#posting up here in case you can't see it on ao3

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Oh hey, look, it's that massive story I've been working on since January! I'm so thankful to everyone who has shown interest in the concept of this fic and the little snippets I've posted. You've been more help than you know. Without that support, I don't think this would have ever gotten finished.

A special thanks to @numinousmysteries who kindly beta read for me and did a fantastic job. I wanted to make sure I got this right, and she was a great help!

And now I can't wait to share this with you all! New chapters posted daily!

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 1/34 - ink and paper

How long has he been thinking about this, she wonders. What exactly is he thinking? Her mind races, trying to reconcile this Mulder whose deepest desires are spilled out here in ink on worn and crinkled brochures with the one she’s spent nearly every day with these past several months.

She'd never have guessed...

Find out if adoption is right for you! Visit us at 8080 Meadowlark Ln. Annapolis, MD “A Home for Every Child!”

Scully stares down at the brochure on the desk. One of many, which are half buried underneath a pile of paperwork from their current case. Certain words and phrases are circled in pen, underlined, annotated in the margins in the familiar scrawl she knows almost better than her own.

stability – less travel? change in division? discuss with Scully

loving home – ask Frohike for real estate agent #

The word “family” is circled three times.

She swallows with some difficulty, finding—to her dismay—that her hands are shaking. Mulder will be arriving any second, and here she is, frozen like a statue.

How long has he been thinking about this, she wonders. What exactly is he thinking? Her mind races, trying to reconcile this Mulder whose deepest desires are spilled out here in ink on worn and crinkled brochures with the one she’s spent nearly every day with these past several months.

She’d never have guessed…

“Morning, partner,” his voice calls out, and she jolts in surprise. She hears the door snick shut behind him, but she can’t bring herself to turn around. With deft fingers, she pushes the brochure back under the stack of papers where she found it, only the colorful corner of the page visible.

“Morning, Mulder,” she tries, clearing her throat. It comes out strained, but she hopes he doesn’t notice. She hides her trembling hands in her lap under the desk.

He looks down at her, half amused, half concerned. “You okay? You're not getting that stomach bug that's been going around, are you?”

“I'm fine,” she answers defensively, warning him to back off. She grabs a file off the desk in front of her with a little more force than necessary, plopping it open.

‘Okayyy,’ he mouths exaggeratedly, eyebrows raised. He sits down at his desk and leafs through some papers sitting on top, arranging them into neater stacks. When he uncovers the brochures, his eyes widen and he clears his throat, hurriedly covering them with other papers and trying to act natural.

Scully thinks about letting it go and pretending she doesn’t know what he’s hiding, but she knows she won’t be able to sleep until she finds out what’s been going on in that ridiculous head of his. 

She idly flips to the next page of the file in her hand, displaying a confidence she doesn’t feel in the firm set of her shoulders

“Doing some light reading, Mulder?” she asks, attempting to look disinterested.

His head shoots up, a look of alarm on his face. For a second he thinks she might be talking about something else, that she couldn’t possibly know, but one look at her throws that theory right out the window. He glances back and forth between her and the papers on the desk a few times before dropping his shoulders in defeat.

“I’m sorry, Scully, you weren’t supposed to see those,” he says, shuffling all the brochures into a pile while carefully avoiding eye contact. “I was working here late last night. I must have forgotten to put them away.” As he speaks, he opens the top drawer of his desk and shoves them inside, then takes a seat at his desk. His nose is buried in a file before she can even respond.

She watches him now. He is a curiosity, determinedly feigning concentration on a case she knows he finds disinteresting and a waste of time.

Typical.

“You're really not going to say anything?” she asks, arms crossed in front of her.

That rankles him. “What do you want me to say?” he asks, indignation boiling below the surface.

She looks at him incredulously, the file in front of her all but forgotten.

“You're thinking of adoption? When were you planning to share this with me?”

He sighs and shakes his head, pleading silently with her. “It's too soon, Scully. I didn't think you'd want to hear it yet.”

“But you're looking into it because…”

“It's just been on my mind, that's all.”

She stares at him, brows furrowed.

“Since when?”

Since when… Images flash of a life he didn’t recognize. His sister, alive and grown up. A quiet suburban neighborhood. Cancer Man living just down the street. A wife and kids, but not the right ones. It was wrong, all of it was wrong.

“A hallucinatory trip into an alternate universe tends to make you think,” he answers simply.

He’s looking at her now, deadly serious despite the joking tone. She doesn’t respond. Can’t respond.

“I'm sorry, I didn't want to bring all this up,” he continues. “I know it's a sore spot for you.”

It takes her a moment to conjure words from her mouth, her lips moving but no sound coming out. “I just wasn't expecting…”

“For all I know, this isn't even something you'd want.”

What does she say to that? Is she interested? 

“I– I'm not sure. I've never really considered it before.”

He waits, his eyes assessing her for some hidden meaning, some insight into her state of mind. He gets nothing. She’s totally blank.

“Well… what do you want?” He thought the question was innocuous enough, safer territory than straight up asking her if she wants to adopt, but apparently not.

She shuts her folder, abruptly standing and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I'm going back to the crime scene,” she declares, changing the subject. “I want to see if there's anything we missed.”

“Scully…” he tries.

“Not now, Mulder.” Without even taking the time to put her coat on, she flees, leaving the door partially open in her rush to get away. Cursing under his breath, Mulder grabs his coat from its hook and hurries after her.

The elevator doors are almost all the way closed by the time he catches up, but in this case, he figures it’s worth the potential loss of a limb. He throws his hand between the closing gap in the metal doors, and it bounces back open to allow him entrance, to the extreme displeasure of one Dana Scully. He wisely stays silent in the elevator, stealing glances at her every few seconds out of the corner of his eye as they ascend. He can feel the frigid air coming off her in waves. It’s been a while since he’s seen her this annoyed with him, this eager to get away.

He won’t let her. Not this time. He’s learned from his mistakes.

In the parking garage, she's walking briskly, heels clicking on the concrete, and he has to pick up the pace to keep up with surprisingly agile little legs.

He didn’t want this confrontation. There was a reason he was keeping his research a secret. This is exactly what he was hoping to avoid, at least until the time was right to carefully drop some hints here and there. But now? There’s no carefully about it. No option to wait and let this blow over. There’s only one way out of this at this point, and unfortunately, that way is through.

He picks up the pace.

“You're the one who brought this up, Scully, I was perfectly happy throwing those brochures in my drawer and not saying a word.” 

His voice echoes in the concrete parking structure, sounding harsh even to his own ears. As frustrated as he is with her, that isn’t his intent. He only wants to know what he can do to help her, how he can help her fulfill her dreams. He lets out a breath, and with it, releases his selfish frustration. She’s still walking away at a breakneck pace, and he doesn’t know how he can get her to stop and face this. 

“If you want to talk about it, let's talk about it,” he says, pleading. “I can't help you if I don't know what you want. You want me to shut up, never mention the subject again?” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air, “Fine, just tell me. What do you want, Scully?”

“I just want to be a mom, okay?” she yells, whirling around to face him. Her words instantly silence him, and he watches stone-faced as tears spring in her eyes. “I see all these other moms out there and think… I could do that too. Why can’t I do that too?”

