#because its funny watching them quarrel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thevoidscreams · 5 months

Note

Hello🌹You can write something about Sanguinius, with a reader who has the reputation and behavior of Ciaphas Cain and that the reader is very attached to the angel and his legion. In general, if you have a better idea, then it's even better😊 just make it Sanguinius with a cool reader. Thanks in advance💚🖤❤️💙

Bet you thought i forgot about this. But I didn't....I just forgot where it was that i was writing it. It's also not exactly on character i got way more self deprecating with it.

Rating: G No warnings just the usual 30kness.

The angel didn't think his hearts could take much more of this. His hearts were racing in a panic as he flipped over the mangled haul of a rhino, anxiety rising as he prepared for the worst.

Instead, he found you scuffed but alive in a natural groove in the earth. As if the dip had been placed there specifically for your tiny body to fall into.

"Hi honey, how's the battle going?" You joked. He didn't think it was funny at all, but it'd have to wait. The battlefield was no place for a lover's quarrel.

"We are going to discuss this later." All around the both of you, his legion was pushing back a massive invasion of Orks. And just to the side of your exploded rhino was the charred remains of their war boss, his head half gone from the explosion that'd rocked the battlefield, drawing the angel's attention in the first place. What remained was a mangled mess that snarled up hateful and defiant even in death.

Your half cooked plan had paid off. Much to your delight. "YES! It worked! Look, Sanguinius, I got him, I got the war boss."

"Yes, I see. You did well." Sanguinius said quietly, picking you out of the dirt where you still sat celebrating your victory over the massive green skin.

Sanguinius looked down at it, and the corners of his vision tinted red as he swung his blade down in one hate filled swing, taking the rest of its head clean off in one mighty blow. It'd threatened your life, and he hated it for that. He suddenly found that he hated all of these green life forms, dead or alive. And none of them could be left standing.

Sanguinius's fist clenched around the hilt of his sword. No, he had to get you back to safety.

"I'm taking you back behind the lines."

"Yeah, okay." Your voice came out in a squeak without much protest.

Still his irritation spiked, already heightened by the natural aggression instilled by his gene flaw. "You were supposed to stay behind the lines. I only agreed to let you come because you promised to only watch and vox me if their movements became irregular. You didn't do that. You did exactly what I asked you not to do."

“Yes I know, but I can explain ... .once you’ve won that is.” You hurriedly insured, wanting very much for him to get you back to a “Safe” distance.

Sanguinius sighed, he had to admit that you'd never gotten hurt so far. Never anything more than a scratch or bruised. It was like you'd be supernaturally blessed with the gift of luck.

No. Not luck. It was just your tactical mind thinking ten steps ahead. Luck was superstitious, and his father would scoff at the suggestion.

Sanguinius took to the air, with you wrapped up in his arms. "My dove, I understand you want to help and fight. But you are so precious to me."

Internally you scoffed, but externally you gave him a firm look, as if to convince him that you weren’t some soft little coward who secretly did want nothing more than to stay on his flag ship and sip expensive beverages and eat fine foods.

"I won't get hurt though, I'll be fine. Ask any in your legion who saw. I was holding on just fine before the war boss even showed up." Of course he didn’t need to know that the only reason you were on the field to begin with was that a bomb squig had chased you out of your relatively cushy, covered position.

He landed, back-winging gently as he set you on your feet. "You will stay here behind the lines where you promised to stay the first time."

There wasn't much you could do to argue with a primarch. But just to make sure he called out to the closest marine who turned eagerly when his primarch addressed him.

"Watch her. This time, she is to stay here and watch."

Some prideful part of you wanted to be mad, but his voice was all patience and gentleness. You couldn't stay angry, he’d understand later, once you’d had time to explain.

You turned away from the fighting, not wanting to think about the thousands of gnashing teeth and cruel eyes of the enemy that almost saw to your destruction that day. It might have been cowardly, well no, it was. But that’s what you were by nature, even if no one but yourself recognized that. Deep inside yourself you wished to be a hero, wished to be as valiant and stalwart as those you loved and occasionally fought alongside. You wished you could really be the person people saw you as. Some great humanitarian and a worthwhile individual who didn’t just luck your way into these victories.

You could see the retreated populace in the distance. Wounded and tired. They needed rest and shelter. Then an idea came to you. Maybe you could be a hero today. Even in some minor capacity.

When the green skins had at last been driven back into a valley and trapped, Sanguinius left them to be cleaned up by his legion. They would be easy to finish off now. Trapped as they were.

He found you working, still with his faithful Son by your side. He relieved the marine of his post and sent him to finish the battle.

"The battle is nearly over. We'll be heading back to the Red Tear soon."

You didn't respond verbally, just nodded.

Your eyes were fixed on the tent pole in your hands as you secured it against the planet’s powerful breeze. The civilians were receiving care and being served small meals as an immediate relief effort.

"I want to continue helping set up the tents and serving the meals."

"I know." He couldn't apologize, he hadn't done anything wrong in ensuring your safety, but he still felt as if he'd had.

"The orcs have been driven back, can I stay to help now?" You asked.

He nodded and offered a hand to secure the tent’s pole, you let him take it. You smiled and moved on to the next pole. 'Good, at least she doesn't hate me.' Sanguinius thought.

The whole company stayed several days longer than expected. The orks were long dead, their bodies burned. You'd insisted on staying and giving aid, it was the charitable thing to do.

The people thanked you all profusely. Some gave near religious bouts of praise to them.

Sangunius took their thanks for the extended aid as he always did. With humility, and grace. But there was a bit of selfishness to it. He wanted you to be happy with him again. It didn't take long for that to happen but he still took those extra few days to ensure it. Not that you gave him as much time anyways, not with the amount of injuries that needed attending and the amount of mouths there was to cook for. You'd been going almost non-stop, helping loved ones reunite, helping burn those that were dead by the hands of the orks and burying those that died after.

The humans began to look to you as some sort of authority or guide. Seeing you lead them and the respect the people held for you made his heart flutter and his wings ruffle.

He'd need to get you alone sooner rather than later.

This wasn't the place for all that.

When there was enough order at last he ordered everyone to begin returning to the Red Tear.

"My love?" Sanguinius addressed you as you both arrived on the ship. You turned to look up at him. “Yes, my Angel?” He felt a thrill of excitement shoot up his spine and his wings practically hummed, he loved when you called him that, mostly cause you only called him that when you were happy. But he pushed it down and maintained his calm and casual air. “May we speak in my office?”

You nodded and followed him across the ship. A little light in his long shadow. Still despite how little you felt people still whispered your name as if you were some hero of the imperium. Passing voices recounting your "heroic" deed of killing the warboss. They didn't even know the faintest hint of the truth. You looked up to watch Sanguinius, in all his regal beauty. He was too good for a coward like you, was all you could think.

His office was as lovely as the rest of the ship and you made an effort to use admiring it to avoid the upcoming conversation. Sanguinius was generally good at reading you despite your best efforts. He stayed quiet and let you have some time, he could sense you needed it. But it couldn't last forever.

"You've been in my office many times. Surely the trimming can't be all that new or exciting to you, darling." Sanguinius urged at last.

"Speak for yourself, I just noticed a brand new spot I've never noticed before, and it is delightful."

Sanguinius smiled despite himself.

"You know why I want to talk."

It was true, you did. But you didn't want to have to explain that you were a coward to your dauntless lover.

"I know." Was all you could get out before your throat tightened and the first few tears dropped unbidden from your eyes as you continued to avoid meeting his gaze.

The sight of your tears had an immediate effect on the man, primarch or no he was still your lover and he hated seeing you distressed. He reached for you and you let him take you into his arms. His wings followed, wrapping you up in their power and protection.

"Darling, what's wrong? I'm not angry with you if you're worried about that." Part of you was but it was a much smaller part than the voice in your head that kept calling you a coward and a liar.

"I didn't want to disobey your orders the other day." You said, strangely flat in tone. Your eyes still leaked those darned salty tears but you'd already begun and you couldn't stop now. "I didn't want to be on the battlefield at all to be completely honest with you." You'd never told him how much you didn't actually like the field of battle.

"Then why? What could have possessed you to do what you did."

"It was an accident, I was chased onto the field… by a squig."

Sanguinius could picture this new version of events clearly. And to his own self he felt ashamed, not just for getting cross with you but for the almost sickening sense of relief that flooded every inch of him. It was a new reason to keep you here, on his flagship and away from the battlefield.

His wings closed in tightly on you and he continued to listen.

"It was one of those that was covered in bombs. And I ran, I had a lasgun, I could have shot it. But I ran, like a coward."

Sanguinius held you tighter and shook his head. "You're not, you had to get to a safer distance before you could do anything."

It was your turn to shake your head then. "I didn't even think about that. I was just scared and I ran."

Sanguinius was quiet. "Why did you ask to come along with us to the surface?" He was changing the subject, trying to give you a break from the previous line of thought.

"I didn't. I made a joke about wishing I could spend the day with you despite the battle and it was put in as an official request to join you."

Sanguinius's wings puffed in frustration and a measure of anger. That such a sentiment should have resulted in your endangerment.

"I'm sorry, my love. That shouldn't have happened." He kissed the top of your head but you didn't respond. A claw of worry tore at him and he gave you a gentle squeeze. All that came from you was a quiet shuddering sob.

"Why are you crying?" He asked at last, trying to keep his voice calm so as not to add to the stress of the situation. Sanguinius was loathed to admit that seeing you like this left him feeling helpless. And he despised seeing you cry.

"Because now you know." You choked out, voice heavier with grief.

“Darling, I don’t think you are a coward. I think that you were in a stressful situation and reacted. You are not used to being on the field of battle. Besides, your actions today did help us. Even if I was terrified for your safety.” “You were terrified?” You asked, astonished, eyes wide and still wet with tears. “Of course I was, I heard over the vox that a rhino had landed on you. How could I not be terrified?” He drew in a breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Sanguinius tilted your chin up just a bit. “I love you.” He whispered the words so softly you almost questioned whether or not you had actually heard him right. “I love you too.” His lips brushed softly against yours, the kiss was sweet and he filled it with all the concern and love he’d felt over the past several days. “I think I’d like to just stay on the ship from now on. And I’ll just have your time and affection when things are settled.”

The primarch breathed quietly in relief. “Good. Because I’m not willing to risk your safety after all of that.”You both chuckled and he lifted you up. “Now let's get cleaned up. And I’ll give you some of that much desired affection.”

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #primarch x reader #primarchs #my writing #sanguinius x reader #sanguinius #warhammer 40k x reader

62 notes · View notes

bethanydelleman · 2 years

Text

Why did Jane Austen make Mary Crawford so Right?

Jane Austen has a funny habit of putting very quotable or correct ideas into the mouths of villains, or at least characters that we are not supposed to admire. Like Caroline Bingley’s praise of reading or Isabella Thorpe’s commentary on friendship. But it is readily apparent in those cases that the characters actually mean something quite different (Caroline pretends to love reading to attract Darcy, Isabella is using emotional blackmail). What is harder to understand is Mary Crawford. I do believe we are supposed to view her character negatively, but Mary’s commentary on the church is very poignant, even today, and I think in many ways, Jane Austen herself agreed.

Mary’s first commentary on the church is in the chapel at Southerton, where she basically says, (I paraphrase) “You can’t force piety on people. Make them sit in a chapel and if they are not there with their heart, they will think of something else. Also, those in power neglect church while demanding piety of those lower than them.” She is right, and Edmund knows she is right (he says, “but I have not yet left Oxford long enough to forget what chapel prayers are.“ and I can’t really see the rich, hung-over students at Oxford paying a lot of attention in chapel). And yet, Edmund is “too angry for speech” when Mary makes this critique.

(As an aside, having grown up in the church, I have seen this a lot even today. There are many people who attend as often as they can, and yet fail completely to live out Christian values. They seem to believe that quantity alone can replace quality and that attendance is equal to living out moral principles.)

Mary is proved correct throughout the novel. Sir Thomas later reflects that his daughters knew their religion theoretically but did not take its lessons to heart. Henry admits that while he sits in church he thinks about other things (like how to read the liturgy properly) and Edmund later reflects that London preachers who are listened to as great performers don’t actually do much to change minds and hearts because they don’t actually interact with the people they preach to or model good behaviour. Going to chapel does not a religious person make.

Another commentary from Mary, which comes up several times, is that those who go into the profession of the church do it not because they are called but because of the stable income of a living. Edmund insists that he chose the church himself, and we know from narration that he does mean to do his job well, but I do think Mary’s opinion more captures the state of the profession:

“Oh! no doubt he [a clergyman] is very sincere in preferring an income ready made, to the trouble of working for one; and has the best intentions of doing nothing all the rest of his days but eat, drink, and grow fat. It is indolence, Mr. Bertram, indeed. Indolence and love of ease; a want of all laudable ambition, of taste for good company, or of inclination to take the trouble of being agreeable, which make men clergymen. A clergyman has nothing to do but be slovenly and selfish—read the newspaper, watch the weather, and quarrel with his wife. His curate does all the work, and the business of his own life is to dine.”

Mary and Henry represent more of a London way of thinking, but given Mr. Elton and Mr. Collins and the fact that the British government would soon reform the livings system, I tend to think their opinion here is generally correct. Henry is kind of shocked that Edmund won’t just take the income and install a curate, which I take to mean that he has met a lot of clergymen in London who ride back into the country twice a year to give a sermon and let their underpaid curates do the rest.

This all leads to the question, why is Mary the one who says all this? Why do the moral characters become angry and oppose her? Why is the truth given to someone who is basically amoral? My idea is this: Mary is telling us what has caused her jaded view on the church and the jaded view of the whole of England. Edmund wants to do the right thing, to live among his parishioners and provide an example of moral living, but Mary has not seen that before. In her life, she has experienced preachers without substance and church without meaning and she’s rejected it all. Part of her attraction to Edmund is that he actually lives out his moral values. (She finds charm in, “his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity” and as a side note, this is also what Henry finds fascinating about Fanny). The moral characters become angry, I think, because they don’t actually have a solution.

To summarize, Mary’s criticism of the church says this, “Look what you have created.”

#mansfield park #mary crawford #jane austen #that was a long one #Mary isn't just being a jerk #She makes really good points #I was surprised how well some of her arguments held up

170 notes · View notes

piffany666 · 9 months

Text

Nor death nor love discriminates between the sinners and the saints:

The first chapter of a fan fiction made by me and @darlin-collins about what we thought was going to happen in one magic of the heart episodes (more specifically the "lovers quarrel episode)

The guardian and darling both use they them pronouns in this fan fic. Darling is referred to as "the figure" a lot in this fan fic.

The guardian perked their head up as they heard talking from outside the cell room. They were exhausted and could only move their head to an extent that they weren't going to put to the test. As the sound got closer, the guardian could make out that it was makkaro, his aloof henchmen Frank and someone else. That "someone else" was the first of the three to enter the room. Starstruck and amazed the 'someone' began to speak, addressing makkaro but not averting their gase off of the guardian. "I-is this truly the guardian?" The figure spoke in a tone that the guardian recognised but lacked the motivation to remember where from. "Yes my darling, I can hardly belive it myself" makkaro's tone had changed significantly from what the guardian had been subjected to these last few days. They could recall this happening when they first got here when makkaro was interrupted by a call on a crystal ball. The guardian deduced that this was that 'you know who' Frank was referring to. "They look so..." the figure began "underwhelming?" Makkaro finished. The figure smiled "exactly" they then began to walk towards them in a peculiar way that the guardian could swear they recognised but where from? They grabbed the bars of the cell and put their face as close as they could to the guardian as if they where an animal at a zoo. Their smile began to fade as their eyes slowly made their way across the guardian's withered and damaged body. How their legs were limp and covered in what looked to be blisters...wait those aren't blisters...they're burns. How their hands limped from the chains hanging on the wall and how they could barely keep their eyes open and steady. "Sweetheart" the figure began "how did they get like this?" This seemed to catch makkaro of guard. "W-well darling I did tell you that we had fought before I managed to unleash the snake titan upon them" he's lying, the guardian thought, come on you can see that these are fresh, don't listen to him. "Let's not worry about that now" Makkaro pulled them closer and they both began to smile "you shouldn't burden yourself with my work, I know it can...upset you. I only agreed to bring you down here because you wanted to see the Guardian and I have trouble saying no to you" Makkaro then kissed them almost desperately, as if to say 'please drop it'. This seemed to work "yeah y-your right" they gave an uncertain smile and began to leave with him. Makkaro had off-handedly mentioned that he was a detective and while the guardian had never considered that line of work, their deductive skills could tell this much. Makkaro is a dangerous necromancer and his partner knows this but is unaware of the extent of his villainy, that or they actively chose to ignore it. Its funny that almost sounds like...uh oh.

They need to say something, now! Before they leave! They can't understand why but they have a feeling that this mysterious person could be their key out of here or could at least become a potential 'plan B' for if zed fails to bring mirin here. Say something! The guardian internally screamed, anything! "I've been there you know" the guardian was almost shocked at how they sounded like their voice had been set on fire and then drowned. "But oh to watch from the sidelines this time" They both stopped but when they turned around they where the only one to speak "what did you say?" Their voice had changed drastically from a starry-eyed follower of the guardian to a cold but menacing one. However this did not phase the guardian "my apologies I just meant that I hope your willing to take my place" the guardian gave an attempt at a smile "I mean I've been told that history repeats itself but I suppose no one dose live long enough to see the pattern" the guardian gave up on the smirk "but I'VE lived long enough" it was then makkaro's turn to be menacing "what exactly are you implying?!"

