished their job. “Seems like you care for my wellbeing even if you're avoiding me.”

“Don't walk too fast. You still have a concussion.” He follows you as you walk towards the car. You turn around, too quicky for you liking cause your vision spins for a second until it focuses again. Spencer's about to say something, reprehend you, more likely, when you interrupt him with fury in your tone.

“And why do you care?” You fire at him. “It's not like you've been ignoring my entire presence for a week, is it?”

Spencer's widened eyes tell you he doesn't expect you to lash out like that.

“I- I haven't been ignoring you.” Spencer stumbles with words. Excuses. You let out a scoff, turn around and walk off to the second car Hotch would be driving. Rossi and Emily are talking amongst themselves when you enter the backseat and shut it without a second word.

Emily eyes both your figure inside the car and Spencer helplessly weighing his options of going after you or letting you go.

He decides on the latter, she observes as he retreates back to the other car where JJ, Derek and Blake are already getting ready to leave.

Upon arriving back at Quantico, the first thing you did was say your goodbyes to everyone and immediately head to grab your stuff on your desk, observing the remaining twenty manila folders for a split of second until you harshly decided on going home and finish them tomorrow.

“I am not avoiding you- Not, not on purpose.” Spencer clenches the strap of his satchel, watching you freeze as you are about to open your car door. You hadn't give it much thought when he left at the same time you did since you always parked close and he would probably ignore you again. You're tired of playing games, if he wanted to withdraw from your life without a reasonable explanation, then so be it. Well, at least for tonight. You need at least one good night sleep without Spencer Reid controlling your mind. “I'm sorry.”

You turn around quickly, not realising how close he is until both of you took a step back as if you have been burned. With pink cheeks from either the cold or embarassement, you cross your arms trying to get a grip on yourself, focusing on his shoulder rather than his eyes.

“Why are you apologising?”

Silence envelopes the two of you and you actually think he had walked away and you had been left by yourself in the parking lot without an answer. However, when you lift your gaze, you're met with soft brown eyes studying you with awe.

He doesn't look away when he realise you caught him staring. Spencer is tired of avoiding you. Avoiding this.

“I was a coward.” Spencer let out a shaky breath. “I was scared and-and that made me a coward. I never wanted to cause a rift in our friendship-”

“It's too late for that, Reid.”

Spencer flinches as if he's been slapped. You hold back your wince. You don't mean to be cruel with your words but your lack of sleep and stress from the last case were making you feel sick of interacting with another human being. Even Spencer, who you would never get tired of. Maybe his childish behavior had contributed to that.

Don't call me that. You never call me that.

He takes one step closer and then one more towards you.

“I have feelings for you.” Spencer breathes out as if he's been holding it for a while — well, he had. “I didn't know how to— I didn't want to lose you and I was terrified to do something that—” his stuttering is enough for you to see how nervous he was. You have no idea where it all came from, but there wasn't an ounce of hesitation as he confessed and his eyes glint with a newfound determination. You suck in a deep breath as he says the next words. “I love you as more... as more than a best friend.”

“You're my best friend.”

“What if I love you a little more than that?”

“... so I avoided you because I didn't want to ruin us. I... I'd rather be your friend than lose you for good. Did I ruin that too?”

What if it was... us? Would it work out?

“For an IQ of 187 you sure can be dumb sometimes.” You utter in disbelief, all of the cold of the night giving place to the warmth of a familiar feeling bumping through your chest.

Spencer gives you a puzzled look, hurt flashing through his gaze. “What?”

“Spencer,” you let out in a whisper, seeking for his hand slowly. “do you remember when I asked you if two people in the team could work out in a committed relationship?”

A frown etches into his forehead.

“Yes,” he answers carefully.

You bite back a smile, fingers raising from his arms to his shoulders until you can reach the back of his neck. Spencer is focused on your eyes, completely hypnotized.

“You told me it could work out—

“... If it was worth it.”

“... if it was worth it.” Your lips quirk up as his hands lower to fit perfectly around your waist. Your noses barely touching. Personal space becoming a an unknown language between the two of you. “Well, I happen to think this is very much worth it and it wouldn't ruin anything.”

His eyes lower to your lips for a short moment. “It wouldn't?”

“No. Mostly because I haven't exactly been discreet about it and I have no idea how you didn't realise but... I love you too, Spencer.”

His eyes snap to yours, hands tightening instinctively around your waist which made you slightly weak in your knees. “You— what? How?”

Raising a brow in amusement, you smirk, “you're asking me how I love you?”

“I—no. I don't— I just didn't... expect that.” I can see that. “You feel the same? You have feelings for me?”

Your exhale, caressing his cheek fondly. “Yes, Spencer.”

Spencer. Not Reid.

Spencer.

His gaze once again falls to your parted lips. “Then I was an idiot.”

You chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Pretty much. Yeah.”

A large grin spreads across his mouth, so wide you'd think it might split his pretty face in two. God, you missed that. You missed him. Everything about him.

❝ you are in love. . .

“Can I kiss you?”

You scoff, pulling him closer by the tie, “Finally, I thought you'd never make a move.” Then your lips crash as if you are two people starved for weeks and the only thing keeping you alive is each other.

true love. ❞

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid; @yeonalie

#reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #the taylor swift anthology