Well, mission accomplished. The truth is finally out there. Part of him feels bad for pushing her, but the other part knows that it was doing her no good to keep her feelings bottled up inside to deal with by herself. He reaches out a hand, intending to comfort her, his eyes softening in sympathy. 

“You could. Scully, you’d be the best mom.”

She flinches away, stepping out of his reach. “You don’t know that, Mulder. I can’t even—even my body is even telling me no. Over and over.” She resumes her brisk walk to her car, and he thinks he sees her brush angrily at her face, no doubt wiping away the evidence of the stubborn tears that have managed to escape.

He rushes to get in front of her, walking backwards so he can keep her in his sight. 

“When has that ever stopped you?” he asks. “You had cancer, and you kept fighting. You’re alive today because you refused to give up when your body quit on you. What about that?” He stops abruptly, forcing her to come to a halt before she crashes into him.

There’s no way out of this, is there? Her shoulders slump in defeat.

“You saved me, Mulder,” she admits quietly, shaking her head. “You’re the one who didn’t give up. Not me. It was only because you were with me that I survived.”

This time, when she goes to walk away, he stops her, placing a hand on her shoulder. The simple touch causes her to freeze, hardly breathing, and when he steps closer, she stays. His hands slide down her shoulders, holding her securely in place to ensure that his next words come through loud and clear.

“I’m gonna be with you here on this too, I promise.” His thumbs brush back and forth on the fabric of her sleeves, for his comfort or hers, she’s not sure. “You can still be a mother, Scully. I’ll help you.”

She shakes her head, her heart feeling like it has been ripped to shreds. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He gives her a little shake for emphasis. She still won’t look at him. “You’ve kept me alive all these years, how much harder could a baby be?”

That gets a breathy chuckle from her, and her head falls to her chest. Groaning with the agony of this burden on her heart, she stops fighting it and leans into him. Without hesitation, he wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his embrace.

Her hand comes up to find purchase on his suit jacket, relishing in the comfort only he can provide. She’s past caring if anyone sees them like this here. Let them talk. They already do, anyway.

“Well, at least when you wake me up in the middle of the night, you’re not crying,” she speaks into his chest.

She feels him shrug, and can almost see the goofy smile she knows she put on his lips.

“Usually.”

She looks up at him with her chin on his sternum before taking a deep breath and pulling away.

“It's raining,” he says softly, glancing down at her and brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “We can go back to the crime scene later.” She nods, unsure what else to say. She allows herself to be led, his ever-present hand brushing against her back as they start toward the basement.

“Adoption,” Scully mutters to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t know, Mulder. This—this is different than IVF. With that, all I was asking for was your…” her eyes dart around, looking anywhere but at him, “genetic material. This is something entirely different.”

He’s pleased she’s at least considering it, but she doesn’t get it at all, if that’s what she thinks.

“How? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, the process of getting a baby is a little different, but in the long run, the result is the same.”

She pauses, looking at him in confusion. “What– what are you saying?”

He runs a hand awkwardly through his hair, suddenly taking a unique interest in his shoes and the floor of the parking structure.

“Yeah, we probably should have talked about this before…”

“Talked about what?”

He sighs and guides her into a stairwell. It’s stuffy and poorly-lit with a flickering lightbulb, but here, there’s less of a chance they’ll be overheard.

“Look, Scully, I don’t know what you had in mind for my involvement beyond contributing to half the baby’s DNA when you first asked me to help you get pregnant,” he starts, fighting hard to meet her eyes instead of shying away. “But, I– I had hoped it would be a little more than ‘Say hi to Uncle Mulder,’ every couple of months.”

She blinks back at him, speechless.

“I’m sorry if that’s overstepping, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable with all this, I just—” He takes in a breath. “I guess I got to thinking of what it might be like to have a family again.” His bout of honesty is met with a blank stare, and his nervous smile drops. “I completely misread the situation, didn’t I?” he asks, self-loathing waiting on standby. “Got ahead of myself…”

She stops him by catching his coat sleeve. “No—uh. No, you didn’t.” She collects herself, willing herself to offer him some reassurance. Her fingers release the fabric of his coat, shifting her grasp instead to his hand. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

He glances down at where she holds tightly to him, and his lips curl into some semblance of a smile.

“I guess they might have had a point with all those communication seminars we’ve skipped, huh?”

She chuckles softly.

“I don’t think this is exactly what they had in mind…”

With a gentle tug, Mulder leads her down the stairs, committed to holding her hand as long as she’ll let him. The air is stagnant and silent, only the rhythmic echo of their shoes clicking on the concrete steps as they make their way to the bottom floor.

She’s thinking. What she knows now, it changes everything. 

She had asked him to leave. Hid her grief from him as much as possible after her initial lapse into weakness when she came home with the news. She had almost kissed him, then, unsure of what else she had to live for. She knew she was hurting him by folding inward on herself in the weeks that followed, but that didn’t stop her from doing it. She was in a dark place, hardly able to see what was right in front of her. What she couldn’t see was that his hurt wasn’t just for her, born of some misguided sense of guilt or pity. It was his own, too.

“Mulder, all those months, after it failed—” There’s something like fear in her voice as she utters these words, or maybe regret.

“I was just worried about you.”

She squeezes his hand, feeling tears well in her eyes once more. “No, you were grieving like I was, and I didn’t notice. I pushed you away…”

“Dana…” He turns, a couple steps ahead of her, so for once it’s him who has to look up to meet her eyes. Her lip wobbles as she looks down at him, and he brushes his thumb tenderly over her knuckles. “You had to deal with it on your own, I understood that. I don’t blame you for anything.”

Those eyes. So open and honest and sad. She wonders how anyone could hurt him, could bear to break this man’s heart. How could she? 

Choking back a sob, she falls into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding tight. His arms encircle her back, supporting her weight, and she feels herself being lifted as he goes up a step, closing the distance between them.

His hand climbs up to the back of her head, stroking her hair soothingly.

“I just wanted to be there for you,” he mumbles into her neck.

“You were, Mulder,” she gasps between bouts of tears, finding comfort in the feel of his soft hair between her fingers. “You’ve always been there.”

He pulls back, lifting his hands to cup her face and wiping away the tears he finds there with the pads of his thumbs. 

“You don’t have to give an answer now,” he says, reassuring, “This is… a big commitment, I know, and I don’t want you to say yes just because I suggested it. I just wanted you to know it’s an option, and if you want to have a baby, I’m in. However you want to go about it, I’ll be as involved as you want. Just– let me know, anytime. Okay?”

He’s looking at her now, head ducked so those sad, puppy-dog eyes can get his message across.

She nods, holding tight to the wrists that so tenderly cup her face.

“Okay.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @bby-got-books @calimanc @captainsolocide @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @mulderscully @oofubad @p34chi @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

[nikkineeky]

Was absolutely inspired by this fanfic to draw pretty Arachne. Especially since I could draw her with Alastor!