"Oh come now, you told me you were a detective no? Put those deductive skills to work. What do you think I'm implying?" After this was met with silence, the guardian continued "nothing? Well you see detective...I was simply implying that you both remind me of myself and magrios"

#yes the tital is a Hamilton refrance!#good boy audios #goodboyaudiosmagicoftheheart #goodboyaudiosfanfic #gba guardian #gba makkaro #gba darling #gba frank

12 notes · View notes

sirendeepity · 2 years

Text

[ Gwynriel one-shot ]

A/N: the cake header didn't win in the end, but I kinda liked it so watch out because I might reuse it in the future. Anywaay Idk how to classify this, because it's many things and nothing at all, so- Enjoy?

P.s.: for all my Nessian lovers at heart, yes, this one-shot was originally meant for them, and only recently I chose violence and made it Gwynriel <3

P.p.s.: keep in mind that I was too lazy to do serious medical research on a fictional creature's anatomy, so if anything I said here makes no sense, just roll with it

P.p.p.s.: it's been more than a year since I first published this and the damn cake header- SO here it is. The infamous cake header. I love it so much, it's not even funny. If you're reading this now and have no idea what all of this is about, just know that the loser is now the winner, make of that what you wish

W/C: 2.7k

T/W: depiction of injury, blood

Gwyn closed her book with a loud thud, the sound echoing through the empty library down to its darkest corners.

“What is it?” She asked, running low on patience. Something was clearly bothering the young priestess, and that “something” had a name, a face, and even a title. Multiple titles, actually. Or nicknames, depending on who you ask.

Namely: Kingslayer (she was fine with it, so long as you addressed the other kingslayer the same way), Goddess of Death (“I am no such thing”), Princess of Decay (not her best, if Gwyn had to be honest, but she could live with it), Lady Death (this one, in particular, she enjoyed more than she let on, and Cassian’s personal favorite), Queen of Queens (so much for her pride and ego, as if Nesta didn’t have enough of them already), Valkyrie, General, Oristian (the one and only cause of many, many heated quarrels between the two of them. Take a bet, you’d be wrong anyway), and on and forward with mighty and frightening titles like Archeron, Sweetheart, Nes.

The latter, specifically, was the cause of the discomfort in the House of Wind. The sentiment, well, it belonged to its owner and creator, but it mattered little since it reflected on the building as a whole, and therefore anyone who currently resided in it.

“Nesta,” the redhead urged, drawing back the attention to the present moment, “what’s wrong? You’ve been uneasy and anxious all afternoon. And that damned knee-”

Nesta Archeron stopped her bouncing knee at once.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Nesta replied, burying her nose back into her book. The priestess knew her friend was not reading a single word since she hasn’t flipped a page once in the past half hour.

Gwyn just stared at her pointedly, waiting for the other to just give up any pretense and confess the cause of her distress, blurting out whatever was worrying both her mind and her heart. Normally, it would’ve taken a lot more than just a look to tear Nesta Archeron’s defenses down, but normally she wouldn’t have been in such a state in the first place.

With a loud huff of defeat, Nesta closed her book as well. “It’s Cassian,” she admitted.

“Yes, that I already knew,” replied Gwyn, not surprised in the least. “The real question is why? I mean, you’ve known each other for quite some time now, it’s not like this is the first mission he took part in.”

“Leading, actually,” Nesta corrected, “but that’s not the point, is it?”

The priestess shook her head, just a little, and gave her friend pause to find the right words to express herself. She was aware of the struggles Nesta still faced whenever she had to open her heart, to laid it bare for the world to wound. But Gwyn also knew that she was trying her best, fighting against her own mind, the old bad habits screaming at her to tear apart any threat with bared teeth because cowering—failing—was not an option. She just needed some time to rummage through her vocabulary, making sure she used the right words, so she wouldn’t end up being misunderstood and then had to find different words to repeat herself. Gods knew how Nesta despised saying the same thing twice.

“I know he’s been a part of many missions already, but this one is different,” Nesta said. “This one is big, and secretive. It’s a serious thing—more than the others, I mean. Azriel is the ‘secretive’ one, not Cassian.” Her index and middle finger curled in the air, stating her point. “Contacts of any kind have been banned between us, and…”

“And?” Gwyn prompted once the silence stretched on. Letting Nesta stay inside her head for too long was not wise, not while she was in these conditions: eaten alive by nerves and anxiety and doubts. You name it.

“And he shut me out. His end of the mating bond… It is not there. I can reach up to the very same point, and then nothing. It’s like walking on a bridge and at some point, it just stops. Or it goes on, but you wouldn’t know because there’s a wall of mist blocking you from reaching the other end. This is what is killing me. I feel nothing from it—from him. He could be injured or dying or already dead and I wouldn’t even know!”

Gwyn met her friend’s troubles with sympathy in her eyes and logic in her mind—there was space for only one kind of sentimentalism here, and it wasn’t hers. She couldn’t say she understood what Nesta was going through, exactly, but maybe one day she would. If it were up to her, there would be two of them worrying over their mates’ wellbeing and safety, but since it wasn’t up to her and her only, she could do nothing but wait and try and hope that he just opened his eyes and— Gwyn shook her head. Focus on Nesta, she thought. She needs you most.

“That’s not true, Nesta,” the priestess started, comforting words pouring out of her like water. “Even if he tries to block his end of the bond to prevent it from reaching out to you, there is just so much he can do. If something, anything, worth of serious notice happened to him, you would still know it. You would feel it. That’s one of the wonders of a mating bond. The same soul in two different bodies.”

Nesta rolled her eyes at the cheesy words, and Gwyn couldn’t help her own giggle.

You can pretend all you want, Archeron. I know you’re a romantic at heart.

The youngest covered her face, groaning into her hands. The sound came out muffled, just like her words. “It doesn’t sound so funny when you’re in my situation. I can’t even fucking function like a normal person. All I can do is walk around the House like an angry gremlin, biting everyone’s head off. I think I accidentally made one of the new acolytes cry a few days ago.”

“You do look like a bundle of nerves and pure evil.”

“Thanks.”

Gwyn laughed again. “Come on, we just need some cuddles and self-care.” Also known as cakes and bubble baths. They’d always worked wonders. She rose from her seat, the book forgotten, and extended a hand in her friend’s direction. Nesta eyed it for a moment longer before pushing the pillows aside and interlacing their fingers.

“We could call Emerie, too. Code Purple. I’m sure she would close down the shop and come her running on her own two feet if we only asked—”

The door of the private library opened, banging against the wall on its way, cutting Gwyn off. Both females turned toward the source of the disturbance, guards raised and brows furrowed.

Gwyn relaxed first. Speaking of the devil…

“We were just talking about you,” the priestess said in way of greetings, but her relief didn’t live long. Something was alarming the Illyrian, who bounced her brown eyes between pairs of teal and silver.

Something’s wrong.

As if on cue, Emerie took a shallow breath and voiced what was unsettling them all, “The guys are back. They’re not okay.”

One moment, Nesta was there. The next, she was gone, fleeing out of the room so fast that even Gwyn’s sharp reflexes needed their sweet time to register what has just happened. Only she and Emerie were left in the library now, their alarmed stares mirroring each other.

“How bad is he?” Asked Gwyn, needing to know what was coming her way if she wanted to help Nesta in any useful way.

Emerie just looked at her for a long moment, her dark eyebrows tipping upward. From concern to sympathy. No, commiseration.

“It’s not Cassian,” she said at last.

Gwyn’s heart dropped, free-falling to the ground. No. No, no, no, no. Her feet moved on their own accord, pushing past Emerie and toward the doors. To go where she didn’t know. She just needed to go. She felt the faint presence of her friend at her heels, saying something to her—of that Gwyn was almost sure—but she couldn’t hear a word over the high-pitched sound filling her head. It reminded her of that one time when Azriel flew them so high above the clouds her teeth started clattering from the frigid air and her ears popped. She threw it right back at him, screaming at the top of her lungs when he stilled his wings and hold her tight to him as they pummeled back toward the green of the mountains. The adrenaline rush left her so dizzy she couldn’t even stand on her own once Azriel got them both back to safety. She remembered throwing up her breakfast and then asking the Shadowsinger for a second round. She would laugh at the memory now if she hadn’t come to a stop in front of an open doorway, her eyes swiftly scanning the room. Not him, not him, not—

She registered the High Lord and his second, keeping themselves out of the way on the side of the room, following everyone’s movements like hawks, and not far from them stood Morrigan. Concern lined her usually soft features, yet she was still too much of a coward to just— Stop. Not now. She stepped further into the room, finding Nesta’s eyes next: she was glued to her mate’s side, trying to reign in her relief. She tipped her head toward the other side of the room, where her sisters stood around—

“Azriel,” Gwyn breathed, her voice no more than a strangled whisper.

He was on his knees, eyes closed, his chest barely rising enough for air to fill his lungs. His armor had already been discarded, left in a puddle of dark metal on the carpet, and the shirt—torn open on the back—was dripping with blood. His blood.

Elain’s hands were cupping his face, mumbling sweet nothings to him as he failed to contain his pained grunts whenever Feyre, on the other end of him, worked her healing magic. Or tried to, if her slightly panicked expression was of any indication.

Normally, seeing the Seer anywhere close to him made her see red. Now she could not see nor hear anything but him. The odd angle of his bent wings, the sweat crowning his brow, the trembles of his closed fists, so tight the knuckles were white as sheets, and the slow hiss escaping through clenched teeth as he tried not to show his friends the full extent of the pain he was in. Gwyn could feel all of it—that blinding pain. Almost like it was her own. The shadows, his loyal companions, were nowhere to be seen. They’re feeling it too, Gwyn thought. But they’re scared. And she knew why.

She set his jaw and steeled her spine, pushing her own concerns aside and locking them in the back of her mind, where they couldn’t distract her anymore, and walked as close to him as she could without stepping on the middle Archeron.

“What happened,” she demanded no one in particular.

It was Cassian who answered, his voice drifting toward her, dripping with guilt, “They were onto us, a stray arrow got stuck in the wrong part of his wings. I had to fly both the hell out of there while one of us still had wings to do so.”

Gwyn willed the High Lady’s attention on her. It always left her startled—the similarity: Feyre and Nesta’s eyes were like two drops of water, yet it was impossible to mistake one for the other. The same, but different.

There was no difference in the concern filling them now. “The wound’s not clean. The tip cut through the tendon, leaving the nerves exposed and on the brink of snapping. It’s hard to proceed now—he’s lost so much blood already, and the arrows must’ve been dipped in poisons of some kind because it’s like his body is fighting against me.” Feyre exhaled, backing her bloodied hands away from the torn skin. She shook her head slowly, “It’s such a mess.”

“Let me try.”

Silence fell. Gwyn’s voice sounded foreign to her own ears, but she repeated herself nonetheless, more security lacing her words this time around. “Let me try.”

The youngest sister exchanged wary looks with the other members of the family, the only people currently crowding the room.

“Gwyn,” Nesta said, probably trying to talk her out of it.

“Let. Me. Try.” Her sharp tone left no room for debate, one Gwyn had no intention of having right then. They could scream at her about her irreverence all they wanted once Azriel didn’t look like the ghost of himself anymore.

With a nod from the High Lady, Elain rose from the floor, stepping back and out of the way. As soon as she had enough room for movement, Gwyn took a deep breath and fell to her knees in front of the Illyrian warrior. He flinched slightly, muscles tensing, but kept his eyes closed and his head bent toward the ground. One hand slipped inside her pocket, gripping the cold stone she kept carrying around without fail and placed it on his chest. Blue stone against blue stone.

“Look at me,” she whispered against Azriel’s arched ear. When she received no response, she pressed her palm against his dark cheek, prompting him to raise his head. “Look at me, Azriel,” she said again.

He did, slowly opening his eyes to meet hers. She could barely make out the colors of his irises, glossed over and covered by black lashes. In the state he was in, even the tiniest action was a struggle. Gwyn didn’t waste any more time as she gradually drifted her fingers to his neck and down his back, ignoring the raging need growing inside her chest at the slick wetness meeting her fingertips, clawing her insides and screaming protect, protect, protect.

Gwyn didn’t blink once as her hand found its way toward the bleeding wound. She was glad she didn’t see the full damage of the injury or may the Gods have mercy on whoever did this to him because she would be out for blood. She knew she reached her target when Azriel’s scarred hand shot up and closed around her arm in a bone-shattering grip, startling her.

After a calming breath and various failed attempts, she managed to let the words past the lump clogging her throat. “Let me try,” she said, hopefully for the last time. “Please,” Gwyn begged, voice breaking. She leaned forward until their brows met, keeping them pressed one against the other as she waited for Azriel to accept her help—or deny it.

He let out a deep breath, the movement causing a bolt of pain to stiffen his crunching form, before unfolding the fingers from around her arm.

“Make it stop.”

It was all Azriel said before she felt him give in and give up to the agony, letting the weight of his body fall on hers as he hid his face in the crook of her neck. Gwyn closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in the feeling of him as relief poured out of her lungs. And with it, she got back to work. With a grounding breath to calm her wild heart, she opened up to the healing power of the Invoking Stone. It flew through his Siphon, restoring from the inside, and run through her veins, using her body as a conductor, making her skin lit up. That earned her a couple of gasps, making Gwyn acutely aware of the eyes now burning holes in her back. Only Nesta and Emerie had ever seen her like that—shining like one of the many stars in the sky. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Willing the stone’s power—the Mother’s power—to stitch him up for good, Gwyn buried her nose in his hair and inhaled his scent until she choked on it, just as his shadows shyly showed themselves again, wrapping around their embracing bodies like a dark blanket.

Mate. Oh, how she wished she could say those words out loud, screaming them for everyone to hear. The Spymaster of the Night Court is my mate.

She healed Azriel’s bleeding wings, but who would heal her bleeding heart?

#dee writes #How to Heal a Bleeding Heart #gwynriel fic #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel #gwyn berdara #azriel #gwyneth x azriel #azriel x gwyn #gwyn x azriel #pro gwynriel

52 notes · View notes

fawnarchive · 7 months

Note

FAWN HIII, I'm totally not late but quietly leaves a 🦌 in ur inbox... (can be ANY (platonic/romantic) btw!! And any gender as well, I'm not exactly picky hakahsjahd)

lin. lin i am about to bestow upon you a high honor (recommending you someone from my special interest)

recommending you Eph.raim for FE8! and joint recommending eir.ika as a platonic because theyre twins!!!!! do not separate them!!! /j

anyway!!! ephraims the crown prince of a country called renais! he’s someone that seem be a little aloof when it comes to social matters but it’s mainly because he’s raised to be rather distant— with people he considers close or family he can become very playful and social and generally is extremely devoted, just willing to do anything for those he truly cares for.

and he absolutely LOVES a good spar.. its one of the things that really get him excitable and ready to go, maybe even a little cocky, but he’s a real sweetheart despite the fact he can be a little blunt (especially with family.. watching him and eir.ika quarrel is funny)

OVERALL!!!! if u want a boy who can be a little rambunctious but overall has a good heart and cares deeply… i recommend him!

if you check it out i sincerely hope you like these loser twins‼️

#fawn.txt #letters #ask games!#lin!🍓#also #in this mobile game hes in #and when he does his special he lets out this super excited #‘oh look there are fish here!!! :D’#eirika and their childhood friend have matching specials. theyre so cute #hes also voiced by greg chun!!!! love that guy

4 notes · View notes

joannasteez · 18 days

Text

tanks of blood (3)- a funeral, and the second coming back

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader (mentions), biker!cody rhodes x black reader (mentions) warning: descriptions of alcohol. some talks about death and funerals (not negatively). cursing. roman being a dick smh. authors note: intro-ing more characters. some funny parts and not so funny parts. this chapter, as you will see, has a few different perspectives. i thought it would be nice to learn some of the fic lore from other pov’s. this chapter takes place in the present time!!!! word count: 6k tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @spritelucozade @gg-trini (if anyone else wants a tag for this story let me know!)

dean was not an inheritor of his leather. he had no familial ties to such greatly established pensacola street bloodlines. but he was scrappy and clever and loyal. he loved fixing things. making a hard work of his hands till the satisfaction of a job well done had no choice but to bleed from between the slight cracks of skin. and he didn't need second or third generation leather, or a bike gifted to him on his eighteenth birthday, and then again on his twenty first—because bikers could be showy motherfuckers—he just wanted something to call his own. a beautiful sum of meek ambition. a tangible manifestation of earned freedom. and kendrick greggs—God rest his soul—had given it to him. all those years ago, when the roar of engines were still new and ear splitting, KG—as everyone called him—let dean's desires run wild. and then when those too humble desires became ill-suited, KG threw a prospect kutte at dean, with a stare that dared him to succeed. and here dean found family. absolute community. no blood relations needed.

dean remembers the grit of his early bloodline days well, but it is the existence of such a fond remembrance from which his annoyance is born. he hates the easy slip into reminiscence. that ache so naturally tethered to the joy of it all. it was always just too much of everything. but funerals make him nostalgic. with each one, comes that reminder. he's getting older.

and maybe that's why anger doesn't move in him. doesn't stifle the surprise rife in his blood or the stinging in his eyes. emotion threatening to well over, and then its—fuck—it's brimming and washing hot in his cheeks. its just that thing. and of course when the whole abrupt ordeal of you leaving came about, he, in a bout of rather rare sensitivity, worked his sadness to a favorable subtlety. because you weren't his but you were still like family. you were KG's blood so, yeah, there was no halfway to think about it. you were family. and it's just that thing, that comes with much time and much distance, and then finally and so suddenly theres that breaking of the space between, where such time and distance is forgotten, and all there is left, are the things waiting to be picked up again. a taking in and a holding, as if such things had never been let go in the first place.

just outside a small pensacola church, dean pulls lazily from his cigarette. seth—and he knows its seth by the leisure thudding step of his heel toe—approaching with a cigarette of his own. the both of them watching interestedly, as you brush harsh against cody to pass him. with the air of someone amidst a lovers quarrel. the remnants of a disagreement sticking to the rushed way you make your way up to the church.

seth snickers. "you think they're fuckin'?