@megamegan213

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3972631

#pastel draws #raine draws #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin art #I'm very notorious for not posting art on social media lol #but that's okay #posting up here in case you can't see it on ao3 #hazbin hotel x reader #not my oc #hazbin hotel oc #the webs we weave #secrets and silk

[reiderwriter]

Hating You Is The Easiest Thing I Can Do

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: When your boss pulls your case out from under you and gives it right to the BAU, you're pissed. You're even more pissed when Doctor Spencer Reid suggests you can't do your job properly. After a week in his company, you decide to give him a piece of your mind

Warnings: Day One of Kinktober - Hate Sex, enemies to lovers, dom/sub, Mean!Dom!Spencer, Brat!Reader, spanking, degradation, spanking, spit kink, sir kink, vaginal fingering, slight creampie, Reader's boss is an asshole, typical office misogyny. Spencer is also an asshole, but that's just because he's a dumbass.

A/N: Special thank you to @reidmotif and @mrs-dr-reid for proofreading this one for me! I wrote this when on a major Pride and Prejudice moment, which is why there's a whole lot of plot before the sex. I hope you like the build-up just as much as the smut! <3 If you like it, don't forget to leave a like, reply, or reblog and tell me your thoughts! ((just as a reminder, apart for Sundays and Tuesdays, I'll be posting all the kinktober fics on AO3 exclusively, so check out my writing there - reiderwriter))

My requests are also back open now, so if you like my writing and have an idea, check out my request guidelines and drop me a message in my inbox! You can find the rest of my masterlist here :)

To say you were angry was an understatement. You were seething, the anger bubbling up inside of you and threatening to lash out at anyone who so much as crossed your path as you made your way down the crappy motel corridor. You'd only known Spencer Reid a week, but you could think of no one you despised more.

The FBI had always been a boys' club, you knew that. There were some goddamn strong women in your field office, of course, but you were outnumbered 10 to 1. Which was why you were so determined to do well on the first case assigned to you as lead Agent. The first week of the case, you'd made sure you were thorough. A body had been found in the park by a jogger, and you darted to the crime scene the moment you got the call. A woman in her early twenties, like you, had been raped, tortured, and then dumped here, her body posed in a demeaning way to make it seem as if she were performing a sexual act. Your entire body shuddered at the sight, but you couldn't let your coworkers see you weak so you powered through. Collecting evidence, getting an ID on the victim, interviewing potential witnesses, and yes, even breaking the news to the poor girl's family, you had been so attentive to every detail of the case and you felt you were making progress, your boss delivered a humbling blow.

"Another body has been discovered. I've invited the Behavioural Analysis Unit in from Quantico because you're in over your head." He'd told you, not even looking up at you from the file he was reading on his desk.

"What? I wasn't told about another body, why wasn't I notified?"

"I didn't think you needed to know, now that the BAU is coming in."

"So I'm off the case? That's it?"

"No, I want you to assist them in their investigation. Tell them everything you've gathered so far, get them situated in the office as best you can."

"Get them coffee when they want it? Rub their feet if they ask for it? This is bullshit, I was making progress, if you'd only have given me more time-"

"Agent, I suggest you walk out of this office right now and get your PMSing under control before I have to suspend you from fieldwork." You pressed your nails further into the beds on your palms then and bit back your tongue from replying, simply giving a terse nod and exiting the office.

It wasn't even an hour later before the new team arrived, and you offered a tense smile and welcome as you got them set up in their own office. The Unit Chief didn't seem too bad, but Aaron Hotchner couldn't exactly be described as the most welcoming of people, and you felt an instant camaraderie with JJ, the other agent who'd come into the office with him. There were more agents apparently, but they'd gone out into the field to check out the new victim and reinterview the family, something you weren't exactly happy about. But, if you were going to be their little bitch for the next week, you were at least thankful they were tolerable and polite.

"So here's everything I've got so far. I've been pretty thorough in my interrogations of potential witnesses, and there are no CCTV cameras in the general vicinity of the dump sites, so I don't think you'll find anything else there that'll aid in your profile."

" If you'd have been thorough you'd have found this though, right?" A new voice popped up from the door, and you felt yourself tense up under the sudden accusation. Looking up you saw he was holding up his phone, a picture of a strange marking on a tree lighting up the screen.

"Excuse me?"

"This was left on a tree roughly thirty feet from the first dump site. I called Rossi and Morgan and they found a similar marking near the second victim. It's a Mesopotamian symbol relating to the worship of prostitutes and sex workers to promote fertility." He spoke plainly, but all you could hear was the condescension in his tone, and your blood boiled with rage.

" Agent Y/L/N, I'm sorry about him, this is Doctor Spencer Reid, he's another member of our team." JJ introduced the man, sending him a warning glance, as if letting him know that he hadn't just put his foot in his mouth directly.

You looked at the man then, really focusing on him now instead of the pictures, and almost cursed out loud again. He was a jerk, but fuck was he attractive. Tousled hair, dark eyes, and a perfectly sculpted jaw, it was as if he were sent from hell directly to piss you off and tempt you. You pushed the attraction aside for the minute then, choosing to be the bigger person and introduce yourself.

"I'm Agent Y/N Y/L/N. And I'm sorry that I'm not an expert on Mesopotamian prostitutes, but I guess that's probably your specialty, right, Doctor?" You held out your hand for him to shake, but he just looked down at it.

"If you're referring to my doctorate, I actually didn't study classic civilizations. I hold PhDs in Math, Chemistry, and Engineering and additional BAs in Psychology, Philosophy, and Sociology. And I don't do handshakes." He glanced straight past you after that, walking back over to Hotch and filling him in on other things you must've overlooked during your brief time working the case.

You glared at his back, finally letting your hand drop to your side again as you let out an angry chuckle.

"Don't take it personally, Spencer is just… He’s He's not great with people. He'll warm up to you." JJ put a reassuring arm on your shoulder and you nodded. But inside you knew there was not one thing the man could do to reverse the bad opinion of him you'd just gained.

–X–

After the initial anger of having the case seeped out from beneath you wore off, you actually began enjoying your time with the BAU. You hadn't put much thought into profiling before, it usually being so far off your radar while you were working in the field office but you were actually coming to enjoy how they worked, and you'd learned a lot.

Your relationship with Spencer, however, only degraded.

Your hatred had reignited the moment you'd been joined by the rest of the BAU Team. Your boss has finally come down to greet them, and, almost as if making you pay for your earlier comments, had genuinely sent you on a coffee run for them. You could deal with the fact that the man had the most annoyingly complicated coffee order you'd ever heard of in the Bureau, but what you couldn't forgive were the sly comments you walked in on when you returned.

"Come on, Reid. That Agent is easy on the eyes, you should talk to her, get you a slice of that." You'd been introduced to Derek Morgan earlier and you'd instantly pegged him as a flirt, so this wasn't exactly shocking to you. What was a bit surprising was the other man's reply.

"If she's attractive I hadn't noticed. I've been too busy trying to clear up her mess with this case."

You walked in the door then, coffees in hand, and slammed his drink down on the table for him. You handed Morgan to him, double-checking that you'd got both of their orders right before shooting another glare at the man and walking away to find the rest of the team.