"if they're not already, then he probably wants to", dean assess. mirth slipping over his lips as he takes another much needed drag. and honestly, cody wasn't to blame for such a desire if dean's thinking was as spot on as he knew it to be. it was a small, not fully established joke of sorts after all, that at one point or another, most third generation bloodline members thought about KG's daughter in not so platonic ways. the one forbidden fruit amongst a plethora of other things to freely choose from in the garden. but it only happened maybe once or twice, before the realization set in that you just weren't to be seen that way. or at most, if such thoughts occurred, it was better to let them stay exactly as they were. as thoughts with no tangible form to see to its flourishing.

"cody is dusty's son. he'll go the gentleman route and slow burn it", seth's cigarette falling to its end as its met with the tip of his shoe.

dean does the same. making a dramatic show of peering over his shades before his leather clad arms open up to encourage an embrace. "this ain't a mirage is it?"

you laugh. and as your face caves softly into dean's chest he can feel the lightness of it pulsing into him. a laugh filling itself with relief as you slip your arms to tighten the embrace. "no dean".

you slip away to embrace seth. the three of you bright with smiles despite the adornment of mournful colors and eye-guarding shades. and dean can feel the fast to creep up nostalgia. the clever way it goes about softly sweetening his blood.

"good", dean starts. unfailing in the not so subtle way he takes you in. everything about you different but the same. new but old. "thought i was hallucinating. between the leather and the weather, i'm due for a heat stroke soon".

"fuck tradition". a short thoughtless quip. your fingers tugging his leather. "take off the jacket".

seth bristles. the offense a detailed etch along his face. "fuck tradition?! you went up north and got fucking screws loose. one of the originals is dead in a box, we gotta represent".

and seth was right. tradition was tradition, and dean wasn't going to forsake his leather because he felt a little uncomfortable. come to think of it, it wasn't so hot—it absolutely was hot— that he needed to have loose lips with complaining about.

your eyes roll. smiling still. "m'not nursing you when you collapse".

"anyways", a drip of mischief steeping in. deans arm hugging your shoulder into his side. "in the spirit of reunion, do i have permission to indulge in some thoughts and opinions?"

"i too would like to indulge". seth adds. grinning.

your head shakes in what dean knows to be a small gathering together of patience. "are said thoughts and opinions messy and reductive".

"...yes...maybe...", dean looking to seth for a quick temperature check of just how unruly their curiosities could be. "...i don't know".

you sigh. "go ahead". dean feeling the ever so slight tense up in your shoulders. because loads of time had past, since the last time any of the guys had seen you. and everyone would have their own little questions and curiosities. it was impossible to hide everything forever anyways. they were all as nosy as they were rowdy and dean only knew this because he was one of them, one of the guys.

seth breaks the tension. "you and cody?"

and you move quick. slipping from under deans arm. "absolutely not", trying to make it up the rest of the church steps.

"ohhh no no no no no", the guys giggling like children. dean bringing you back into his side. "absolutely yes".

"there's nothing going on-".

"because if so, it'd be cool y'know?", looking to seth for some teasing validation. "juggling both. some real TLC harem shit".

and the mixed deadpan-grimace you take is beautiful. fulfills the void of all that long standing separation thats been existent till now. it's like you'd never left. everything feeling good and whole.

"actually", seth adds. "i was reading, as most intelligent people do, and came up on this article about the fall of the postmodern monogamist nuclear family and the rise of polygamy... so yeah", seth feeling big in his little drop of whatever knowledge he thought that was. "nows the time for all that lovin you got sweetheart".

and God maybe you should've came home sooner. dean laughing in the most ironic of ways. a good from the belly sort of laugh he hasn't done in a while.

"you read?", he asks seth. words semi-genuine.

"first of all", seth immediately brimming vexed. "i'm well read and why do you do this? i try to flex a little intellectual prowess and you shit on it".

"ain't enough prowess in that mustard-fucking-seed brain thats worth an eighth of my shit".

seth scoffs. "oh cause your shits just so damn prestigious".

"thats right. premium shit. ask your mother".

"if i gotta ask then maybe it ain't that good brother".

dean toughs a chuckle. "anyways...", feeling loss of touch again and then he's pulling you back to stand between him and seth for more questioning. "...back to you".

your attention switching between dean and seth. words trying their damnedest to sound sure. "there is no me and cody. i do not want or care to have roman again. drop this please".

and deans never heard such a hard attempt at self-persuasion.

"for now", seth relents. "but it is good to see you. very good. i been gettin bored lately".

"a telenovela couldn't produce this much fuckin' mess, i'll tell you that much...but", dean pivots. throwing his hands up to surrender when your own hand swats his way. "...but...i agree. very happy to see you".

and the softening you take to isn't something dean has seen for quite awhile. this more than mild reversion, a silent change of language where your arms cross and cover over in what he thinks is an anxious grasping at safety. the degree of it showcasing a vulnerability that maybe once upon a time you wouldn't have dared let be so exposed.

"i'm hoping thats the general consensus", you let out.

seth hums short. sparing dean a glance through the tint of his shades. "one very big possible margin of error".

"maybe even two", dean adds. aware of the context.

"oh?", you give.

but before any true indulgence of your flight or fight, dean pulls you along up the church stairs. "you'll see. we'll walk you in".

your fingers squeeze over the thick set of his. thumb running in what feels like an aimless go at his skin. an attempt at quelling whatever anxieties threaten to fully undo you. dean squeezes back and slows the wide fast pace he's used to taking.

"me being here though, whats the temperature on that? ya'll aren't...."

"mad? no", dean settles. "you left. you’re back home. its all good".

you nod. matching now the width of their steps with a little more confidence.

"then again", seth teases. "we weren't exactly the ones fluffed out and madly in love with you".

and the fight you give not to smile is a comedy in of itself. that harsh fight against self-persuasion.

dean snorting. "speak for yourself seth. i was quite literally ready to marry you before i found out you were so goddamn untouchable".

you swat against dean's arm. a little more speed in your walking to get away from their teasing. "it wasn't like that with him".

"funerals make people delusional. so we'll let you live".

giana rarely feels threatened, with being the daughter of a silversmith and all, it affords her the luxury of patience. but this doesn't feel good. having to constantly maneuver strangers and their strange, too ancient to understand histories. maneuvering for him and for the willing give of his attention. said attention that lingered elsewhere. and giana doesn't mind the occasional funeral, but she doesn't particularly enjoy–not that its supposed to be a joyous occasion—bloodline funerals. they're busy, rowdy affairs. men covered from head to toe in black, draped in leather, and smelling of too much amber wood and tobacco. all of them too mournful to care about just how wild they could and would eventually be. and most of the women—mothers, sisters, nieces, long standing girlfriends and wives—seemed not to care. filled with too much indifference, so much so that they find delight sometimes in the way their men carry on. and amongst the crowd and energy of the room, giana settles, finally, within herself that it's all too much of everything she doesn't want. something that fails to coax her into a care that persuades her to delve deeper. but still she's patient for him. for roman and this easy, nameless situation she’s settled into with him.

and her oh so diligent thought to check the exits—the guys had penchants for sharp, abrupt turns into violence— leads her to roam into a wild fascination. this major pushing away of the goal post that flares her settled apathy to intrigue.

because roman's father never smiled so much so that it reached his eyes. and if he has, giana has never seen it. but he's smiling now. thick tinted shades done away with as he holds against the shoulders of a woman giana has never seen before. his hands embracing delicately, adoration sweetening the shine in his eyes as they both smile at one another. his mouth kissing her cheek.

and never until now has giana cared so much to understand. to want the silent force of such a great man to will itself upon her through adoration. of course she didn't need roman's father to love her, but never has he ever looked at her with more than anything other than something cordial and constrained. a diplomatic smile and head nod of acknowledgement.

from all corners of the room came upon this woman a full adornment of adoration. grievers making room in their well of emotions.

and maybe this purity of love is the appeal. the thing which giana has moved so quickly from to avoid.

but to some odd mixture of dismay and relief, roman stays unmoved.

roman grew up hearing the stories. fierce, scrappy remember when's and how it came to be's, like lullabies, if such soft tales were more vicious than virtuous. KG—God rest his soul— and his father. thick as thieves, his mother would tell him. the great street men of pensacola who birthed the bloodline. rubber against the heat of asphalt and a less than holy roar of harley davidson engines. and where ever they stepped the recognition followed. a bountiful hand off of respect, often wordless but pure in its spirit. it was something awe inspiring. a dream that seemed to roman to be more sure fated than not. because if his father was the king, than surely there would be a time of a great succeeding. the president's patch promised to the prince since his own making. and even from young, roman could feel it, see it. the coming into fruition of a future that was more fate than dream. and the grime of it just came so natural. the style and the dirty flare. how could it all not be his?

but with age came other things. other little complexities. off the road ambitions that lent themselves to less harsh, more ardent affairs. because KG didn't have sons. KG had a daughter. and the same feelings of promise he felt towards his father's legacy, he felt towards her. towards you. and here came a natural drawing in to one another, that grew steadily in it's own time. his commitment to childishness at fourteen and fifteen, turning on its head at sixteen. and soon all the stupid, petulant things didn't matter so much anymore, because all that mattered was the sweetening of your voice in his ears. persuasive and goading to his seventeen year old senses. and then came eighteen, nineteen and twenty. a man—because who would tell him he wasn't—with his own mind, his own way and his own bike, pensacola a playground made by his father for all his delights. races and bars and late night rides. KG's amused knowing stare and the heavy disapproval of your mother. by twenty one, you were his without ever having to say it.

lingering stares and touches, turning more sure by the second, till they became heavy and unmovable. a stain.

and that staining proved to be permanent. a deep etching that preserved itself in time. beyond the distance even. a hardening in his bones and over his heart till the beautiful youthful heat of it turned cold and grey.

a fettering he had started so long ago, unable to be released. and he sees that now, amongst this great show of love as people surround you to greet adoringly, that all this work to undo you, was just a lousy attempt at forgetting.

and that shit is vexing. filters the mourning in his spirit till all thats there is this silent flaring. anger. because how audacious were you really? to show your face after so many years? after breaking him so easily? your eyes uncovered and beautiful still, and your lips smiling, hugging his father. acting oh so humble.

romans jaw shifts. clenches hard before release. his eyes taken by a slight narrowing stare that only fixes itself at the meeting of it with his fathers. the joy in him battling against the irritation rife in romans bones. and it all feels so shitty and rotten. a heavy disturbance in his belly. he needs a drink or two even. something strong. an agent of forgetfulness, of numbing.

and of course with every bloodline funeral there is the draping over of a gray sky. moody and still and blanketing. the swell of bodies in the church filing out as the mourning family took to cars and the guys slowly step towards a heinously long row of motorcycles. but who would they be if the procession were not this heavy, dirty, roaring clash of engines along the streets. the show of it, the noise and the leather and the all black, it was just their way. tradition. something that—and even if it exhausted him—roman would hold to forever. because there was nothing else to know or live for aside from this. a life always dreamed of. and he'd honor it till he couldn't anymore. when others were carrying him in a casket to the cemetery.

roman takes his time getting to his dyna. surveying the buzz of energy. shades masking his eyes now as he watches jimmy, jey and naomi surround you almost covetously. his jaw clenching again. mounting with irritation. wanting that hard drink more by the second.

and he can smell the sweetness of giana's perfume. a wafting at his side, becoming closer and closer, that oddly eases the tension in his shoulders. and she, amongst everyone else, is none the wiser to such minute details. the deep understandings of such intertwined and complex histories totally evading her. roman figures now, with the way his vexation wells steadily, that she's better for it. saving him even from the not so efficient procedure of having to explain. because that in itself was a task with more surgical leaning qualities. he'd have to actually open himself up to the vulnerabilities of past circumstance. an in depth overview of just how deeply you'd severed yourself from him. and that, he absolutely wanted to avoid at all cost. even the possibility of it made his stomach drop.

a whiskey neat. yeah that would straighten him good.

"who is she?"

the curiosity, he finds odd. because giana was always so quick to maintain that she didn't care much for the inner workings of "whatever you got going on", as she'd say. but now the interest was written about her face clearly. and it was everything that roman did not want. he didn't want roundtable talks, twenty one questions and all about me discussions explaining the intricacies of past lives. he wanted the nameless, shapeless situation they'd always maintained. why the hell was she so curious now?

he turns to her. "be specific. we're at a funeral", clenching his jaw. and if not for the thick of his beard, she'd recognize it as such an obvious tell of his annoyance.

her head nods in your direction. "the woman your father seems to have so much love for".

"funerals make him sentimental. he can't help himself".

"if eye-fuckin her is all sentiment then neither can you".

roman unfolds the legs of his shades and rests them on cooly. this smooth slipping on of a cover to mask the surprise threatening to shine in his eyes. because to him, that poor heavy build of displeasure felt all palpable. this absolute etching into his face that could be readable to anyone who cared enough to look. but maybe his irritations then didnt appear as whole as they felt to him. he has yet to master the stoicism of his father, the same father who now has so suddenly forsaken his stoic disposition for absolute adoration. bringing on an obvious shift to the spirit of the day. really didnt need whatever giana was attempting to muster up.

he needs a drink. badly wants it actually.

"whatever you think it is, its not". releasing the neat knot in his hair as he palms his bike helmet. avoiding the bare over of giana's eyes. a patient burn in of brown he can feel in his skin. "shes a good friend of the family".

"ohhh", a sarcastic draw out. gianas arms folding over. "well if shes a good friend, then i got no choice but to play nice".

and roman cant help the snort that leaves him. the giana he met months ago, suddenly so different now. "stick to what you know gi. playin brazen ain't your game".

the sweet jasmine of her perfume overtaking the rainy scent of such an oddly mournful afternoon. easing further into him till her hands are holding his cheeks. thumbs running over freckles. a show of intimacy that neither satisfies or disappoints him. and maybe thats worse than feeling either of the extremes.

her lips kissing his. lingering before she releases him. "and playin clueless ain't yours".

roman mounts his bike. helmet fastening. he starts the engine and like some great call to action, the guys disperse from their little groupings in front the church to make way to their rides. this small army of all black, draped in leather.

he looks to giana. eyes hidden behind his shades and his face emulating the great impassiveness of his father. "we are what we are", this vague skating around of words. words that affirm the simplicity of their romantic situation. because thats what it is. "we're good". making no effort to look her way as he backs out of his space to lead the procession of bikes.

the first shot of whiskey is to wet his palate. the oh so simple taste of a familiar spiced burning. and the second shot is friendly. doesn't suffer him to grimace or grunt in that faithful way. settling in faster, easier, a fire on his tongue that steeps into his blood. the third take of whiskey warming his belly. a deep restraining. and then comes that odd form of clarity. all the overthought things, less overthought. the diligent fight that once existed, managing that complicated flow, because what were words and thoughts and feelings anyways? if not just the dregs of an already downed beer. useless idle remains. but still that foamy sludge lingered, like a thick film at the top of his drowning patience, refusing to go ignored. his tongue forsaking the whiskey for beer. cold and his palm clutching it for dear life. the heat of his body losing to the icy chill of the bottle. and he's losing everywhere. his presence waning amongst the energy of the clubhouse.

the guys mingling as they always did. heavy knocking bass from the speakers and the too loud boostings of laughter. whispers and clinking. bottles and shot glasses. the warm brown of creaky hardwood walls and the coarse gray of the floors. the leather couches swishing from the rise and fall of bodies. so many bodies. and the more he attempts to sip his beer while missing the dregs the more it foams over his mustache. the more he sinks into his seat, the louder the room gets. this sharp focus about him that can't be mitigated. the whiskey and the beer working in vicious tandem. whiskey makes him hot. molten lava flowing over with a threatening pace to reign amongst the fright of the people.

and he can do it if he likes. he can let the remains of him loose and reign amongst the people. forcibly siphon the energy since everything was so damn funny.

that laughter filling the air, where the joke is too funny. takes the attention too well, till the room has no choice but to yield. the twins were good at doing that. at coveting the attention innocently. and everyone always fell victim to it. it made for good times. for good memories. but that was the problem.

all this strolling down into remember when's made roman's belly ache. a nagging twist too hot to ignore.

"and you know the type of guy i am. im approachin ole girl all gentlemanly n'shit. finesse game on damn near a thousand".

whiskey makes roman hot. makes his blood wreathe with what feels like anger. and maybe thats why he doesn't drink the stiffer stuff too much.

"next thing i know, we back at her's and im in it, like in it. neighbors know my government type shit. and then BOOM the damn front door opens. it's her HUSBAND UCE!", jey grabbing a too-drunk seth's shoulder.

and roman can feel the damp way his skin grows. leather burdening his shoulders.

"i swear my lil nineteen year old ass was shook. damn near was peeing on myself hiding in that closet. i ain't know nothing about being the other dude. i was tryna get out of there".

"fuckin' with cougars had ya ass shook, hidin in closets, danglin out of windows and shit, tryna escape", jimmy quips. laughing and sipping at his cup.

and with every new height of laughter, comes this deeper sinking in of whatever heaviness that's making roman suffer. because it was too much to simply call it anger. anger never consuming him so wholly.