But not before hearing Morgan chastise Reid in another whisper: "God man, you gotta be nicer to the kid…"

To say that your working relationship had soured totally after your two personal encounters with the man was simply an untruth. You didn't have a working relationship, you had a working rivalry.

From then on, you'd slyly interrupt the man when he was speaking, telling him to cut his genius rambles in half, that you didn't have all day to sit around and wait for him to stutter his way through his theory while there was a murderer on the loose.

He didn't hold back either, constantly asking you questions he knew you didn't know the answers to, just to smile slyly down at you and make you admit that you weren't as good as him. It was getting so detrimental to the office atmosphere that you had to be genuinely separated after only three days, Hotchner bringing you into the field with him on multiple occasions and forcing Reid to stay behind with JJ to work on a geographical profile.

You'd been with Hotchner at a family interview, working with him to gain details of the second victim's actions and whereabouts leading up to her murder to establish a timeline when you got a call.

Excusing yourself from the room, you quickly picked up the call.

"This is Agent Y/L/N."

"Hotch isn't picking up his phone." That was all the explanation you got from the man on the other side of the phone, his voice instantly grating.

"Yes, I'd assume he isn't, Doctor Reid, because we are currently interviewing a bereaved mother and father and he put his phone on silent. Is there something you need?"

"I need to talk to Hotch."

"Well, you called me. What do you need?" You heard him breathe out a frustrated sigh on the other side of the line, and you rolled your eyes, slightly enjoying being this stubborn and getting under his skin.

"Just tell him we're ready to give the profile, okay?" He hung on you after that and you cursed him down the line, receiving nothing back but the empty beeps of the dial tone.

–X–

It didn't take long after delivering the profile to get your guy, but as he hadn't been in the middle of committing any felonies when you picked him up, you'd had to spend a few days in the interrogation rooms.

Hotch had taken a crack at him and gotten nowhere, and so had Rossi and Emily and Morgan. JJ had been the one to make the arrest, so she went in last and still came out with nothing much. He hadn't layered up yet, as they'd suspected he wouldn't, too egotistical to allow anyone else into the room that he thought he was going to talk himself out of.

"We're getting nowhere with this, Hotch. I think I have an idea that could get him to start talking." Reid said as you all stared at the man through the one-way glass.

"What, you think you can charge in there and get him to talk?" It was petty, but it'd been a stressful week, and he was used to this flow of conversation between the two of you.

"No, you are. Hotch, she fits his type, she's attractive, same build and coloring as the previous two victims. I think it'd work." You scoffed at his suggestion.

"Oh so now you think I'm attractive? I thought you hadn't noticed because you were, what, too busy cleaning up my mess?" You crossed your arms as he gave you an incredulous look, and you realized that he didn't think you'd heard him.

"Spencer's right, Y/N." Hotch nodded, looking between the two of you to see if he needed to pull you apart to keep you from fighting or to keep you from jumping each other. You personally weren't sure which you'd like most at that point, cursing yourself as you let your eyes trail down his body.

"It's going to excite him having you so close, you should pop a few of those buttons, too," Reid suggested looking down at your chest as you scoffed and crossed your arms.

"Oh you'd really like that," you mumbled under your breath, but a swift look from Hotch had you shutting your mouth again as he began to brief you.

Going in you felt a surge of pettiness seep through you. You were going to nail this guy, get him to talk about every little nasty thing he did to those girls, and prove to your boss that you could do this when every member of the BAU had tried and failed. But a small, dim, and annoying reminder at the back of your head whispered in your ear that you'd be pleasing Spencer then as well. Proving him right. You weren't sure if you wanted to succeed to hear him or your boss say "good job" to you after you finally succeeded, but when you imagined it with him, he was a whole lot closer, right in your ear, body pressed against yours.

You focused on your anger over your attraction and pushed into the room, ready to stare down a monster and escape unharmed.

–X–

It had worked, of course. It had taken a few hours of building rapport but you'd done it. You'd had him eating out the palm of your hand while he confessed to the three murders you knew about and an extra four that you didn't.

A day of retrieving bodies later and by 10 pm, the case was finally closed.

"Well done, kid, you really got him in that interview. That was some great work." Morgan nudged your elbow as he grabbed his duffle, exiting the makeshift office.

"Don't forget we're getting drinks at the cocktail bar in half an hour. Shower off that mud and change into a hot dress, Agent, and I'll buy you your first shot." Emily called back to you from the exit too, leaving you in a fit of giggles as you promised her you would.

Once they'd all gone, you started packing up your things ready to leave yourself when there was another knock at the door.

" Hey, I need to grab my bag." Reid stood in the door awkwardly, and your smile dropped into a politely neutral face as you nodded to him.

"Don't let me stop you, Doc."

"Spencer."He said, stepping a bit closer to you.

"What?"

"I want you to call me Spencer. You keep calling me Doctor or Doc, I want you to call me Spencer."

"No. Doctor Reid is just fine for me."

"And what if I want more?" He grabbed your wrist as you turned to go, using a bit too much force and leaving you stumbling into him, hitting his chest as you looked up at him, your noses almost touching with the proximity.

"Let me go," you growled, but his grip loosened and you didn't move an inch.

"What if I want more?" He asked again, a little more insistent this time, his eyes dark in the dim room, expression unreadable.

"Why should I care what you want, Doctor Reid?"

"Because I think you want it, too. Because I think that despite all the odds, you want me just as much as I want you."

Your anger burst out of you in a sarcastic laugh then at his presumptuous words.

"Despite all the odds? What odds are those Spencer? You treat me like shit, ignoring me, refusing to even shake my hand, and downplaying the hard fucking work I put in before you got here? God, you are so fucking narcissistic." You finally stepped away from him then, turning away to regain your composure.

"Me? I'm not the one who missed some vital fucking evidence in a murder investigation, Y/N, so I'm sorry I wasn't the most welcoming person, but God if we're talking egos, you should probably check yourself."

"Forget it, you're impossible. I really tried to be nice to you, but more fool me for making messes you had to clean up."

"Are you still stuck on that? Y/N, I'm sorry, but Derek just has a way of-" He stepped closer to you again and you could feel the oxygen being sucked from your lungs.

"Don't you dare blame this on Morgan. You're attracted to me and you fucking despise that, and it's none of Morgan’s fault. Now please, just get out of this fucking office and go back to your motel room." You practically hissed those last words at him, holding back the urge to scream in frustration. Your lips were so close now, as his chest heaved, hands clenched by his sides as he resisted the urge to grab you.

"Forgive me… for suggesting something so obviously repulsive to you." With that, he brushed past you and walked out, leaving you reeling at his almost confession, head light from the lack of air. He'd taken your breath with him as he left the room.

–X–

The promise of free shots had convinced you to get back out to the bar as promised, not letting Reid and his fickle moods control when and where you'd be enjoying yourself.

You finally showed up at the bar and were greeted by hugs from JJ and Emily, already one drink in as they immediately handed you a shot from the bar. Guiding you back to the table, you paused as you saw him there.