"but the SAVE uce, the save!", jey's arm throwing around your shoulder till you were tucking under him. hugged into his side. "my sis came in clutch. rolled up quick with that lil cutlass ciera and saved my ass".

the mirth in your eyes, crinkling at the corners as these little delicate laughs escape you. it makes him fume. the ease you've taken, returning back into the fold so seamless. aided by the love and longing of so many who seem to have forgotten just how shitty it was. a sudden departure. this tearing away that never really mended. like the raw splitting of skin, together again but gruesomely scared. the pain that came with such a nasty tattering felt still. felt when it was quiet and when it rained. when he drank too much whiskey and when the foamy dregs of beer stuck annoyingly to his lips. and then comes this accidental meeting. the linking of your gazes and it stutters the beating in his chest. an arresting that feeds the fire. because how does such power still exist? a potency that makes his stomach lurch.

your eyes are soft. hesitant. scared. and none of it satisfies him. none of it fixes the wrongness twisting in him. and even when he wins, watching you rip away to look else where, the triumph in victory forsakes him.

your lips sipping on a drink. something mixed he's sure. because things haven't changed so much that the way you take your alcohol completely evades him. but nothing ever really gets past roman. not much. definitely not cody and his eyes. the small slipping smile of his lips and the linger of his hand on your shoulder. flanking your side like he's been ordered to protect you. but it's not new. cody's always been servile. ready to perform for you. and maybe, just maybe he can't help it. maybe its the history roaming in cody's veins, an inherited drive to see to it that you were ok. the same way dusty did for KG. because dusty was the protector. the slightly older man. KG's slightly older "brother". but cody was different because he lingered. his eyes and his touch. just long enough for roman to notice. and never has it bothered him so much till now.

the whiskey making him hot still. not so much his skin anymore—though yes he was a little warm—but the vexing in his blood. and no it was not the agent of forgetfulness he needed it to be. it numbed nothing. mitigated nothing.

and when you slip away from this reminiscing cluster of laughter and leather, he has all the mind to follow you. because the gall of it all steadily amasses the heat of his anger. that desire to siphon the energy pushing deeper until it begins to solder to his bones. a dense take to his will. because how can you be so comfortable with yourself in his presence, that such maneuvers have no hesitation? no second guessing? and then to make him watch your fit of smiles with another man. their has to be another word other than hot to describe the blaze in him. the overflow of vexation. but either way cordiality is for the fucking birds.

roman stands, and with it everything follows. eyes and a swelling anticipation. waning laughter and the slow drift away of mouths telling old memories.

seth shifts. suddenly more sober than he's been for hours. aggressively clearing his throat to lessen the torture of such an abrupt silence.

dean just stares. sips from his beer and holds his eyes over roman. and if not for the drowning of whiskey and beer, roman would run rife with appreciation for such a sharp attentiveness.

and cody. oh cody. never too hard to read. his thumb fidgeting over his knuckles. restless but ready.

roman crosses the floor, stepping closer till his shoulder checks cody's. a stiff leather against leather. something petulant and liquor inspired.

the noise of the clubhouse back to its former glory as roman disappears down a long wide hallway. slow measured steps as he feigns for stability. and of course it'd take more whiskey to have him completely stumble, but the additive of the fire in his blood makes things all the more unusual. and this push to seem alright, unaffected, only reinforces the opposite. makes his steps heavy and the pounding in his chest thunder.

and when he gets to you, the unrelenting need to be vicious overtakes him. nearly threatens him to illness if he fails. and maybe thats just the anger again. the pensacola heat and the whiskey and the hurt.

the wide hallway is small somehow. feels taken up. by warm subtle perfume smelling of autumn and far away ancient things. hugs and summer morning whispered i love you's. soft eyes and softer fingers. in his hair and over the steady growing muscles of his shoulders. because memories aren't just in words, this tedious coming together of letters and syllables, it's the time of day, scars left by long healed bruises and perfumes. its the old, overwrought beating in his pulse. uneven breaths and shy lingering eyes. and here the rushing back is quick. like whiplash. and the idea that such a thing has to rush back to him, cross over to close such a wide distance, is the source of such deeply rooted anger.

it is the second coming back of everything lost.

fuck being cordial.

a framed photo sits in your hand. your thumb brushing over the old wood of it. the wide long hallway filled with doors that lead to small bedrooms and framed photos. because the clubhouse for many, was always like an actual house. a place to stay, to be, when no where else was available. like a home for family.

you hang it back up, turning to look at another. wistfulness in your eyes. it makes his jaw clench. thick arms folding over his chest. feigning still for stability.

"s'nothin in here that's changed", you give. a too short olive branch. the pretty shape of your eyes taking to a widely framed photo. you and KG, smiling under the harsh beam of the sun. posing cooly next to his custom harley soft-tail.

romans heart skips. your voice sinking sweetly to mix among the welling over of his pain turned anger.

"that's usually what happens when things go untouched".

and it comes in, as you finally turn to face him, this storming chant. fuck being cordial. fuck it. whiskey inspired and sounding so right. amongst the muffled droning of too drunk bikers and the easy mean speak of his own thoughts, your eyes take him in. a meticulous working over, as if to reaffirm your memory. and he does the same. your body done up in traditional bloodline funeral attire. black boots, black denim, black leather and silver jewelry. your hair so different from the last time he'd seen you but your face the same. everything of your father except your eyes. those being all your mother. eyes that always seemed so close and far away. leaving him doubtful and chasing. always in attempt to settle them. to remedy the faraway look of them with something satisfying.

back then, all those years ago, he only ever wanted to satisfy you.

being amicable? yeah. no.

"he talked about you a lot before he passed", he starts. inching closer, step by step, till he's close enough to smell your perfume in full. the same scent you've worn since you were sixteen. nostalgia working to run rife in him, his displeasure working deeper. "little soliloquies n'shit. said he was happy he had you, cause if he had sons, they'd be too much like him. too fixed into everything. too stuck in the life. too loyal".

the glazing over of your eyes shine under the warm hallway light. lazily going about his face. that drink you'd had filled with whatever before definitely not your first.

"you're saying this because?" voice edged with hesitancy. guarded.

"i don't know really", his back leaning away to rest against an empty spot on the wall. "i guess i just realized how wrong he was, and KG was always right about shit but that? very very wrong". his lips smiling malicious. head tilting. "m'sure all that heartbreak and disappointment, getting abandoned. the way it was eating away at him, he wouldn't have gotten that with a son".

you laugh. something mirthless and corrosive. biting into the air the way it fills up the hallway to taunt him.

"sika's little baby bird couldn't have his chance out the nest", your mouth smiling with teeth. a mean sort of amusement taking your eyes as you meet him. "jealousy never did look good on you. it makes you whiny. needy. like a child, and it's boring", you chuckle. rolling tipsy eyes. "for the first time in a while i'm seeing you and already the argumentative shit is boring me".

"oh?", his back pushing off the wall. eyes baring down. a mirthless smile slipping in to mirror yours. "did it get a little to real for you? is the ride down memory lane not fun enough anymore?" his breathing deep. brows pulling together and his jaw goes to clench. "yeah... all that nostalgia is a bitch ain't it? just a whole bunch of bullshit sentiment and remember whens". and whether it is the draw of your scent—your presence—or the rushing of his ego he does not know, but the space even in such a wide hallway grows minimal. the whiskey on his tongue washing over just as the tequila on yours does the same. sharing angry breaths. "you got them boys reelin, fallin all over you, all wistful and simpy and shit. what'd you do to cody to make him go all puppy eyed? you fuck him finally?"

"you should know better than anyone, cause i never needed to fuck you to make you care", and the stinging there is deep. cruel and gut twisting. "yeah no, you got all simpy and shit on your own".

a few inches closer. if he were inches closer he'd be able to feel your lips. his eyes lingering over them. desire and pain gathering themselves to war. "you got him placeholdin. doing him the same way you did me".

"the same way you doing her".

and till now he'd forgotten about giana. her suspicions and her questions. her sudden doing away with of that apathy he found so faithful and easy to enjoy.

because of you. everything always for him. because of you.

"he's always been a little soft for you", roman smiling. "but cody is smart. your m.o. ain't hard to pick up".

"i'd love to know what you think that is".

"i don't even think its something you can help. it's just in you. hereditary shit. just like your moth-"

a breath toughing out. "watch. yourself".

"you leave. thats what you do. you leave".

and here there is no triumph in victory either. not when your eyes well, nor when you step away from him to leave the hallway. the twisting in his gut tightens and the whiskey soaking his blood is graceless. makes all the attempts at stability a failure . his back against the wall again. feeling ill and incomplete.

Oof… that was a-lot lol. roman being a dick unfortunately, but his tune will change eventually. let me know what you think!

41 notes · View notes

imaginethathaikyuu · 11 months

Note

HELLO! i’m back after reading everything for part 1 a few days ago. the first thing that came to mind was how it did NOT feel like 8K words, and none of the scenes felt wasted in any way. when reader brought yachi along i was surprised to see how you eased her into the team, and i think her skill to bullshit as a scammer was something reader thought could help them? i don’t think she actively tried to recruit yachi, but when yachi tagged along reader was probably not just thinking of her plan to teach yachi a lesson but also 5-steps ahead—hence why she was so casual in stuffing yachi into a role to entertain Ten. and also, the fact that akaashi looked extremely angry at the beginning but he softens so much at the middle only to harden at the end??? i think it’s because he doesn’t approve of reader’s methods to teach yachi?? he did say that one time while they were talking. i’m so intrigued how the “fake dating” will sprout, because we can see clearly that it’s obviously not fake. although keiji doesn’t want to settle with reader, he was the one who initiated intimacy in the warehouse even though no one was watching, aka there was no need for him to even act intimate. i’m betting on that scene alone that keiji does have real feelings for reader, but why he doesn’t want to settle…. idk. i’ll have to read and find out!

and as for other things (about keiji and reader), the fact that they quarrelled and act like enemies the next day when they were all mushy was soooo funny, and leading to the old lady telling the tale…. THAT CLIFFHANGER! and also, i know u probably don’t mean it to be funny but reading “2 body guards—one buff and one scrawny” is such a visual irony i laughed. and also, the whole scene with Ten… what inspired the flow of events? it felt so legitimate like you were actually in a con job. and also, with reader working with such high profile…… wow. wonder who she’s working for. she seems like the leader of the team but the story did mention she had to join while as clueless as yachi—i wonder how she rose to her current position!!!

love the series :) thanks for writing it. this was mostly a mind ramble and i didn’t backtrack to edit so i’m sorry if some parts don’t make sense. — keiji enthusiast anon (kea)

ahhhhh!!!! thank u so much!!!!! im sorry its taken me a few days to reply i was just so excited about this ask and had to sit down and take time to reply well enough!!!! right after reading this ask i literally immediately went and wrote an entire scene for part 2 like u dont even understand how energizing it was. like i love u sm fr

i'm so glad u liked it :')) i worked so very hard on this part and had so much trouble with the flow of it all so im glad u thought it was good!!! more information about yachi will be revealed in part 3:)) lets just say reader may have been causing trouble for yachi far longer than yachi thought o_O but this definitely wasn't a recruitment plan in the way it happened to work out, but reader is very good at changing plans last minute. when yachi begged her for a ticket to LA i think it softened her heart a little bit lmao

akaashi and reader literally feel SO strongly for each other but it can either manifest in gross icky lovesickness or insane burning hatred. like theres no in between for them. its ALL or NOTHING!!! and i go into that a lot in the next part. part 2 is very very different from part 1, but its my all time favorite, i love it so much and i cant wait to post it so all the secrets can be revealed<333 i wish i could just say everything now but that would be no fun!!!

also idk how obvious it was but the two body guards were bokuto and kudo :) idk why Ten would hire kudo as a body guard like hes a fifty something 5'5 stickbug but hes also very convincing idk man

ALL the background info on reader is revealed in the next part....as well as on akaashi....and the start of this team in the first place... i mean ALL!!! its so fun to write u dont even know

i got a lot of inspo right from The Great Pretender!! i took ideas from it and twisted them around to fit this fic in a concise way. in the first few episodes they pull a drug scam against a movie director with japanese candies and fake doctors and lots of guns, it lasts like multiple episodes, and i just took that idea and made it a lot shorter and less detailed so itd work here lmao. i think thats the only direct scam i pulled from the show so far? i may take one or two more for part 3, but yeah thats where the inspo came from!! it was very difficult because i am not a con artist but i tried my best lol!!

thank u so much for the amazing ask it really does mean so much to me that u took the time to read it AND tell me ur thoughts on it, it brings me so much joy and makes me that much more excited to keep writing. feedback is the only thing that feeds writers!!! so thank u for feeding me so well!!!!!

#muah #kiss kiss #kea anon

0 notes

sleighhethereal · 3 months

Text

• so like

• the little ones around the mountain would get groomed by Wukong atleast once a month.

• it's just, the sight of it getting into their eyes really bothers the shit outta him.

• because we all know Wukong takes care of himself, such as; shaving his eyebrows, managing his fur, probably does skincare like cucumbers over his eyes and putting vaseline over his lips.

• so he'd make schedules for each little monkey and groom them.

• but

• the little guys hate it, they hate it so much.

• Wukong would struggle so much cutting their long fur, since the little ones would squirm really hard and he had to buy a little muzzle so they wouldn't bite him.

"Just a little— hey, heY! No biting, be grateful! You hafta look up just to see a goddamn flower!"

• Wukong always feels bad doing it because the little ones would whine like they were crying, but like— he barely touched them, so he doesn't know what to feel.

• here comes you, saving the day, because he asked you for help— promising to just fetch you via cloud.

• the plan was simple, you'd hold them while he snips at their long hairs.

• you once asked him why couldn't he just summon like ten of his monkey clones to assist him, but he'd always make up some excuse like..

"I mean, you're already here and my head hurts, ya know? Using my power just drains me, you don't want to see me in pain, do you?"

• gives you the sparkly-eyes like a wet dog

• he just wants to spend time with you but he'd never say it seriously.

• it was actually funny seeing him scold the monkeys for moving too much, or threatening to bite him.

• you'd hum the little ones silly little Disney songs or random lullabies to distract them from the razor's buzzing, since that seemed to stress them out, causing them to struggle.

• it was fun, just the two of you hanging out.

• when you guys were done after a few days, Wukong would build up courage to ask you out on a few outings... dates, if you wanna call them that.

• all perfect until Macaque decided to join for no damn reason.

• i mean, there is a reason, Macaque wants you too.

• Macaque would accidentally push Wukong into one of his shadow portals and offer his help to you.

"OH MY GODS, MACAQUE!"

"What? He's fine, he's many times immortal. He needs exercise every now and then. Enough about him, did you miss me?"

• he'd say it so sweetly as Wukong would zip back to his mountain, wet and angry because Macaque just dumped his ass into the ocean.

• that piece of shit. Macaque knows what he's doing.

• he never knew why but the little ones are always much more calmer with Macaque.

• they'd barely move and sometimes they'd fucking fall asleep.

• you didn't even need to do anything.

"Just sit still and look pretty. Now tell me, baby, how was your day?"

• fuming Wukong

• Wukong would just pout and grumble as he watched you and Macaque converse, hearing Macaque's little hidden insults about him- but you didn't know.

• they'd fist-fight when you leave, yelling and throwing insult here and there. they'd never fight in front of you, atleast not physically.

• would pinch and poke each others sides while you weren't looking, lightning struck inbetween their eyes as they fought for your attention.

• at the end of the day, they'd definitely work together to make you happy— but that doesn't magically make them get along, no.

#lego monkie kid #lego monkie king #lego macaque #lego wukong #lmk x reader #lego monkie kid sun wukong #sun wukong #sun wukong x reader #sun wukong x y/n #monkie kid macaque #lmk macaque #six eared macaque #macaque #liu er mihou #macaque x reader #macaque x y/n #grown ass monkeys fighting over you #you know this but dont do anything #because its funny watching them quarrel

547 notes · View notes

deantvlove2018 · 2 years

Text

DEAN TV LOVE VI: EPISODE 2️⃣0️⃣:TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY EIGHT

Hi and welcome to another episode of Dean Tv love six, episode twenty on the twenty seventh of May twenty twenty two. Only four days left in May, the summer months are coming. The weather will be hot and everybody will do the same thing like they always do. As for me I’ll be busy doing my series and not get into any situations or getting into any broil. Broil means having a quarrel with somebody. Now lets get to the twentieth episode, the three presenters. Kaden, Alec and Zara arrived at the power station, they are not at the o two arena this time. “Hi welcome to Dean Tv love six, this is episode twenty” said Alec. “Thirty episodes to go” said Zara. “This is the two hundred and sixty eighth of the series” said Kaden. “Really?” Asked Zara. “Yes it is and it is special” said Alec. “Why is it special?” Asked Kaden. “I’ll fill you in on that on one” said the guru. He explains that there will be two stories in one episode. “Oh two stories in one” said Zara. “Well let’s see it” said Alec. The episode begins with the first story. Titled Dean and Louise in black scissors the z generation, Dean and Louise are guest stars in one episode of Black scissors the z generation. When Dean and Louise spend some time with the z generation cast. “This place is huge” said Louise. “Yeah reminds me of my secondary school” said Dean. “Where is the stairs?” Asked Louise. “There is no stairs, this place is like a bungalow” said Dean. Ross laughed. “What’s so funny Ross?” Asked Mia. Dean and Louise looked at Mia and Ross. “I was laughing at the video” said Ross. “What video?” Asked Mia. Ross showed it to her. A man banging on the table. “Sorry force of habit” said the man. Ross and Mia laughed. “Hey that’s the same video I was watching” said Dean. “You watched videos Dean?” Asked Ross. Dean nodded. Then one day the others entered the building talking so loud, Marco, Roy and Ricky went into the room. One of them were a holding a basketball ball. “That was cool, no wonder why you did a slam dunk” said Roy. “I have learning” said Marco. “Learning it from a professional” said Ricky. Roy started bouncing the ball. “Hey no ball games inside remember?” Asked Mia. “Don’t tell him what to do” said Marco. Louise looked at them. “Uh oh they are going to bicker” said Louise. “That’s because they are teenagers” said Dean. Until one day Cassie entered the room screaming and crying. “What happened Cassie?” Asked Dean. “There is a strange person with a mask and he is going after me” said Cassie. “I wonder who did can be?” Asked Louise. “It’s the phantom” said Dean. The phantom arrived inside. Dean warns them not to let the phantom touch them, if he does then one of them might disappear. “Get your beans out” said Mia. “Baked beans?” Asked Ross. “No these ones” said Louise. They all throw beans at the phantom. The phantom left the building. They all cheered, Cassie calmed down. “He’s gone now Cassie” said Mia. Later that day everyone had ice cream.