Morgan was sat at the table, happily chatting away with Reid, who'd since grown quiet, eyes meeting yours before leaving to rake down your frame. You resisted the urge to cover yourself, confidently standing tall as he devoured you with his eyes. Changing out of your work clothes, you'd decided that you needed some fun tonight, donning a short red dress, barely hitting the tops of your thighs, hugging your curves tightly, and pushing your chest up so it nearly spilled out completely. You'd completed the look with thigh-high black boots and a red lip, looking the absolute image of lust - or anger - personified.

"Whew mama, you look good, Y/N." Morgan greeted you, standing up to give you a kiss on the cheek. Reid still said nothing but kept his eyes trained on you as he took another sip of his drink.

"I was promised shots and dancing, I think I'm dressed pretty appropriately don't you think?" You smiled and giggled up at Morgan, letting your touch linger on him a little longer to see if it would spur Reid into action.

"Have I ever told you about my very good friend Penelope Garcia? I think you two would get along just fine."

The rest of the night continued in a similar vein. You'd stepped out onto the dance floor with Emily and JJ, letting whatever man wanted to sidle up close, begging one of them to be a distraction from the man whose eyes were boring into you from the other side of the room. It didn't work. Their hands were on your hips, guiding you to the sound of the music but in your head, all you saw was him, doing the same.

It didn't help that he was getting hit on constantly from his perch beside Morgan, and you watched with a bitter feeling at the bottom of your stomach as women tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to pay attention to them. After another frustrating invitation for a tryst with a local man, you excused yourself from the dance floor, finding Morgan in the bar, letting him know that you were calling it a night.

"Where's Reid?" You asked, trying and failing to sound casual as you glanced around the now crowded bar for signs of him.

"He left like ten minutes ago. Said he was tired and went back to the motel."

"Was he…" You didn't want to finish the question, not knowing which answer you'd prefer, but Morgan filled in the gaps himself with a wide grin.

"Alone? Yes, kid. Here, it's the address of the motel we're staying at and his room number." You hesitated before grabbing the paper and grabbing your stuff, practically running from the bar and hopping in the nearest taxi.

–X–

That's how you found yourself stomping down the corridor of the motel, pounding on his door at 1 a.m., unashamed in your brazen actions. He opened the door, slightly shocked to see you there, and you pushed your way inside and turned on him as you shut the door.

"What the fuck was all of that?" You demanded as soon as he turned back to you. His shirt was open now, jacket and tie discarded on the floor somewhere deeper into the room, but you forced yourself to look up into his eyes, away from the pale plains of his skin.

"What was what, Y/N?"

"You, staring at me like that the whole night and then just leaving."

"Did you want me to stay?"

"I want you to stop answering my questions with questions, Reid. This is bullshit, you can't act like a dick to me all week and then look at me like I'm a piece of meat you want to rip apart, for fucks sake."

"You made it very clear earlier tonight that you wanted no part of this, Y/N. Are you saying I should've done something else?"

"That's another fucking question, Spencer! If you don't start actually talking to me, I swear to god, I'll-" You ran a hand through your hair, and when you looked up again, he was closer than ever. You backed up into the wall, but he followed you, pressing a leg between your own. Slowly and with that condescending grin plastered across his face, he drawled out his next words.

"You'll what?"

Your lips crashed against his with the fury of your frustrations, a mess of teeth and tongue and biting anger as you surged forward into him.

With a rough push of your hips, he slammed you back into the wall, taking charge of the situation, coaxing his tongue into your mouth, battling you for control, and winning. Grabbing you by the neck he slowly pulled his lips away from yours, leaving you gasping for breath.

"Don't be such a brat, Y/N. When I ask you questions, it's because I want answers." You moaned as you tried to regain his lips, but he chuckled and kept you pinned.

"Tell me, baby, what should I have done earlier instead? Got down on my knees to beg your forgiveness, or thrown you over that desk and used you like a cheap little whore? I think I know which one you prefer."

You moaned at his words, but kept your mouth twisted in a grimace, choosing not to answer. He got tired of waiting, and, with a swiftness you didn't know he possessed, twisted you around so your hands were planted against the wall, your chest pushing against it too as he pulled your hips up and out, effectively baring your pantie-clad pussy to him as your dress pushed up and over your ass all by itself.

"So fucking slutty. You let all those men in that club touch you while you stared at me the entire time." He ran his hands across your ass massaging you underneath your underwear before pulling his hands away again and grabbing your hips. He pushed his clothed cock against you from behind and you moaned at how hard and big he felt already.

"Was this what you wanted, brat?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"I think you'd much prefer it if I fucked you, don't you think?" He turned you around again, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around him, the new angle pressing your core further into his cock.

"Open your mouth, now." Against your better judgment, your body reacted to him quickly, your tongue dropping out of your mouth as he ground his cock into your core, effectively dry-humping you. With a swift motion, he spat in your mouth, your eyes going wide as you instinctively shut your mouth and swallowed.

"Good girl," he stroked your hair, lifting you up and carrying you to the bed. His lips locked with yours as you tasted his spit on your lips, letting him take control and move you in any way he pleased.

"But you've been a brat," he said pulling away. "And brats need to be punished."

With that he forced you over his knee, pulling your panties down as he positioned your hips higher, your ass raised. He fisted one hand into your hair and began softly stroking your ass with the other.

"You're going to count for me, baby. If you lose count, we'll start again. With each number, I'll tell you what you did wrong, okay?"

"Fuck, yes, yes sir." With another soft touch, he pulled his hand up and bought it back again down sharply, letting it cup your ass as you hissed from the sting.

"O-One."

"That was for being a brat in the office. Being so confident you missed some vital evidence that was staring you right in the face."

He did it again, and you squirmed under his touch.

"Two."

"That was for teasing me in front of Hotch. Making me get hard right there in the office before you went to interrogate that creep."

"That made you hard?" You gasped out as he cracked out another slap to your ass. "Three."

"That was for talking. You need to stop fucking talking." He stroked your ass again, delivering a fourth, fifth, and sixth blow in quick succession as you felt yourself leak your arousal all over his lap.

"That was for dressing like a little whore tonight. That was for flirting with Morgan. That was for letting another man touch you. What do you have to say for yourself now, brat?" Your breaths stuttered out of you as you tried to compose yourself, confident that he'd finished your punishment now.

"G-Go…. FuckFuck yourself." He growled and threw you back on the bed, ripping your dress off over your head and letting his lips return to yours as he trailed his hand to between your legs, finally pushing two fingers inside of you as you moaned and writhed beneath him.

" I hate you," you moaned in his ear as his lips trailed down to your breasts.

"You have a funny way of showing it." Your orgasm was rapidly approaching, so close you could practically taste it. He sensed it as well, though, and pulled his fingers out of you before you could reach that bliss.

"You thought it would be that easy, brat?" he whispered in your ear with a low chuckle before flipping you over to your front and thrusting his fingers back into you from behind, causing another moan to rip from your throat, uncontrollably loud in the otherwise silence of the motel at night.

Unzipping his pants and freeing his cock, you felt the weight of it on your ass as he rubbed his precum against your now bright red asscheeks.

"You're going to look so pretty with my cum decorating your ass baby. It's going to make your ass feel better, too."

"You're disgusting," you spit at him, but your hips push harder into his dick, trying desperately to capture him inside of you and force him to use you.