That’s the first story and now time for the next story.

Second story is Darren and Tyrone in video game yeehaw. The story begins inside the mansion. In the games room, playing video games. actually one game, it is an old game that came out in nineteen ninety seven. Dean’s adventure II for the Dean drive. “Dean used to play this game when he was seven” said Darren. “Yes I know and it is good” said Tyrone. “Who is the other character?” Asked Darren. “I don’t know, think its Sydney” said Tyrone. They checked out all the Dean adventure games, in the fourth one Dean is on his own. But the twins liked the second one cos of two player. They all completed the game in two player mode. Dean came into the room to see how they are getting on. Louise too. “Still playing that old video game” said Louise. “Yeah if these games get recycled, they might become new ones with us in it” said Dean. The episode ends and the audience clapped. “Wow two stories into one episode, very nice” said Zara. “Yeah that Dean adventures game, I use to play it back in the two thousands” said Kaden. Kaden went to play the game. “Well that’s episode twenty, tune in for episode twenty one next week. Bye for now” said Alec.

End of episode twenty

1:30:41.84

#dean tv love 6

0 notes

rwrights · 3 years

Text

WE'LL BE OKAY - NAT.

summary : nat and you never got along. reasons still unknown, but it was affecting the whole team. steve assigns you both to a mission, with natasha acting harshly. she said something to you before heading off. she got in your head and the aftermath wasn't so pretty.

contents : angst (??) / fluff

warnings : mentions of blood, guns, bullying, cursing and just occasional marvel fight scenes.

NOT PROOFREAD. a/n : my first fic aaaahhh !! i was inspired by a lot of similar fics like this, but mostly by this WANDA FIC WRITTEN BY @/maximons - i suggest you give it a read BCS ITS SO GOOD ARRGH <3

you don’t know how the feud started between you and natasha. you couldn’t tell if it was because of your age or because you were new.

you had quite an age gap with the former assassin, being a striking 24 years old, but according to the russian - you might as well have been 12 years of age.

unlike most of the avengers, you had a decent childhood. it wasn’t filled with trauma, and death, and basically what some of them unfortunately went through. you grew up in the suburbs with your mum and two older siblings. you got all the toys you wanted and everyone loved you! because of that, you were always polite and cheery - it’s what made people like you. you were funny and usually managed to put a smile on people faces ; usually.

natasha found your positivity irking and unnatural. how could someone be so, happy? she felt as if you were shitting rainbows down her throat, and god, did she hate it. how could someone like you even have the guts to be an avenger?

she enjoyed picking fights with you out of nowhere, and as fun as it was at first - the hostility only progressed and became a disruption to the whole team, including you. you tried your best to really become friends with natasha - or at least be civil with her. but the more effort you made, the worse she treated you. all you wanted to do was make it a little easier for the team, you all have enough crap to put up with and the quarreling between the both of you was definitely not needed.

─── donk.

“nat! y/n! conference room one, now!” steve’s loud voice called out through the speakers placed throughout the compound.

you set your book aside before running down to the conference room as you were told. you walked passed natasha, already giving you a sharp glare from afar. she adjusted her speed and basically ran to where away from you. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her as you trailed behind.

you entered the room, greeting everyone politely before sitting down next to wanda, who saved a space for you.

“alright, now that we’re all here..” cap began, walking around the table where you were all sat. “we’ve got a mission for two of you,”

“did you call us here to compete for it? because i am so getting this mission.” natasha stated, pointing at everyone as if she was threatening them. “uh, no.. not exactly. we’ve already assigned the mission to two of you..”

“who?” she asked, wanting to leave the compound immediately and get some action (not the peepee way).

“you and y/n,”

hearing your name, you just froze. you couldn’t help but stare at steve as if he was out of his mind.

“what?!” natasha squeaked. “i’m sorry, but there is no way i’m going with her. it’s probably best if i go on my own!”

“that’s just mean..” you replied quietly, in your seat. you weren’t in the mood to argue, so you tried to contribute as little as possible into this conversation. “cap, if natasha doesn’t want to do the mission with me, i’m totally fine with sitting this one out.”

“oh, don’t suck up and use your y/n reverse psychology on this. it’s not gonna work,” she spat, obviously mad about the whole situation. “nat, i’m being serious. i know how much you’ve been dying to go out, so please. just take it.”

“no, y/n, you’re going with nat. we’ve decided this already.” steve stepped in, trying his best to set his foot down. “steve, i think you know this isn’t going to happen.” natasha glared.

“you either go together or y/n takes someone else.”

“steve! i swear i’m fine!” you argued, seeing how natasha’s ears were practically steaming from anger. “i-”

“no, you know what? fine. enjoy your mission, y/l/n.” she growled as she stormed out of the room. you couldn’t do anything but watch as she slammed the door shut. as much as you wanted to chase after her, you and everyone else in the room knew you’d probably make the situation a thousand times worse for natasha. you sighed and slammed your head on the table in exhaustion.

“we’re sorry, y/n. we thought her need for a mission would make her say yes even with the partnership.” bucky said from the other side of the room. your head shot up almost as quickly as you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“we thought sending you two on a mission together could… make the arguing stop - even by a little.” steve explained, sighing. you laughed at them, did they really think that would work? did they know the obstacles you went through to try to get on her good side? your first few weeks were HELL because of it.

“it’s alright.. clint? what do ya say?”

“always up for a mission, y/l/n.” he smiled, giving you a fistbump.

─── donk.

clint knocked on natasha’s door after the meeting. “nat? it’s me,” he called, nat opening the door a few seconds after.

“can you believe them? they know how much i dislike her and they’d send me on a mission with her? Bozhe mo! (oh my god!)”

“nat, y/n is awesome. it’s been months, it’s getting tiring.”

“oh, please. it took forever to get any of you guys to trust me. doesn’t mean it has to be the same with her.”

“nat, she’s a kid!”

“ugh, don’t say it like that. it makes my thoughts uneasy..” nat replied, mock-gagging. clint glared at her as he playfully shoved her. “you’re so stupid.”

“and oh, i’m going on the mission with her.”

“wait what?! but you’re my best friend, why would you take it!” she exclaimed. “i never say no to a mission, nat. you and i both know that. i thought you did, too.”

“i would’ve taken it, but.. no! i’m not losing this fight.” she huffed as she fell on the bed. “turn the tv on, i need to distract myself.”

he did as he was told and decided to stay and watch with her until dinner.

─── donk.

it was the day of your mission and you were making your way to the hangar. to your surprise, you saw natasha waiting there. you smiled at her only to receive another sharp glare. yeah, what a surprise. you looked away and decided to wait for clint.

not long after he arrived and said his goodbyes to natasha, just as you were going to aboard the ship, she grabbed your wrist and whispered in your ear.

“you’re gonna trip and get yourself shot, y/l/n.”

“what the hell? i’ve barely left and you’re already telling me i’m gonna fuck up?” you retorted, angrily. you weren’t in the right state to panic or stress. especially not before you were leaving. “have fun, y/n.” she smiled, dripping in faux kindness.

you followed clint onto the ship and couldn’t help but shake in fear. great, now you were worried. you didn’t want to fuck up. you weren’t planning to.

“you’ll be okay, y/l/n. i’ve got your back.” clint reassured, seeing the panic clouding on your face.

“thank you..” you mumbled, but natasha’s words never left your head.

─── donk.

“something seems off, clint.” you whispered, looking around and keeping your guard up. “i agree, y/l/n. it’s too quiet.. too easy.” he replied.

just as you were going to reply, someone charged at you from behind, getting a hold of your throat. by instinct, you kicked his shin and flipped him around. “clint!” you called out as you knocked your attacker out.

suddenly, groups of people were coming towards you - fully armed. “clint!” you screamed, pulling your gun out and shooting as many of them as you could. “shit!”

“y/n, it’s a trap!” clint finally replied, making you roll your eyes as you threw your fist at a guy’s temple. “yes, clint, i’m aware!”

“keep your guard up, y/l/n. you can do this!”

“there’s-” kick. “too many-” elbow. “of them!” shoot.

“try to hold out for as long as possible! i’m on my way,”

you looked up to see more men charging at you. “ah fuck,”

you grabbed one of the guns from the guys you managed to knock out and aimed. “clint, i can shoot right?” you asked for permission, not knowing if you were supposed to kill them or just simply knock them out.

“yes, y/n. you can shoot.”

“thank you!”

you silently thanked god for the gun you chose and started shooting at the guards. you quickly threw it away as they ran out of bullets and grabbed two pistols and continued to run and shoot away.

as you focused on getting a certain guard, one of them slid under you, quite literally slipping you off your feet - probably making you twist your ankle, giving one of them an opportunity to get a clean shot of your thigh.

the bullet went through your thigh, making you scream in pain. “fuck!” you shot back at him immediately and slid up onto the wall.

well great, another thing natasha was right about.

“y/n?!” clint called, hearing you scream. the worry in his voice was evident, it managed to make you smile for a second until you dodged another bullet.

“i’m okay!”

no, you weren’t. you could barely stand with your fucked up ankle and the hole in your thigh, but you continued to shoot and fight.

“just.. hurry up, please!”

you used your bad leg to kick a guy down and use him as a ledge. you cursed as you ran out of bullets. there were guns scattered across the floor, thanks to you. you just grabbed the nearest ones and looked back up.

as quickly as you did, a shot went through your shoulder and your abdomen. “gah fuck!” you collapsed on the floor as you tried to control the bleeding. you got up for a second to shoot back at the closest people and went back down. “clint, hurry up!” the pain was too much, the bleeding wouldn’t stop and your ankle looked like a fucking bean. you started to get nauseous, but tried your best to stay up.

“i’m here!” he yelled as he aimed at a few people in front of him. he ran towards you, finally seeing your state. “oh my god!” he kneeled down, putting pressure on your wounds to help with the bleeding, but the blood just kept seeping through “you just said you were okay, idiot!”

“i know, i didn’t want to worry you..” you mumbled. “no, no! y/n, you have to stay awake. come on!” he picked you up and started running away to go back to the ship. “you’re okay, y/n. tell me you’re okay right now.”

“i’m okay.. i’m okay, clint.”

“yeah, yeah, you are.”

you tried making it to the ship, but you were already so tired. “i’m gonna nap, clint..” you said before passing out.

─── donk.

clint alerted steve about you right when you passed out. they were rushing you out to the med bay to perform surgery on your injuries.

“she told me she was okay, steve. i thought she was okay!” clint screamed, he blamed himself for what happened to you. only if he arrived a few seconds before. you wouldn’t have been in the situation you’re in now.

“no, no. this isn’t your fault. neither is it hers, it happens, okay? we put ourselves at risk every time we step out of here. y/n was brave, alright?

wanda rushed down to the medbay, reaching for the door before pulling her back. “wanda, we have to let dr cho do her job right now. she’ll be okay.. y/n will be okay.”

she cried into steve’s shoulder - her best friend was being operated on. you were being operated on! the thought of you getting hurt never crossed her mind because she knew you were strong.

the team soon heard about the incident and let their worries out, obviously caring about you. natasha was confused about the whole hassle.

“vision!” she called out. he turned around and walked towards natasha. “how may i help you?”

“what’s the hassle about? everyone keeps whispering,”

“mr barton and ms y/l/n have returned from their mission, but ms y/l/n has suffered some major injuries and has been in surgery for about an hour now-”

hearing that, she sped to the medbay, thanking vision quickly. she saw wanda, steve and clint waiting around. “no, no, where is she?!” she yelled, making the three of them look at her in shock. “she’s still in-”

she tried running into the room like wanda did, getting pulled back by steve. “natasha, we have to let dr. cho do her job.”

“i need to see her!” she exclaimed, not being able to breathe. “what happened to her? what major injuries?!” she demanded.

“broken ankle, shot through her thigh, shoulder and abdomen..” clint recited, looking down at his feet. “where were you!? how could you let this happen?!” she roared, genuinely shocking them.

why did she suddenly care about you? well, yes, you suffered major injuries, but why was she getting mad?

“natasha! enough!” steve scolded. “this isn’t clint’s fault, and you know it.” he said, sternly. she didn’t reply as she panted. wanda held her hand as support, needing it for herself as well.

─── donk.

an hour later, dr. cho finally walked out of the room. everyone stood up in eagerness.

“is she okay?” steve asked, immediately.

“y/n suffered major blood loss, but we are lucky none of the three bullets hit any major arteries. she has also quite definitely broken her ankle, so i’m putting her on bedrest for at least 6 weeks until you get her up and going again.”

“main point, yes. y/n is okay.”

a smile broke out in all of their faces. “thank you, doc!”

“you may see her now, but she hasn’t woken up yet. don’t be too loud.”

they all walked into your room and stood beside your bed. “she looks so peaceful,”

“she definitely looks better right now than earlier,” clint joked, earning a soft laugh from the three of them. they stood by you for a while until natasha spoke up.

“um.. could- could i be the one who stays with her until she wakes up?”

they looked at the red head in surprise, “are you sure, nat?” steve asked.

“yeah.. i just want to be here.”

“alright,” they smiled softly at her before leaving.

she held your hand and stayed with you, waiting for you to wake up. it took for a while so she managed to fall asleep, holding your hand.

you slowly started coming back, groaning from the late pain you experienced. natasha jumped in shock and saw that you were awake.

“you’re awake!” she whispered, making you turn to her. “natasha? what’s happening?”

“you passed out during your mission. i know i told you you’d slip and get shot.. but i didn’t actually mean slip and get shot, idiot!” she scolded, flicking your forehead. “gah! it was an accident, i was doing fine,”

“no, you have three holes in your body. and not the good ones,”

“nat??” you replied, shocked. “did you just joke around with me?”

“no..”

“you’re holding my hand.. what did they bribe you with?” you asked, quickly getting suspicious. you tried pulling your hand away, but she only held onto you tighter. “nothing! i.. i volunteered. ask steve and wanda! and clint!” she replied, defending herself quickly.

“well, if you volunteered.. what do you want from me? i’m not gonna be leaving the compound for at least 2 months, so you can have all my missions-”

“no, y/n. truthfully, i just really want to apologize.”

“huh”

“i know i’ve made your first few weeks really hard and even after being here for months, i still managed to.. you know.. make it hard for you. in full honesty, i genuinely don’t know why i’ve been so horrible to you. i had a hard time opening up to people - and.. you were just so welcoming and i got scared. not an excuse for my actions, by the way! i was horrible and i’m so sorry.”

“thank you for your apology, i forgive you, nat.” you smiled, squeezing her hand. “i also.. have feelings for you.” natasha added, avoiding eye-contact with you. “you whAT?!”

“i-”

“i like you too! but are- are you serious?”

“yes, y/n… i like you. guess that’s why i was so defensive about.. literally everything.”

“nat.. thank you. for opening up to me. it genuinely means so much - especially after all this fucking time, you asshole.”

“are we okay now?” she asked, hopeful.

“yes, nat. we’re okay.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x reader #avengers au #marvel #black widow x reader #black widow

217 notes · View notes

fluffbyday-smutbynight · 3 years

Text

~ The Dads Are Alright ~

[a ficlet inspired by a prompt by @astudyinstupidity] [also on AO3]

It’s quite impressive to see Rosie this excited, this early in the morning. The same Rosie who, on any normal day, hogs their bed until late and has to be bribed into getting up with the promise of pancakes.

“Papa! It hurrrts!”

She scrunches her face and gets away from Sherlock, who was just adjusting her pigtails. “Oh. Sorry”, he mutters, but she can’t hear him anymore - she’s already running around the flat like a little bolt of energy.

Sherlock flops into his chair and exhales, undoes the first button of his shirt (then changes his mind and buttons it up again), restlessly taps his fingers on the armrest. He considers coming up with a sudden, unpredictable illness - which wouldn’t be that hard to fake, to be fair - when John comes out of the loo and into the sitting room.

“Ready?”

Rosie lets out a screeching “Yeeeeah!” and sprints towards him, ending with a pirouette that makes her skirt fan out. She’s so cute in her new uniform, a red sweatshirt with the school emblem embroidered in white; Sherlock can’t appreciate it in due manner, right now, though.

“Well, then. Let’s go?” John lifts his gaze and finally sees him, no doubt diagnosing him on the spot. Pale, tense, his forehead beaded with sweat: Sherlock is either on the verge of vomiting or - in layman’s terms - scared shitless.

“Sherlock?” John can’t hide his worry, and Rosie must sense it, because she turns around to him, too.

“Papa?”

Sherlock forces himself to regain some composure.

“Papa is... alright, dear Watson. Come here.” She climbs on his knees, and he clutches at her like a kid to his comfort blanket.

John sighs and sits on his chair, a questioning look worth a thousand words on his face.

Sherlock has to speak over Rosie, who’s idly playing with his curls.

“Uhm, is it really… necessary, that I come, too?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” John replies, a bit curt. “It’s her first day of school, Sherlock.”

Sherlock readjustes Rosie on his lap. “But, you know… what if…?”

“Yeah, we’ve already talked about this, love. I know, but - “ John pauses for a moment in search of the right words, “ - we really, really must go now, if we want to be there on time.”

Sherlock scoffs and mumbles under his breath: “Mpfh. That’s because it’s not the nearest school -”

“Sherlock!” John hisses out, trying to keep his voice down. “You insisted on Gateway over the other one!”

“Obviously, John. I wouldn’t send her to a catholic school.” Rosie wriggles in his arms, visibly distressed by the quarrel.

John pinches his nose in frustration. “Look, that’s not the point -” he starts, but Rosie has had enough and cuts him off.