"No more talking, bitch. Take my fingers." He pushed a hand into your mouth and you started twirling your tongue around them, using your distraction to finally violently thrust his dick all the way inside you. You screamed at the sudden filling, cumming around his cock in an instant, trying to milk him for all he was worth. But he clamped a hand down over your mouth so that all that fell from your face was escaped tears and muffled pleas for more.

"Gonna use you like this baby, gonna make you admit you love me."

His thrusts gained a steady pace as your brain emptied beneath him, desperate for more of the pleasure his body was supplying you with. He released your mouth then, content that all your energy seemed to be spent on pushing your ass back into his, listening to the wet, sloppy sounds of your activity.

"Do you like that, brat? You like me making you feel like this, huh?" He slapped your ass again as he thrust, and you moaned back with a nod.

"Yes, Spencer, don't stop… Don't stop." You moaned again, another orgasm rolling over your body, causing you to clench unconsciously around his cock.

"So good baby, you're responding so well to my cock." He trailed a hand underneath you to your clit and started rubbing it in time to his thrusts.

"One more for me. One more and I'll pull out, okay? Just one more."

"I can't, Spencer I can't do it.." You whined underneath him, face fully buried in the motel pillows. You were surprised he even heard you through the tears as the material.

"Yes you can, baby, look you're so close already, just do one more."

"I hate you," you moaned again, feeling your third and final orgasm wash over you, your eyes rolling back in your head as your body started twitching and didn't stop. You felt a small twitch from him too, as he finished thrusting inside of you, letting a little bit of his cum escape into you before pulling out and decorating your ass with his ejaculation.

He fell by the side of you and gasped desperately for a few minutes, before grabbing a hot wet towel from the bathroom and cleaning your ass off.

"Spencer…" you croak out eventually, regaining some clarity, but still not moving much from your spot in his bed.

"Spencer, I don't hate you."

"I know. I don't hate you either. Which is probably for the best."

"What? Why?"

"Hotch just requested your transfer to the Quantico Office so you could start training with the BAU. You did a good job this week, Y/N." Your eyes started watering again and you gently pushed away tears as he laughed at you, asking why you were crying.

"I'm not happy," you joked.

"I just realized that means I have to work with you more." You both laughed at that. You didn't hate each other exactly, but that didn't mean you could work together well either.

And you didn't want to if this was the outcome of your bickering and hatred.

#kinktober 2023 #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid kinktober #criminal minds kinktober #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #hate sex #enemies to lovers

[catpriciousmarjara]

Okay so there's this dp x dc tumblr post about the JL finding the Ghost King's family tree or something and lots of misunderstandings happening but I can't find it anymore and would be grateful if someone would send it to me... Anyhow I was inspired by it and this is the result!

Also on ao3 if you wanna check it out there!

The Family Tree

"So you're telling me this is just a family tree?", Green Lantern asked with a frown on his face.

Bruce could see Constantine's eyes twitching at that question. As always, leave it to Hal Jordan to annoy people.

"This isn't just anything", the sorcerer said with narrowed eyes. "It's a Class-X magical artifact. If this thing is used as a focus for a ritual, the magnitude of magical energy would rise by at least 80 factors. For those of you non-magical or unfamiliar with magic, that's fucking huge."

Beside him Zatanna nodded, her gaze still fixed on the ancient manuscript. She hadn't taken her eyes off the scroll for more than a minute since she got to the Watch Tower and first saw it spread out on the containment room table. Constantine was the same. Captain Marvel was not present, working along with Superman, Hawkgirl, and Aquaman on a case, but his reactions have always been dissimilar from his magical colleagues, so his case might be anywhere between staying the hell away from it to trying to inhale it.

It was clear to Bruce that Zatanna coveted it, but was sensible and cautious enough to stay away from it. Constantine had no sense so he was a tossup. From where he was standing between Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter, the Gotham vigilante resolved to keep an eye on the two magicians. They most likely won't try to steal the artifact, considering the heavy dose of 'not messing with that thing' overshadowing the desire to possess it, but the scroll itself might be enchanted to encourage covetous feelings on those nearby. It wouldn't be the first time. Better safe than sorry.

It was Diana that stepped up towards the two JL Dark members to seek more clarification. As both a Demigod and as someone familiar with magic, she was usually the one taking point on such issues.

She gestured to the scroll innocently sitting inside the runic circle the two mages had constructed around it. "You have told us that the artifact is not destructive, that it is merely a record, and that the information it contains is not a spell, or a runic arrangement, or a magic circle. You have also told us that the strange energy readings coming from it are mostly due to the material it's made out of than any catastrophic sorcery enchanted into it. You have at last decoded it as a record of a family tree. Yet it is dangerous, a Class-X relic as you've said. Given all this information, I suppose the correct question to ask here is this: why is a family tree capable of raising magical energy output by 80 factors?"

The two magicians looked at each other. Zatanna finally pried her eyes away from the scroll and faced the room.

"Magic is a force that simultaneously has laws but at the same time adheres to none. It's confusing to explain but for the time being just keep that in mind."

She walked to the center of the room, followed by Constantine, visibly trying to collect her words. Bruce prepared himself for a complicated explanation and activated another one of the batsuit's recorders. He felt the urge to sigh, for a supposed unchained force, Magic was needlessly complex at times, and practically incomprehensible to non-magicals.

At the front, Zatanna took a deep breath and began.

"As you know there are multiple dimensions. But magical dimensions come under a different category. Depending on the overall magical potential of a particular magical dimension, we call it the World State Stable Thaumaturgical Output Capacity, we can classify these dimensions in grades and levels, as either higher or lower, with relation to each other. These levels are dependent on a multitude of variables like space, time, gravity, Events, Proximity, etc and as such are non-linear, and unfixed. That's the first thing."

Bruce could practically see the capitals on the last two. Looks like they would need to hold another meeting to clarify a lot of these concepts. Seeing the dawning of lost expressions on some of the members however, Bruce mentally amended that to many future meetings.

Zatanna continued. "Magical objects from higher dimensions become stronger in lower ones. The inverse is also true. This is all in relation to the Overture and the same polarity orientation of course but we don't need to get into that now-"

On the contrary Bruce thought they really needed more explanation on all of that.

"-In simple terms, a child's toy from a higher dimension could become the focus for an apocalyptic ritual in a much lower dimension, while an apocalyptic artifact from a lower dimension might as well be paperweight in a sufficiently higher one. There are ways around it, but if those methods are not implemented, then this is how it generally goes. The larger the level difference, the higher the power."

Now that wasn't concerning at all. Bruce really needed to update his contingency plans regarding magic.

Constantine continued from where Zatanna left off, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"The second thing is that when it comes to magic, things that are indefinable or unquantifiable become definable and quantifiable. Stuff like love, hate, happiness, despair, fate, necessity, authority? All measurable. Not always needed of course, But definitely possible and frequently used in a variety of magical fields."

The sorcerer leaned against a nearby chair. "One such thing is Significance. The magic contained in true names for instance is mostly based on significance. A true name is significant to you, its a doorway to your soul, and therefore it holds power. Significance is also what we call a positive, additive factor in magic. In the absence of interfering variables, significance as a quantity is directly proportional to magical output. In other words-"

"-the more significant an object or an event, the higher the magical energy output, and consequently higher the magical power", J'onn finished. He looked towards the scroll. "The information recorded on it, the family tree as you've said, valuable in significance, most likely in terms of whose family it's a record of. In addition, the artifact is from a higher dimension with relation to ours, and that has a cumulative effect."

"Yeah exactly", said Constantine with a raised eyebrow. "Which means that if that hypothetical toy Zatanna mentioned? If that happened to be important enough, like a first toy, or a cherished gift or something like that, its significance increases, its potential increases, and in the right hands, or in the wrong hands really, that potential could be harnessed at a lower level."

There was a bout of thoughtful silence as they absorbed all of the information.

But Bruce felt as if he had been quiet enough and took the chance to ask a question of his own. "You mentioned something called the Overture, and polarity orientation. What do they mean?"

Constantine just sighed. "For fuck's sake Batsy those things aren't really important to the discussion..."

Bruce just stared.

..."Fine", the mage said in defeat. "There are many names for it, the Overture, Exordium, Legerdomain, Nascence...but the most accepted two are the Beforebirth, and the Womb. It's not a something as much as it's a someplace, but then again it's not really a place either. Simply put it's the birthplace of Magic, where it all began and all that. It can't be accessed without the Key and that's been lost for a long time. It's actually a mission for many magicals to find it you know? A holy quest for a lot of them. Some of them are straight up crazy though."

Bruce field that information safely away. Figure out a plan to combat fanatic magicians trying to find the birthplace of magic for sinister reasons. "And polarity?"

"Well", Zatanna began, "its how magic is classified according to the nature of...magic? Or rather the essence? It's hard to put in mundane terms...Anyhow broadly speaking there are two main polarities, the Obverse, and the Reverse."

For a moment, she struggled with the explanation before brightening, seemingly having found an idea.

"Picture a number line, but like on the y-axis! Zero is the Overture, Obverse dimensions are the positive number side, and Reverse dimensions are the negative numbers! The higher up the obverse dimension, the larger its magical output! Similarly, the lower down the reverse dimension, the higher its magical output."

Bruce had hardly parsed through that when their resident speedster spoke up.

"Guys", the red clad hero said, "I feel like we missed the obvious follow up question after Ollie over here...like I feel like this is important, but where exactly is the scroll from?"

As one everyone turned towards the artifact.

Constantine grimaced and Zatanna winced. They looked at each other as if asking who wanted to bite the bullet. Finally it looked as if Constantine lost. The sorcerer cursed under his breath.

"Well which dimension is the scroll from?", asked Wonder Woman.

Constantine took what looked like a fortifying breath.

"It's from the Infinite Realms."

Silence.

"What?", the Green Lantern asked intelligently.

"It's from the Infinite Realms. As in Infinite. As in end of the figurative fucking line, number line whatever!"

Everyone stared at the magicians as understanding slowly dawned.

There was what was essentially a magical nuke in the Watch Tower.

"Now", began Martian Manhunter, "this is unfortunate".

#The scroll belonged to a necromancer dude #Big fan of the Ghost King and made a family tree for his faves #Even somehow managed to show Danny and get his seal of approval #Which is a big deal obviously #Then he kicked the bucket and somehow this thing gets found by the JL during a mission #Sorry for the lore dump #Its kinds overkill for what was supposed to be humorous premise #apologies #DP X DC #dp x dc #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Diana Prince #Wonder Woman #J'onn J'onzz #Martian Manhunter #Hal Jordan #Green Lantern #Oliver Queen #Green Arrow #Justice League #John Constantine #Zatanna Zatara #Justice League Dark #DC #DC Comics #Danny Phantom #Barry Allen #The Flash #forgot him lol

[dnfao3tags]

Finding Deleted Fics: A Multi-Method Guide

i feel like we are the fandom who needs this post the most any fandom has needed it ever.

all of these methods require you to know the title, author and/or link of the fic.

[disclaimer: the fic i am using as an example is not deleted, i just can't think of any other fics to use as an example right now.]

Method #1: Wayback Machine

this is my go to method that i always try first.

steps:

every fic on ao3 has a url of archiveofourown.org/[specific-numbers]. you're gonna need that url, doesn't matter if it doesn't work anymore.

eg.

2. now you're gonna go to archive.org and enter your url in the search bar.

3. something like this will come up. it probably won't be saved as many times though, just once or twice.

just click any of the links now, either the dates marked blue on the calendar or the earliest/latest date. that's it.

drawbacks:

often, a problem arises when searching for fics rated mature or explicit.

the site will have archived this page but not the actual fic. though, maybe lady luck is on your side and clicking proceed will lead you to a saved version of the actual fic. but usually not. and not all fics are saved here. in those cases, i have some more methods.

Method #2: Search Engine Cache

search engines like google and yandex often save a cached version of sites, though yandex is much more reliable than google. i'll give you a tutorial for both.

steps (yandex):

the link isn't completely necessary, just the title and author of the fic will suffice.

go to yandex.com and search for your fic by either entering the url or entering the title and author as such.

3. this will probably immediately come up.

just enter the captcha and it should let you in on the first go but there's a glitch i've encountered where you could be entering the captcha completely correct but for some reason the site still won't let you in. for that, you just have to keep trying again and again until eventually the site lets you in. might take more than 10 tries.

4. once you're in, search results will pop up. directly clicking them will only lead you to the not found page. what you're gonna do is hover over the box of the search result and you'll see 3 dots pop up on the right.

click those and a dropdown menu will appear. click the first option 'saved copy'.

and thats it! this is a much more efficient method especially for explicit or mature fics.

drawbacks:

for some reason, when i open yandex in google chrome, i can't see the 3 dots. i can in firefox though. don't really know what thats all about.

i'll show you how to do it with google too just in case yandex doesn't work.

steps (google):

in the url bar, type cache:[link of fic]. that's pretty much it. google doesn't have a lot of fics saved though so you'll probably get a 404 page.

Method #3: Reddit

there's a subreddit called r/DeletedFanfiction that can probably help you out. either search for the fic as it may have already been posted or req it and someone will probably get you a google drive link soon enough. u/throwthisaway11112 is my lord and savior.

afaik it's still up and running fine despite the reddit protest thing (which i recommend taking a minute to look into).

Method #4: Archive.org Database

okay, now you're gonna need a lot of memory on computer for this one. i'm not gonna even bother and try to explain it, i'll just link you to the original post. thank you once again to the anon who sent me this method!

Method #5: Fandom

if absolutely none of those methods work, you can still just send me an ask and maybe my followers or i will have a saved copy. same for any other fandom, i recommend asking around in popular fandom spaces, someone is bound to have it.