"Blah, blah, blah, that's how daddies talk!", she loudly recites in a mocking sing-song.

The tension in the room deflates all at once. Sherlock chuckles, even.

“John, we definitely let her watch way too much Peppa Pig.”

“Yes, yes we do.” John concedes, and he gets up, then reaches down to squeeze Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Come on. We’ll be fine.”

They manage to get there on time, in the end. A crowd of parents and children - the latter, all in the coordinated red and black outfit - is already gathering at the gate, where a cheerful brunette teacher is welcoming them.

“Nervous?” John asks, and the question isn’t just for Rosie.

Sherlock offers him an unconvinced, tight-lipped smile. The fifteen-minute walk has done little to calm him down, and a nagging thought still sinks its nails in his mind: what if?

What if they grab the attention of some other parent? What if someone makes an ungracious comment about them - will he be able to restrain himself? What if some child mocks little Watson? What if she’s made to feel different from the other kids? What if -

“Timmy!”

Rosie has caught sight of one of her friends from the playground and wiggles out of John’s hand-hold.

“Don’t go too far away, dumpling!” he tells her, and she makes a funny face at the pet name.

Lisa, Timmy’s mom, comes to greet them, closely tailed by another young woman.

“Hey, here you are, at last! And this is Diane, Jamie’s mom.”

John extends his hand. “John. Nice to meet you... and this is Sherlock.”

A lingering apprehension in his look, he glances at Sherlock, who lets out a timid “Hi” and expects to see some sort of… confusion, or veiled questioning in response.

She smiles warmly at him, instead.

“Oh, you’re Rosie’s dads, then! Lisa has been telling me about her, she must be such a cutie pie. Mine is a scoundrel.” She giggles, and goes on a tangent about her kid’s shenanigans.

Other parents come by to meet them and rounds of introductions are made. Most moms are moved at the thought of separating from their little ones, some dads are just a bit nervous, or excited, or both. All of them are gleaming and proud, and none of them make any comment about Rosie’s peculiar pair of dads.

It’s all so… natural and easygoing. The small talk doesn’t put him off, for once, and Rosie, over there at the school’s playground, is making friends already.

John rests his hand on Sherlock's small of the back, and he eases into it. His heart unclouds from any worry.

Yep. They’ll be fine.

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #rosie watson #johnlock #johnlock ficlet #johnlock fluff #parentlock

225 notes · View notes

juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Fighting Fire With Fire (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader must lower her pride after a date goes wrong and the only one who can rescue her is her mortal enemy - Spencer Reid.

A/N: This was a beast of a fic to write. It’s been in my WIP since September, and I managed to go from 11 pages to 22 pages in three days. It is now my longest fic thus far. I am insanely fucking proud of it and I hope it does well. Category: Angst Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: allusions to ‘catfishing,’ allusions to abduction, dub-con to taking provocative photos, alcohol, mentions of bruises, jealousy, carrying hug which implies weight of Reader (lmk if I missed anything) Word Count: 11.7k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I tried to play nice; I really did, but there was no getting through to him. Everyday started and ended with us fighting fire with fire.

Maybe the reason the two of you butt heads so often is because of how similar you are.

That’s what the team would say when Spencer and I got into one of our daily (sometimes hourly) arguments.

They constantly encouraged us to get to know each other so that we’d finally see the likeness, and until recently, I wasn’t opposed to the idea. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him to like me. However, as previously mentioned, my willingness quickly dissipated in light of recent events.

Voluntarily spending more time than necessary with him would be a recipe for disaster no doubt.

Somehow, in a matter of a month, Reid decided that he simply did not enjoy my presence, which was the nice way of putting it.

To be more crass, he loathed me to no end.

Initially, I was operating under the assumption that he wasn’t fond of change, and with me joining the BAU, the change was too much too fast for him, but after four weeks, his attitude toward me never deviated. Yet again, I made another excuse for him, arguing to myself that people are allowed to not like me. I could respect that, but where he lost my respect was how he made a conscious effort to remind me of how much he despised me. Even when I was at my nicest, he still treated me like a scelerate.

If there was a prize for gaining a mortal enemy in the shortest amount of time, I guess I already won that without even trying. He hated me with a burning passion, for reasons unbeknownst to me, despite the fact that all I’d ever try to do was be his friend.

For far too long, I kept denying the part of me that knew making peace with him outside of work wouldn’t go well and it’d simply go down in history as another failed attempt of mine to form a bond with him, so it was at this point that I decided to face the facts.

He didn’t make it easy for me, either. It was hard having to be kind to someone that was only ever out to get me.

He would constantly correct me but only after I said something incorrectly, just so he could prove me wrong.

“If each police officer patrols a street, we’ll be able to cover the entire comfort zone.”

“Actually, we’d need three more officers if we want to cover the entire comfort zone. There’s still 2.347 miles that are unaccounted for.”

I never understood why he couldn’t just say his piece before me so that I didn’t look like an idiot, but I suppose that was the point.

And he had this infuriating, unwarranted habit of judging my taste in cinema and literature. Anytime I told Emily or Derek about a movie I saw or told Rossi about a book I read, he felt compelled to share his antagonistic opinions as if I asked for them in the first place. Sometimes even spoiling the endings for me!

“Rossi, I just started reading Doctor Sleep!” I was so eager to tell Rossi that, so much so that I’d become blind to one dark cloud’s own eagerness to ruin the fun.

“The hotel burns to the ground, but the ghosts don’t die with it.”

He said it with such monotony and nonchalance, not even bothering to look up from his own book to watch my reaction to his menacing act. He just didn’t care!

The list of reasons not to like him truly did go on and on, so it was almost insulting how people would compare the two of us.

They’d bring up the congruence in intelligence, the same affinity for reading, and closeness in age, but it only made me madder. The last person I wanted to resemble was Reid, except today, I gained another glaring similarity to him.

“Look at you two. Did you plan your outfits or something?” Emily playfully pointed out after I walked into the conference room.

I eyed the doctor sipping at his cup of coffee who swiveled around in his chair to see what everyone else was seeing. Just from a short glance, I spotted his navy blue button-up with white polka dots that was nearly identical to the color and print of my dress.

“Well, looks like one of us has to go home and change.” His lips grew into a mischievous smirk behind the rim of his mug.

Was that a joke? Did Spencer Reid make jokes now?

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I facetiously remarked, taking the only open seat at the table which was next to the jokester himself.

“I’m kidding. You look really nice today.” He alleged without a hint of irony. He was complimenting me now, too? It was so unfamiliar that it felt like uncharted territory, possibly even a trap.

“Why? Because I’m dressed like you?” I wasn’t going to fall for his words now, maybe the version of me who would do anything to gain his approval would have. She would’ve smiled and said ‘thank you,’ but this me was going to challenge him if that was the last thing I ever did. “Bit of a narcissist are we, Dr. Reid?”

“Mmm maybe,” He wagered, tilting his head from side to side as if to contemplate the possibility. “Or maybe I just really think you look nice.”

Without even thinking, my heart skipped a beat. I was utterly repulsed by how I let his words have any effect over me. I couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to fluster me with mediocre flattery.

It felt like years that I had to sit next to Reid at the round table before Hotch dismissed the team for the flight.

30 minutes later, and we were on the jet. I’d taken one of the seats at the table opposite Derek and Emily, with Spencer beside me.

Little things like this I could handle, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started bothering me. Morgan was listening to music and Emily was turned around in her seat, facing the back to talk to Rossi. Reid was playing himself in chess, and it took all of my self-control to not be a total asshole and knock the board and its pieces over and into the aisle. Luckily, I had a good enough distraction.

Grant: can you ft tonight?

Me: we’ll see. i might have to work overtime.

For the months that I had been talking to Grant, I was deliberately ambiguous about my job because I wasn’t exactly keen on telling him that I worked for the FBI and that I might not be able to FaceTime him since I was in the process of investigating a series of homicides. That’d surely scare him away and I was never one to flaunt my government job anyway.

Grant: you look stunning today

Me: you haven’t even seen me today

Grant: don’t need to.

Grant: you’ll always be stunning to me.

“Who keeps texting you?”

I looked up from my screen to see Reid fixated on his game but still engaged in my business.

“No one,” I harshly replied, making a conscious decision to turn my phone on vibrate so he wouldn’t hear the chime of my text notifications.

With one nimble side glance, Reid eyed my screen. I nudged him away with extra force.

“Nosy much?!”

This stunned him. He wasn’t used to my coldness, he probably expected me to smile in a chagrined manner and not confront it - as I would have done - but now I was fighting back, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked it.

I knew he could read fast, but how he managed to look at my phone so quickly it was like he never even moved his eyes - I didn’t know. Somehow, though, he managed to capture Grant’s entire username, and I didn’t doubt that he caught my entire conversation with him, too.

“Who’s Grant?” The name rolled off his tongue like he was insulted to even be saying it.

“No one.”

He didn’t respond soon after I said this, which I misinterpreted as a little victory for me since I almost believed he was going to drop the subject, but in true Spencer Know It All Reid fashion, he just kept going.

“‘You look stunning today B-T-W. You haven’t even seen me today. Don’t need to. You’ll always be stunning to me.’ Doesn’t really sound like a ‘no one’ to me.” His recitation of my entire PRIVATE conversation with Grant embarrassed me.

Did I forget to add his eidetic memory and speed-reading ability to the list of reasons not to like him?

“Shut up!” I nudged him, this time using much more force than the last. I was becoming more and more inclined to push over his ridiculous chess game so that he’d finally take me seriously.

“Oh, really clever by the way. Vaguely insinuating that you ‘might not be able to call him because you’re working overtime’ just so you don’t have to disclose the true nature of your job.” Spencer’s sarcasm was thick.

“Are you just jealous because the only date you’ve been on was a fake one with a serial killer and not even your actual girlfriend while she was alive?” My reference to Cat and Maeve caught the attention of the entire jet.

Each member mentally rolled their eyes thinking ‘Here we go again.’ And if that wasn’t their reaction, they were certainly cringing at the fight that was ensuing.

Things had been suspiciously good between the two of us today so it was about time we argued. We were due for our daily quarrel.

“Oh, that’s right! The only girls who like you are victims in our cases.” Now this comment was referring to Lila and Austin. (I had Penelope to thank for filling me in on all of Reid’s ‘entanglements’ after I was first reassigned).

“Really? You wanna go there?” He sassed back, diverting his attention away fully from his chess game now. “Do you know how many people get ‘catfished’ when using online dating websites? Or the statistics on how many people are raped, assaulted, or murdered by said ‘catfish’?”

“I’m not stupid, Reid. He and I have been talking for months. We’ve been on calls and Facetime before, too. We’ve just never met in person. Sound familiar?”

“What Maeve and I had is not at all comparable to what you and this ‘guy’ have. And just because you’ve seen his face before doesn’t mean he’s not a serial killer or operating under an alias.”

I had to scoff. Who was he to label our relationship valid or not?

“What’s it to you anyway? We all know you’d be ecstatic if this guy turned out to be a serial killer or catfish. You’d get to rub it in my face and say ‘I told you so.’”

This touched a nerve. He hated it when I attacked his nice-guy facade.

“Is it so hard to believe I’m actually concerned for your wellbeing?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fine. If you think I don’t care about you, then don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t! It’s not like you’d be able to protect me anyway, Pretty Boy.” I sneered, using Morgan’s nickname for him as an insult got to him, and I could see it in the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared.

Hotch had to interject now. “Alright, (y/l/n), Reid, that’s enough. We need to focus on what’s actually important.”

I settled back down in my seat, facing forward and avoiding eye contact with Reid.

“Have fun on your date,” He muttered under his breath. “Hope you survive it.”

Bastard.

For the rest of the case, I was on edge. Deliberately avoiding him was a much harder task than one might think. I had to wait at least ten minutes for my coffee, so I wouldn’t be at the machine when he was there, and if I had to guess, he probably took longer just to make me wait in agitation. I had to awkwardly squeeze into a new spot beside Rossi and Hotch when we were delivering the profile. I had to ask not to travel in the same SUV as him.

And this exhausting routine went on for days. In fact, I’d managed to almost go the entire case without interacting with him. That was until Hotch sent us both in the field to apprehend the unsub.

“Are you sure?” I asked with clear reluctance.

“Are you questioning me?” Hotch replied sternly.

“No, sir.”

I was already on thin ice being the new recruit, so I knew better than to question any of Hotch’s orders. And as miserable as working with Reid was, I figured he’d at least ease up on the hostility when we needed to be professional. Evidently though, even in the field, he wasn’t willing to work together with me.

It was a quick decision, not careless in the least, however. The unsub had locked himself in his warehouse and refused to leave unless we were brave enough to drag him out of there ourselves. The ultimatum he gave specified that only one of us could do it and we both agreed that I should go in, seeing as he’d underestimate my strength as a woman, and I’d have the upperhand when I inevitably apprehended him.

However, he also explicitly told us that I couldn’t come in with a gun - it had to be an even playing field.

“You are not going in without a gun,” Reid ordered.

“We don’t have time to argue about this - I have a spare on me, okay? There are three hostages in there, two of which are children.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I handed him my gun and holster.

Had I let him waste a single second more of my time, we wouldn’t have been able to save the three hostages and successfully arrest the unsub. I saw this as a victory and I was almost willing to celebrate it with him, but it wasn’t long before he let our enmity tear us apart again.

When we got back to the precinct, I went to the locker room to change, then suddenly, Hotch came in.

“I’ve been informed that you went in unarmed against a fellow agent’s orders. This matter will be discussed in my office when we get back. I should warn you, (y/n), you do not want to make this mistake again.” Hotch left me with those foreboding words, and I knew, I knew immediately that Reid was to blame for this.

If I took a look in the mirror of my locker, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I saw that my face was turning a bright shade of red. I was fuming - bursting at the seams from the anger building within me that was desperately fighting to escape. I could imagine myself as a cartoon character with steam blowing out either of my ears. I was about to go on a rampage, and no one - absolutely no one - could stop me.

The last straw was hearing him come in. This was my opportunity to unleash what was already boiling.

“What the hell, Reid? ‘(y/n) went in unarmed.’ Seriously?!” I undid the velcro on my vest so hastily out of my blind rage that the spiky side of the velcro strip nearly sliced my finger. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

“If that’s what it takes to make you realize how stupid of a choice that was, then yes, I do.” He was so calm and collected in his inflection that it angered me all the more.

“What are you even talking about? What ‘stupid choice’? You knew I had a second gun on me. And even if I didn’t carry it, I still would’ve had my vest on. I wasn’t going in unarmed or unprotected, so why would you tell Hotch that?”

“In the time it would take you to assess the danger, react, and then reach for the gun at your ankle, the unsub would’ve been able to shoot you twice - if not more. That’s going in unprepared, which is going in unarmed.”

I scoffed in disbelief that he was actually reprimanding me. “Are you kidding? This is all based on a technicality? Did your eidetic memory somehow forget about what happened with Maeve? Because my memory didn’t. I know for a fact that you went into that warehouse without a vest or a weapon. And unlike you, I had a spare and my vest. AND I actually apprehended the unsub. Did you stop Diane?”

This crossed a line and I knew it, but it was too late to take it back, and clearly, it was much too late to repair any relationship I had with him. We were far beyond the point of no return.

He was so mad that he didn’t even answer me. The only response I could gauge was from his body language, which by the looks of it, all the signs of anger were plain on his face. He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear his teeth grind. Even his nostrils flared so primitively. His eyes narrowed down at me with a glare that said, ‘I’m the predator and you’re the prey.’

“Yeah, exactly.” I spat when he stayed silent.

I turned around, starting towards the exit, but I was too furious to stop there, so I spun around and unleashed the remainder of my wrath that had been dying to come out.

“Look, I get it. I’m the new kid around here, and it sucks when someone new comes in and changes up the team dynamic, but any mistake I make, or any mistake Hotch thinks I make, could send me packing. You’ve been working in this unit for years, and even if Hotch questions your choices, he won’t reassign you. He won’t even threaten it. He’s willing to overlook your mistakes because he knows that what you have to contribute to the team is too vital to let go, but I haven’t even had my chance to show him what I have to offer. So when I do make a mistake, there is nothing for me to fall back on, nothing to redeem me, and no safety net, but you? You have years of experience on your back to break your fall. So don’t you dare act like you’re doing me a favor by reporting my ‘mistake’ to Hotch. You might be costing me my dream job, and if you think that makes us friends - think again.”

I stormed out of the locker room seeing red.

This war was far from over.

_ _ _

“You’re clenching your fists again,” Emily said under her breath. I was grateful that she said it in a hushed tone, otherwise she might’ve revealed my lingering anger to the whole jet, which wouldn’t have been good.

I immediately unclenched them, opening up my hands to reveal small, dark C shaped imprints on my palms from where my nails had dug into them.

I should’ve expected that she would’ve learned at least one of my tells by now. I did have many after all. Cheek biting, fist-clenching, leg bouncing.

“Something bothering you?” She probed quietly.

She set her book down to give her undivided attention to this conversation. That was enough to tell me that an excuse like, ‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ would not suffice. She wouldn’t be satisfied until I told her the truth, which I surely did not want to tell. So I settled for a half-truth.

“Hotch wants to talk when we get back.”

From my peripherals, I saw her knit her brows together in confusion. “Is . . . is that it?”

“Mhm.” I lied.

“But that’s not enough to warrant the fist clenching. Cheek biting - sure - you do it when you’re anxious, but not fist-clenching. You only do that when you’re angry about something.”

“Oh, so you have figured out all my tells,” I smirked.

“Pfft, I figured them all out the first week you got here, but I won’t tell you the rest, otherwise you might try and hide them from me,” She joked.

I shook my head playfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just worked up about something - it’s nothing you need to worry about though.” Habitually, my eyes looked right up in his direction. I caught a glimpse of him sprawled against the couch, sleeping. He was lucky I wasn’t ranting about the little stunt he pulled earlier to Emily. He should be thankful that I was even trying to protect his reputation to her at all.

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but it does help. Take it from me, someone who really only trusts myself, you shouldn’t hide what you feel.”

What you feel.

I clung onto those words.

What was I really feeling?

Was I upset that instead of receiving praise for the arrest I made, I was scolded like a child? Was I angry that Hotch believed what Reid had to say about my “problematic behavior” instead of believing in me?

Or did I feel betrayed that despite my best efforts to build a bridge, Reid was tearing it apart brick by brick? Burning it to pieces with the fire of his rage?

“Thanks.” I bleakly said to Emily. I would’ve told her the truth, but it didn’t feel necessary at that moment. If anything, it just would’ve reflected badly on me.

Truthfully, she was the closest thing I had to a friend in the BAU, and if I wanted a permanent spot here, I needed to make more of them - and fast.

“Hey, (y/n), we’re all going down to O’Keefs tonight to celebrate. You wanna join us?” Morgan asked, walking up the aisle and crouching down beside my seat to talk to me.

“Oh, I wish I could, but I have to talk with Hotch when we get back,” I explained, smiling politely.

“We can postpone the meeting till first thing Monday morning. I need to go home and be with Jack, anyway,” Hotch added.

I didn’t realize he could hear me from where he was sitting, which made me all the more nervous that he might’ve overheard the entire conversation between me and Emily earlier.

“Looks like I’m free,” I looked back at Morgan. “Does the offer still stand?”

“Anything for you, sweet cheeks.” He winked.

Judging from the lightness of the atmosphere, everyone, except maybe Hotch and Rossi, would be celebrating at O’Keefs - including Spencer.

I think I might’ve actually preferred to be scolded by Hotch tonight, instead of being silently glared at by Spencer, but it was already too late to revoke my confirmation of presence.

Because, if Hotch could hear me from where he was sitting, then Spencer could, too.

He already heard I was coming, and there was no way I was backing down.

_ _ _

In spite of the fact that I could barely hear myself think over the loud chatter and blasting music, I could still feel the rage radiating off of Spencer. You would think with how long his nap was on the jet, he wouldn’t be so cranky, but I guess he just couldn’t sleep off his disdain for me after our minor altercation.

I wondered if the team could see it, too. The way he was burning a hole into me with his fiery stare. The tension was palpable, as it has always been, but remember - I’m not the one who wanted it that way.

He started this. I was only making the feeling mutual.

“So what about you, (y/n)? Are you seeing anyone?”

I tried to hide my growing smirk behind the rim of my beer, but I knew I couldn’t hide much from them. Of course, right across from me, Spencer was glaring at me expectantly, waiting for the answer he already knew.

“Oooh, look at her - she’s blushing! Spill.” Penelope ordered, beating her palm on the table so enthusiastically it shook all the drinks on it.

“Well, there’s this one guy I’ve been seeing for a while,” The second I started speaking, I noticed Spencer rolling his eyes. I figured his apprehension was the only response of its kind that I would receive, but I was very mistaken.

“How did you two meet?” Penelope giddily asked, nearly jumping up and down in her seat.

“A dating app, actually.”

The table went completely silent, and I immediately felt my stomach drop. It was as if I’d just said something very wrong. With just a quick glance in front of me, Spencer was basking in this.

What a dick.

Emily hesitated to ask. “...Have you two met in person before?”

Now it was my turn to hesitate to speak. “No, not yet.”

I took another sip of my drink even though I wasn’t thirsty. I just wanted to hide any part of my face I could to shield myself from the five sets of eyes burning holes into me now, rather than just the one. Trying to make matters better, I spoke all too quickly, nearly sputtering on my beer. “I’m completely safe, though. Nothing sketchy’s going on, I promise.”

“Of course,” JJ agreed. “We totally trust you,” neglecting to attach the cliche, ‘It’s him we don’t trust.’ But if she had, it would’ve spoken everyone’s bubble thoughts right about now.

“Just be careful, mama.” Derek’s response felt the most sincere, and I honestly believed he was happy for me, but it didn’t change how much their judgement initially stung.

For the rest of the night, I didn’t talk. No one noticed.

Except maybe the last person I wanted to notice.

I quietly slipped away somewhere in the night when the conversation was at its highest precisely so they wouldn’t question where I was going or if I was okay. If they had asked, the truthful answer to the former would’ve been ‘just outside to get some air’ and the latter ‘no.’

The cool breeze drifted through the door like rising fog and for the briefest moment in time, I felt suspended in the space around me - I’d finally caught my breath. That feeling wouldn’t last long, though.

I’d intentionally gone outside to compose myself until I came back a person who wasn’t on the verge of tears, but apparently, trying to pull myself only resulted in my falling apart. A ball of yarn unraveling is the closest comparison I can draw to what I must’ve looked like, crying quietly on the street.

“I figured I’d find you here.”

It was the mere sound of someone’s voice that shocked me, but it was the person whose voice it was that led to the frustration that followed.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be inside talking to the team of people who also agree with you about Grant?”

He was too much of a nuisance to warrant exchanging eye contact with so I simply stared forward as I spoke and wiped the tears away that were still pooling on my lower lash line. I hoped he hadn’t actually seen me crying, but from what I could tell, he was probably standing there long before he said something. And if he was truly looking at me as deeply as it felt like right now, then he’d have noticed my bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks, and unending sniffling.

“Is that why you disappeared back there? Because you’re upset they didn’t exactly like the idea of your relationship?” The pain in the ass really tried, he really tried to get me to look at him by facing me and making these gestures with his hands that should’ve gotten my attention, but instead, I stayed put leaning against the wall, keeping my line of sight straight ahead.

“(Y/n), they weren’t insulting you or judging you -”

“Then why did it feel like it?” For the first time since he’d joined me, I’d looked at him. I didn’t even mean to and I had every intention of denying him that privilege for the entire duration of our conversation, but as soon as I asked him my question, we locked eyes, and I saw it written all over his face.

He felt sorry for me.

Now, he could clearly make out how distraught I was from this unobstructed view of my face that was kindled by the dim, flickering yellow glow of the streetlight beside us. And he kept staring, looking into my eyes to read me just as easily and just as quickly as he read a book.

“All we want is for you to be safe,” His voice crackled momentarily, and it actually touched some part of me for how genuine it sounded. “We weren’t trying to judge you or to insult you, and I’m sorry if it felt that way, but if we want your safety, and you tell us about something that could be potentially harmful, then of course we’re going to be apprehensive about it. That’s how people that care about you should react.”

“So are you saying that I don’t care about myself because I’m engaging in something risky?” Isn’t that the most ironic statement of this year? The definition of our job was risky, and even if this wasn’t the safest relationship on the planet, it was nothing like what we put ourselves through everyday being in the field.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying -”

“So what are you saying?” I dared. He shook his head and sighed like he was about to give up, but I needed an answer. “No, please, do continue. Finish what you were gonna say. Since you apparently know everything, 187. Please go ahead - tell me what you think I should do.”

Tell me what you really came out here to say, I ordered him with my eyes.

“I think I respect you more than you respect yourself, and that’s really saying something. Because if you actually liked yourself as much as I do, then you would realize that subjecting yourself to this nonsensicality of a long-distance relationship is not only dangerous - but insulting to your worth, too. You deserve more than that, (y/n).” He couldn’t have been clearer when he murmured a low and firm, “Much more.”

The world was spinning on its axis too fast for me to process anything he said before snapping back at him. “So what exactly is it you want me to do?”

With utmost clarity in both annunciation and intention, he told me, “Break up with him.”

Not a shadow of a doubt in his words.

Then, like the phantom of the opera himself, he vanished back into the bar, but even if he had stayed, I wouldn’t have had anything to say to him. I was simply rendered speechless.

Circling back to my previous argument, I questioned once more why was it any of his business anyway? I was allowed to do as I pleased and I most certainly did not have to listen to him. And I didn’t.

But I should’ve.

_ _ _

My Monday morning meeting with Hotch wasn’t nearly as fire and brimstone as I thought it would be. It did however feel like the equivalent to an “I’m disappointed in you” parent speech. In some ways, I related to the average teen who was grounded. Except instead of my phone being taken away, it was my freedom. From now on, I could only follow executive orders that had been given to me. At least for the time being.

It was clear that, deep down, some part of Hotch knew what I’d done was the right call, but he couldn’t give me any favors. Not until they were deserved on my end.

Walking onto the jet after our meeting, however, felt more juvenile than the punishment itself. I was a kid again, re-entering my classroom after using the restroom, only to have all eyes on me as I came through the door.

As per usual, the only empty chair was next to Reid. There’d been too many instances of this happening to think it was just a coincidence. At this point, I had to assume it was by design. Whose design however? That I didn’t know.

“Hello, trouble,” He sang when I took my seat.

I could only assume that this new nickname was based on what took place in Hotch’s office - thanks to him, need I remind you - but I didn’t care to know the origin because that would require talking to him, and for several reasons, that was the last thing I wanted to do. The first of which was what happened less than three days ago. An event we both hadn’t mentioned yet, and I hoped we never would.

I took every preventative measure in the book. I changed seats with JJ. I moved to the couch. I even started reading in the little hallway between the kitchenette and bathroom of the jet to avoid sitting beside him, but against all my best efforts, he always found a way to bug me. When there’s a will, there’s a way. After exhausting any real reason he had to talk to me, he had to get creative.

“You’ve been on that same page for four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.” I heard him say when he walked up to the kitchen to reach for the pot of coffee. Almost expecting I’d ask him what he meant, he added the explanation casually. “It never takes you more than three minutes and twelve seconds to move onto the next page. So either you’re not understanding the material or you’re not actually reading.”

It was utterly hilarious of him to imply that either of those things were definitely the answer. “What if I’m just taking my time reading this page, genius? Ever thought of that?”

His eyes turned into slits as he leaned in closer to examine me. “You’re blinking rate just increased, too.”

“Stop!” I screeched childishly, pushing him away by his shoulders in an attempt to get him off my back, but he was far from off my back. No, he was right against it. More specifically, his hand was on the small of it.

Leaning in so close that his lips were practically pressing on the shell of my ear, he whispered, “Come find me when you’re ready to tell me the truth.”

He didn’t need to know his words or actions had any sort of effect on me, so I kept the most stoic facial expression on, and I didn’t say a single thing back. He turned back around to leave with the hand on my back being the last thing to go. His lingering touch caused a shiver to run down my spine while paradoxically burning my body from the friction.

I was disgusted with myself for having let him elicit any sort of reaction from me, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

“Yeah ... well, d-don’t expect that to be anytime soon,” was my poor attempt at a retort to shut him up.

“Whatever you say, trouble.”

_ _ _

Personal space can be a wonderful thing. Much less so when it’s invaded, however.

After what felt like the longest flight ever, all I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. My wishes were granted when I was able to wash off the stress and exhaustion and slip into a blush pink satin pajama set Grant sent me that I’d been meaning to wear. The plunging neck of the tank top was lined with lace and adorned with the tiniest little bow at the center. To match the shirt, the hem of the shorts were lined with lace that trailed up the small triangular slits on the side of the shorts, where at the vertex of them was the same little bow detail. For such a pure and innocent color as baby pink, you’d think it’d be somewhat less revealing. The longer I started at myself in the mirror while wearing it, the more aware I’d become of the intentions behind why Grant had sent it.

How cute, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Gifts should always be appreciated, if for no other reason than the effort put into it, but this just felt slimy. There was obviously no valiant romantic intent behind the negligee, which spoiled the delight of receiving something out of the blue from him. What’s worse was that I wasn’t even sure how to thank him for something like this.

Me: thank you for the pajamas. they’re so cute!

Lying was easier over text message, in case you were wondering what the perks of a long distance relationship were.

Grant: good, I’m glad you like them. are you wearing them right now?

But sometimes, when you should lie, you don’t. And you regret it later on - take it from me.

Me: yeah, they’re super comfy

Grant: great! i wanna see them on! take a pic

As if to compensate for the indisputable hatred I had for this lingerie and what it stood for in our relationship, I did the only thing I could think that would make him think I really liked them. That I felt good in them.

I took pictures - not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, Yelp review pictures, though - provocative ones.

In the same breath I went to take them, though, Spencer’s words rang through my head.

You deserve more than that. Much more.

Shaking off the thought of Spencer, I decided against what the little voice in my head that sounded too similar to his would’ve said.

To add to the illusion, I situated myself within the hotel sheets and used the front camera to capture my chest that was very much on display in this top. In the middle of rolling around the bed, trying to find the angles that wouldn’t show my face of dejection, the door opened.

Instantaneously, I clawed at the sheets until they wrapped around me like a towel. I was ashamed to admit they provided more coverage than these ‘pajamas’ did.

My shriek of shock must’ve sounded familiar to the stranger intruding on me because no sooner did I scream than they questioned, “(Y/n)? What are you doing here?”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing in here?” I grumbled, struggling to maintain a tight enough grip on the sheets that would keep them from falling and unveiling a sight I desperately did not want him to see.

“I asked you first.”

Boy, if you only knew how badly I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. “This is my hotel room obviously. Your turn.”

Returning just the same tone, inflection, and vocals, he imitated me. “This is my hotel room obviously.” Like one of those magic tricks he’d show Henry or Jack, he miraculously flashed a room key between his index and middle finger that wasn’t there before.

“No, that’s impossible.”

“I opened the door, didn’t I?” That damn smirk was still there when he asked this. Maybe, just maybe, if it hadn’t been so condescending, I would’ve thought his sarcasm was ... attractive. Disgusting, I know.

“Well, if you actually plan on staying here, then you’re sleeping on the floor or the couch, got it?”

My question went unanswered until I turned around to follow where he’d traveled in the time that I spent pondering how this happened. Now perched at the window, sitting on the arm of the chair in a way that chairs weren’t meant to be sat on, he continued to stare silently at me.

“What? What is it?” I urged.

“What’s going on with the …” He made a side to side sweeping motion with his key card. “Bed sheets?”

Consciously, I shimmied the fabric further up my body. Seeing as there was virtually no way to escape an honest answer, I confessed. “If you must know ... I’m wearing p-pajamas.” My own body was rejecting the shameful admission causing the word to stumble out of my mouth.

He didn’t need to know any more than that to gather what kind of garments they were. He already figured it out.

“Did Grant give them to you?”

I almost rolled my eyes at the implication. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I know you,” He punctuated every word perfectly. “And I know that you wear big shirts and sweatpants to bed because you don’t see the point of spending money on clothes that are only made for you to sleep in - especially if they’re clothes that make you uncomfortable like these ones clearly do.”

Although, I greatly despised the fact that there was even a little bit of a chance that I might’ve agreed with him, I still defended Grant. “It was a thoughtful gesture.”

“Thoughtful, right,” He scoffed. “And which head was he thinking with?”

I was baffled he had the gall to say such an innuendo. “Spencer!”

How dare he? So what if Grant bought me something provocative because he was physically attracted to me? At least someone was.

Despite the ferocity plain on his face, he chose not to pursue this conversation. Visibly biting back on words he knew would hurt me, Spencer managed to sound remarkably genuine when he promised me, “I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

I want you to, was my very first thought. Oh, God, that’s so fucked up, was my second.

He underlined his sincerity by turning fully around until he was facing the window. “But we should probably put the sheets back on the bed if you plan on sleeping on it.”

He was so patient as he waited for me to remove the cloth from my body. It almost made me feel guilty. He didn’t grumble or gripe, nor did he pressure me to do it at all. So by rights, there should’ve been no reason for me to take so long to let the barrier fall - he wasn’t looking at me. But I was just so goddamn embarrassed.

This wasn’t me, and even he knew that.

“You can turn around now,” I mumbled quietly once my safety net of a bedsheet had abandoned me. My arms were crossed over my chest and my thighs were pressed so tightly against each other as if to limit the surface area that Spencer could scrutinize.

That never came.

He did look, I could tell that much. But it wasn’t a look I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t rage or annoyance or pity. It was a look of lust.

A look that made me positively weak in the knees. A look far more sensual than even my racy garments.

“I’ll just sleep in Morgan’s room tonight, okay?” He offered once he finally broke out of his incapacitation. Grabbing the two opposite corners of the sheets that I was holding, it was a team effort as we arranged the covers where they belonged. It was probably the longest period of time we’d ever worked together without fighting or talking at all for that matter..

Not a single word was exchanged between us while Spencer gathered his things to leave for Derek’s. The room started to feel dangerously empty in the stillness.

When he slipped past me to make his way out, I caught his upper arm, successfully pulling him back around.

I could’ve been sweet, I should’ve. But that wasn’t our thing. So I settled for what came naturally to us and what would set off the least amount of red flags - I didn’t play nice. “As long as you promise not to hog the entire bed with your behemoth body, we can sleep together -” Catching the words as soon as they came out and what they could’ve implied, I began backtracking. “Sleep in the same bed. Sleep as in rest. Not sleep as in … anything else.”

Then, in one of those rare moments- he laughed. He actually laughed. Like a real, hearty, sudden laugh. “I know what you meant, (y/n).”

I’ll never forget the smile that followed the world’s greatest laugh either.

Oh, God, I’m so fucked up.

_ _ _

Spencer’s POV

Domesticated animals are smarter than we give them credit for. Studies have shown that pets can actually sense time; They know when it’s time for their owner to leave for the day and when they’ll be coming home, too.

Animals aren’t dumb - and neither was I.

Like a dog sniffing out their owner’s imminent absence in the home, I could tell (y/n) was leaving the hotel room for the night. If her current state wasn’t convincing enough, then her behavior throughout the entire day supported that theory just as well.

Whether it was her phone, the clock on the wall, or her watch, she was evidently keeping a close eye on the time. She did it so often, though, that you would think she would just use simple deductions to figure out what time it was by estimating the time it was when she last checked, but nope. She rarely let more than a minute go by without monitoring the clock.

My suspicions didn’t end there. What’s more suggestive was the anxious fidgeting. She had her tells of anxiety - everyone does - but this was a level of stress I’d never seen her exhibit before, not even in the field.

She kept cracking her knuckles, even when she’d exhausting all the popping noises she could from them. Her leg-bobbing was another big tell, too. I tend to sit on tables rather than in the chairs at said table, allowing me to feel the earthquake occurring on the precinct floor. Her leg was bouncing up and down so vigorously it was practically shaking the room.

I would’ve asked her what she was so impatient about, but I feared I already knew the answer.

Grant.

And if I never heard that name roll off her tongue again, it would be too soon.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t ask where she was going, though.

Pretending to read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I barely let my eyes venture far off the page when I loudly asked from the window seat, “So where are you going tonight, trouble?”

The faintest sound of a chuckle erupted in the bathroom, most likely from the nickname I hadn’t let die yet.

“Nunya,” was her ever-so mature answer.

I didn’t want to give her the chance to say ‘nunya business’ like I knew she would, so I quickly interjected with a monotone, “How clever of you.” If she wanted to be a child about this, then so be it.

“Let’s see. You brought your good heels out of your suitcase, which you only wear on special occasions. And you put on a different perfume than the one you usually use, so I’m assuming it’s new. ... If I didn’t know any better, trouble, I’d say you’re going on a date.”

She peeked her head out of the bathroom doorway to say, “You’re creepy, you know that?”

Seeing the small portion of her face that was embellished with a smile would’ve been enough if only I knew what dress she was hiding in behind that wall. I had yet to see that part of her ensemble, but if I had to guess, it would break my heart.

“Just saying,” I casually lied while clearing my throat.

“Well,” I heard her begin from within the bathroom. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Grant is meeting me tonight.”

Kill me now.

“I thought Grant lived in D.C.” Not that that would change much if he was already here.

“Yes, he does, but he’s driving all the way here to meet me. Seeee,” She drew out the word. “Would a serial killer do that?”

I refrained from giving the obvious answer: Yes.

“Well, I hope you don’t plan on bringing him back here. Otherwise, that’d be terribly awkward, don’t you think?” My allusion to the possibility that Grant would come back here to find me in her bed was borne from the intentions that were a complete contradiction to the words I’d just spoken. It, in fact, wouldn’t be terribly awkward. No, it would be fun. For me at least.

I would have loved to have seen the look on his face, and the worry on hers as she tried to explain who I was and why I had any right to be in (y/n)’s gravity.

The room went silent again while I stayed on the same page of my book and, unbeknownst to her, waited for her to enter the room. How long she was taking was starting to worry me, though.

“Need any help in there?” I called out.

“Nope,” She said through a strained voice that proved she was indeed struggling with something.

“Really?” I asked once more to give her another opportunity to lower her colossal pride. “Cause it sounds like you need help.”

“Nope. I’m good.” Liar.

I knew her too well. I counted down to the exact second when she finally scrambled to ask, “Can you help me zip up my dress?”

“Yyyup.” I’d already resigned to the fact that I would have to help her, bouncing happily off the bed when she finally admitted it and letting myself lose the page I was on as I tossed the book haphazardly behind me.

I was forced to join her in the bathroom for it was already hard for her to humble herself enough to ask me for help, so she certainly couldn’t be expected to lower her pride again and walk out to a place more convenient for me.

The first thing I noticed was that it was a space clearly not made for two. It was so cramped that I ended up right against her in order to fit. The second thing I noticed was how she made no movements to distance herself. She was so close to me that I could actually see the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up from where my breath ghosted on the area. The sterile smell of hotel bathrooms had been replaced by the flowery, aromatic scent of her new perfume, and my heart broke all over again.

Using the back of my fingers, I cast a barely-there caress on her neck to stroke her hair out of the way to clear the path of the zipper. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up again.

She liked that.

“So do I get to know where you’re going?” I reached for the zipper on the small of her back. “For safety purposes, of course.”

“Aww, you looking out for me, Dr. Reid?” She teased in a seductive tone while gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail that for the shortest second recorded in time might’ve reminded me of a constantly recurring intrusive image.

“Always, trouble.”

The zipper fastened with absolutely no resistance all the way to the top. My eyes flashed to the mirror to catch her expression, which told me everything I needed to know.

What a pretty little liar. She didn’t actually need my help.

Comprehending that the realization dawned on me, she gave me what she knew would shut me up. “We’re going to The Rooftop at Lamont’s.”

How effortlessly she slipped past me without a thank you or a glance in my direction served as a rude awakening.

“Well, you should take an umbrella with you. It looks like there’s gonna be a storm tonight.” This was my small way of coming to terms with the reality of the situation.

“Eh,” She waved my suggestion off with a dismissive hand. “We’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t even think about stalking me!” She warned before exiting the room.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone - my peace of mind having left with her.

_ _ _

The amount of sleep you need varies for each person and is affected by several factors. However, for most adults, 7–9 hours per night is the ideal amount. And I was slowly reducing that optimal quantity, hour by hour, until there was none left.

I would continue to sacrifice my sleep so long as I was awake for her return. If she’d asked why I was still up, I would lie. Though I wouldn’t look half so pretty as she did when she lied.

Losing rest seemed like such a small price to pay to make sure I was fully alert in the event that an emergency happened, even if I would suffer the consequences in the morning. But hey - that’s what caffeine is for, isn’t it? To re-energize oneself after staying up to guarantee one’s enemy’s safety.

Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly why Kaldi invented coffee in 750 A.D.

Besides the thunderstorm, my mind also made great company for situations like these. Granted, the visions it would project kept me up for a reason - they were all so awful.

There was simply no projected reality where things would turn out alright.

If she had the time of her life on her date, she would come back to throw it in my face that I’d been wrong, and her admiration for Grant would have deepened.

Or if he stood her up, she’d be devastated, but instead of letting me console her, she’d push me away as easily as she always did.

In a more neutral instance, perhaps she would admit it wasn’t as great meeting him as she thought it would be and the relationship would fade out for innocent reasons. Even if that seemed like the most favorable circumstance, she would eventually grow to resent me for planting the seed of doubt in her head in the first place.

But nothing- nothing I could have imagined would be as treacherous as what actually happened.

At exactly 1:09 a.m, my phone started to ring. I can’t explain to you what it was, but I just knew - it was her calling, and it wasn’t even her number.

“(Y/n)? Is everything okay?”

If she said something beforehand, I couldn’t hear her because the storm was too loud and her voice was too quiet. “Did I wake you up?”

I reassured her with a tone I didn’t even recognize. “No, no. I was awake. Why? What’s up?” The line went quiet again, forcing me to prompt her to speak in order to find out if she was still there on the call. “(Y/n)?”

“Spencer ...” She choked out a hoarse sob. “I need you. I need you to come get me, please.”

My eyes clenched shut at the dreadful sound of her sorrow, and I jolted into action. After scrambling to gather the keys to her car that she’d left behind, I fled the room faster than ever before.

“I’m on my way, (y/n). Stay right there. You’re at The Rooftop at Lamont’s right?”

The poor thing took the longest pause in history, either from shame or disorientation. “He threw me in the back of his car and drove me all the way to D.C. I …” Her breath caught on her dry throat again. “I, um, I managed to escape and now I’ve barricaded myself in a payphone booth. I haven’t called the police yet. You were the first person I thought to call. I just, I just needed to hear your voice.”

My knuckles turned an unfamiliar shade of white when I gripped the steering wheel, picturing her caged up in a rectangular box, dialing my number instead of 911 just so she could hear my voice.

“Everything is gonna be okay. I promise you. My ETA is 1:28. That’s in 19 minutes. Are you okay being there for that long or do you want to find somewhere safer?”

I could no longer distinguish the difference between talking to her right now and talking to a victim in distress. I was speaking with the same tone and inflection but feeling a sharp pain in my chest that wasn’t there before.

“I can stay here. Just ... don’t hang up, okay?” The fact that the possibility of me abandoning her over the phone even crossed her mind was more than enough to get me to drive well over the speed limit.

The list of traffic infractions only grew from there because honestly? Screw my safety or anyone else’s. Her’s was the only one that mattered. She was the priority.

She was my priority.

Throughout the entire call, I kept repeating, “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Frankly, it was something we both needed to hear.

It was both the fastest and slowest 19 minutes of my life. Time no longer felt real when I finally found the payphone booth that boxed in my troublesome girl. No sooner did I drive up to the sidewalk than I ran out of the car to sprint the short distance to free her from her coop.

“(Y/n)!” I shouted, swinging the door open and throwing caution to the wind in the process. Immediately, she dropped the phone, not even bothering to replace it onto its receiver.

The pouring rain had stripped her of her dignity. Mascara ran down her face in pigmented streams of black. Her curled hair was dampened into strings. But worse of all, it hadn’t washed away the darkening bruises on her skin.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She cried as she ran into my open arms.

Her body collided with mine in such a gentle manner that I had to wonder how that was possible at all or if it was a figment of my imagination. Was our collision actually that gentle or did it seem that way because of how good it felt to have her arms and legs latch around my entire torso, crossing and connecting somewhere in between?

With one arm under her thighs to hold her up, I pulled her impossibly closer to me by cradling the back of her head with the other hand.

Her small hands found their way into my hair, a new sensation I tried not to indulge in so as not to let my attention stray away from the little life I was holding in my arms.

She was so cold.

Shivering from my warm embrace, her teeth chattered as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Spencer. You were right I should’ve listened -”

“Shh, it’s okay, (y/n),” I said with the hopes that I could make the pounding heart that was thumping against my shoulder settle down until it reached her standard heart rate of 67 beats per minute.

After a second of just holding her wordlessly, she spoke again.

“I don’t wanna fight.” She surrendered so easily to me that I could hardly believe this was her at all.

“I don’t wanna fight with you either.”

That was entirely true. Fighting with her was the last thing on my mind. The first was getting her into my car.

It was easier that I imagined it would be, but then again, it’s easy to do things when you’re motivated in this way.

Before I loosened my hold on her to shut the passenger door, she squeezed me a little tighter, as if to be absolutely certain this was real and not some cruel dream.

“Thank you,” She hummed into the crook of my neck. From where her shoulder was digging into my throat, I couldn’t exactly respond verbally, so I settled for rubbing my hand up and down her back comfortingly.

“Let’s take you home,” I basically said to myself seeing as it was too quiet to be discernible.

“No,” She shook her head rapidly. “Take me to your apartment.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel right now. I need to be somewhere I feel safe.”

My apartment is closer than the hotel, I reasoned, pretending it was the logic of it that made my heart swell and not the statement I would fixate on for the entire duration of the ride there.

I need to be somewhere I feel safe.

And that’s wherever I’m with you.

_ _ _

Reader’s POV

Porcelain wall tiles gleamed back at me, mocking my wretched misery. They were much prettier than me, but then again, anything else would be prettier than me right about now.

I certainly wasn’t the belle of the ball in my bare naked state. The fact that I was sitting in a pool of my own washed off dried blood didn’t help either.

I would’ve looked away from the bright white walls, but where else were I to look? Into the pair of eyes that I was deliberately avoiding? The ones that were staring a hole through me right now? No. I couldn’t bear to meet those eyes. So I kept looking forward at the mean walls - those mean, mocking walls.

“Is the water warm enough?” He asked, dipping a finger into the bathwater to test it himself.

I watched as his hand snuck into the tub and swirled around some water, causing soap bubbles to revitalize.

For a reason I didn’t know nor could remember at this given moment, Spencer drove me to his apartment. That memory of why I was here was fuzzy, but the rest following my arrival was more vivid. Perhaps because it was all unfolding right now.

“I think I should go,” I murmured. The bathwater had gone cold, and the silence was too deafening. If I didn’t leave now, then I would be trapped forever.

I leaned forward with my knees still pressed to my chest to protect my modesty while I tugged on the silver drain plug of the tub to release the suction.

“You can’t go home. You’ll be alone again, and who will be there to help you that time?”

“I don’t need anybody’s help.” I responded curtly.

“Then why did you call me tonight?”

“Why did you answer?”

He was stunned by how I didn’t miss a beat with my question, stunned enough to purse his lips in contempt. “Should I have declined your call then? Said ‘no’ instead and let you fend for yourself? You know what - my bad, (y/n). I sincerely apologize that I care about you.”

I scoffed at his factiousness. “No, what you should’ve done is whatever the hell you wanted to do. But clearly, since you said ‘yes’ and came to my rescue like I’m some victim in a case - you wanted to be there. I could chalk that up to you having a hero complex, but I think it’s time for you to admit you just wanted to see me at my worst so you could throw it in my face like you’re doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw in fury, muttering under his breath, “I should’ve left you in that booth.”

This crossed a line, but I was just as ready to cross it, too.

“But I bet you liked saving me. Seeing me as a damsel in distress that you could white knight. You like that, Spence? Does my weakness settle your deep rooted fear of inadequacy in strength?”

Shouldn’t have done that.

For a second there, I was sincerely scared of the response I might’ve just elicited, so I shot up from the tub and grabbed the towel on the rack, quickly wrapping myself in it and avoiding Spencer’s gaze the entire way out of the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Judging from the loudness of his voice, he was right on my heels, following me close behind.

“You’re smart. Figure it out.”

“God, why do you have to be such a pain in the ass? I don’t want to leave you like this.” It never failed to amaze me how he could both show disdain and concern for me in the matter of a sentence.

“Well, you’re not leaving me like this - I’m leaving you like this.” My clever remark angered him more.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Spencer called out from the end of his hallway, “What are you so scared of?”

Reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I spun around to throw my arms out to my side in just the same defensive manner as he did. “Nothing! Maybe I just don’t wanna be stuck in the apartment of the man who hates me! Can you blame me?”

He ran a hasty hand through his hair, pulling at the strands out of pure irritation. “Why do you keep saying I hate you? How can any of what I’ve done for you tonight suggest that?”

He’d chosen his words carefully and for that, he was smart. His inclusivity of the word ‘tonight’ meant I could only reference his actions from the past few hours, which wouldn’t help my case, as opposed to the months and months that he’d given me the cold shoulder, which would have helped my case. But again, he was smart - he had me in a deadlock. I couldn’t accept defeat, but what could I possibly argue against his point?

My body literally shook from the power of the deep groan that tore through my chest. “God, what do you want from me, Spencer?” I wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from him, but my body was resisting all those urges. Lunging forward, I pointed the sternest index finger at him, staring the most unforgiving glare into his soul. “Tell me - tell me what you want! Because when I was nice to you, you-you treated me like shit. And then when I stopped being nice to you, you still treated me like shit. So what -” I had to laugh to alleviate the sheer rage I was feeling. “What the fuck do you want from me? Because it’s like no matter what I do, it’s just not good enough for you!”

His eyebrows had furrowed and his eyes softened. He didn’t look angry whatsoever. No, he looked hurt.

“Not good enough for me?” He leaned down to my level to look right into my eyes. “You are everything … everything to me.”

With one last breath, I cried out in anguish, “Then why? Why do you hate me so much?”

He gulped back the lump in his throat - the last barrier that kept him from telling the truth.

“I ... I never hated you. I just need to be in control of my thoughts and feelings at all times, otherwise, I feel-I feel like I’m going crazy. Like I’m on the verge of a psychotic break that I’m genetically predisposed to have. But when you came around - I lost all my control. You were inhabiting my dreams, you were stealing my sleep, occupying more and more space in my brain until there was no more room left to take. God, I think about you all the time, and I literally cannot physically stop it. I have no control anymore,” and somehow him saying that sounded something like an ‘I love you.’

“The only thing I could control was how I treated you. I thought being awful to you would get you to despise me enough to make me despise you, too, and while it was easier to be angry at you, it was so much worse having you hate me.”

“I never hated you, Spencer.” Never.

“You should have,” He rasped. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I wish to spend every day proving that I want you. Oh, I want you so bad,” He sharply inhaled through gritted teeth, and I unconsciously laughed in return. His pain wasn’t funny in the least. What was amusing was knowing that he had the same excruciating longing for me that I had for him.

“I don’t want control anymore if it means I can’t have you.”

He leaned in so carefully that I almost didn't register the movement at all. Our hearts were pounding to the same synchronized beat. We were the shore and the tide one in the same. Our breaths would draw in and out, in and out, as he held my face so gently. We were still the shore and the tide, but more than anything we were drowning in the ocean of ourselves. The rising waters of his admiration threatened to flood every empty nook and cranny of the room until it swallowed me whole. All I could feel was him, everywhere, filling absolutely everything.

“Wow ... I finally got you speechless,” The cocky bastard hummed happily, letting his words vibrate on the smallest part of my lip.

“Oh, shut up,” I declared through a smirk I needed to fight off before finally closing that nearly imperceptible gap between us.

All the forces in the world couldn’t tear us apart after we connected. They were no match for the force Spencer’s hands had as they pulled me impossibly closer. The pressure might’ve even been unbearable had it not been for the velvety pair of lips giving me back all the oxygen it stole from my lungs just seconds ago. They were so soft, like freshly washed sheets, like biting into cotton candy, like floating for the first time, feeling utterly weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet.

Not nearly as sweet as the words that followed our parting.

“Not enough for me?” He repeated, recalling my previous claim. “You’ve had me since the day you walked in, trouble.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fingers crossed this fic doesn’t flop!

complete taglist: @muffin-cup @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person @masumiyetimziyanoldu @dreamer-writer-fangirl @kalamitykait @jinxy175 @apolloroid

tag not working: @gloriousmuffinempathstudent

#spencer reid #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid kiss #fighting fire with fire #juniorgman187 #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

375 notes · View notes