#deleted fics #kay talks #save #ao3 #internet archive #excuse my poor graphic designing #i wanted to add my photo thing #but this isnt a #fic rec #so i just slapped ao3 hacks on #decent imo #hope this helps someone out #ao3 hacks #how to ao3

[unseededtoast]

When Was It Over? | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: You had suspicions that another woman was receiving Spencer’s affections, and one night your worst fears are confirmed. Heartbroken, you try to move on but find yourself contemplating when things went wrong, and when it was all over. Inspired by “Is It Over Now?” By Taylor Swift

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

wc: 6.7k

content warnings: infidelity, angst, mention of blood

a/n: thank all of you lovelies for taking the time and reading, I appreciate each and every one of you. But especially to @mirdnightmass who suggested this, thank you🫶🏼 and if you have any suggestions please send them my way!

Woven into the fabric of the blanket is a blonde hair. And it most certainly isn't yours. No, the color is wrong and it's not the right length. Your eyes are glued to the hair, blood ice in your veins and chest sore from devastation.

"Who is she?" You ask, pushing the blanket off of you and standing from the couch.

- - - - -

Reading the words on your phone screen cause you stomach to turn with anxiety. Spencer had texted you that he will be home from a case tonight, and that he'd like to come over. Usually, this wouldn't be an issue and you'd be overjoyed to see him. But lately you suspect that there might be someone else entering the picture.

Your suspicions started small. He'd take phone calls that weren't from his boss, he would purposely order an extra coffee in the mornings to take to work, and he started working later than usual. Though you had no concrete proof of anything, it was a gut feeling that you just can't seem to shake.

But you push your anxiety aside and text Spencer back, letting him know that he's more than welcome to come over tonight. And as soon as you send the message, you put your phone away and clean your home to occupy your thoughts.

All too soon, Spencer's knocking on your door and you let him in with a smile on your face. He kisses you as he comes through, smelling oddly sweet. Fighting the urge to throw up, you convince yourself not to overreact until you're certain there's someone else in his life.

Throughout the evening, while the two of you are tangled together on the couch, you peek at him out of the corner of your eye and wonder where things started going wrong. There's a tension between the two of you, and though unspoken, its presence is well known.

You remember how only a few short months ago you would have been beyond excited to spend an evening with Spencer, and now you find yourself counting down the minutes until he leaves. He used to shower you in love and affection, but now his hand barely grazes your thigh.

When Spencer leaves for the night, he kisses your cheek and wishes you a goodnight. You realize as you shut the door that he hadn't told you that he loved you once.

- - - - -

Two weeks pass and Spencer has once again come back home from a case. This time his message asks you if you'd like to come over to his apartment. And you tell him you'll be there, but there's an odd sinking feeling residing in your chest.

Later in the evening you go to Spencer's apartment with distant memories dancing in your head. It seems like just yesterday you came here for the first time, bright eyed and head over heels in love with your boyfriend, who couldn't have been more perfect.

You walk in and place your coat on the rack beside the door, smiling at Spencer who stands with his hands in his pockets. Biting the insides of your cheeks, you wonder if he's even going to lay a finger on you tonight.

"How was your day?" He finally breaks the silence and you nod your head,

"It was okay. Just went to work and now I'm here." The conversation feels like one between new coworkers, not significant others of three years.

"Come on in, I rented your favorite movie and dinner should be here any minute." He finally takes a step towards you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head atop yours.

Feeling his arms hold you for the first time in almost a month is almost enough to drive you to tears. You take in his scent as it comforts you, and you nuzzle your head into his chest, wishing that whatever was happening between the two of you would pass and things would go back to normal. You miss Spencer's affections, your heart yearns to hear him declare his love for you.

After dinner, the two of you retire in the living room where you take your usual spot on the couch. Your favorite blanket is draped over the back, and you pull it over top of you, but your heart stops once it lands in your lap.

Woven into the fabric of the blanket is a blonde hair. And it most certainly isn't yours. No, the color is wrong and it's not the right length. Your eyes are glued to the hair, blood ice in your veins and chest sore from devastation.

Spencer walks into the room after getting a glass of water, but he falls short of sitting beside you. He must've noticed something was wrong in the way you're sat on the couch.

While Spencer watches, you grab the hair between your thumb and pointer finger, pulling it through the fabric and hold it in front of you, eyes meeting Spencer's. Your hand shakes as adrenaline pumps through you, Spencer's jaw falls slack.

"What is this?" Your voice is oddly even and calm given the situation. Spencer's mouth opens and closes a few times before he clears his throat and answers you.

"A friend had to crash here for a few nights." He admits, and you wonder why you're just now hearing of this.

"Who is she?" You ask, pushing the blanket off of you and standing from the couch.

"JJ, I work with her." He says, eyes casting down to the hair still in your grasp. Your heart wildly pumps in your chest.

"So you weren't going to tell me that a woman was staying the night with you?" Finally releasing the hair from your grasp, the realization dawns on you and it's like the puzzle pieces you'd collected over the last few weeks have suddenly put themselves together.

"No, she just needed a place to sleep for a few nights." He says, like he's also trying to convince himself of the same thing.

"Spencer don't lie to me. I know you've been taking coffee to her in the mornings, you've been staying later, and the last time you came over you smelled like her." Your voice starts to shake and you step away from Spencer. Tears well in your eyes and you beg your body not to betray you right now.

"She's just a friend." Is all Spencer refutes your argument with. Your head shakes back and forth, the reality setting in.

"Spencer you've taken better care of her than you have me. Hell, last time we saw each other you barely touched me and you didn't even tell me you love me. And tonight you're doing the same thing." Your throat feels like it's closing up from battling your emotions.

As you wait for him to say something, anything, your bottom lip trembles. Where did this all go wrong? Was there anything you could've done? Could you have held him tighter or kissed him more? The questions race through your mind but are cut short by Spencer.

"I'm sorry. We were on a case and she told me she loves me. But, I promise you that she is just a friend." The words that leave his lips are like knives being dug into your eardrums. And with his words, the tears resting in your lash line fall over and cascade down your cheeks, one right after another.

"How could you? Spencer, how could you? We had everything going for us. I love you with every fiber of my being. I thought you were the love of my life. But now you're just, you're just a lying traitor." You force the words out before you completely break down. Turning away from him, you rush to collect your things.

You're not even sure you put your shoes on the right feet but you don't care. The door of Spencer's apartment swings open and you take one last look at him. His mouth is open, eyes wet, but he says nothing.

He doesn't try to stop you as you leave his apartment, and that makes you sob even harder on your way home.

Is this really how things are ending between you?

- - - - -

"Come on have some fun!" Your friend, Sarah, nudges your shoulder, interrupting your daydream. It's a Friday night and the weather is nice, so she's begging to go out.

"I don't know Sarah, I'm not really in the mood." Your tone is melancholy, and all you want to do is crawl into bed. With a huff, Sarah steps in front of you and grabs your shoulders so that you're forced to look at her.

"You need this. I haven't seen you smile in weeks. Come on, go get ready. It'll be good for you." Her voice is kind, and soft, and you know she's only trying to help. As your lifelong best friend, she's always been in your corner with support and love.

"Fine." You relent, and go find something to wear. You're in no mood for anything uncomfortable or flashy, so you settle on a loose button up and a pair of ripped jeans.

"You look so good!" Sarah tries to hype you up as she grabs her keys, but it doesn't really work. You can't feel good while you're suffering on the inside. With her arm slung around your shoulder, you accompany her to whatever she has planned for tonight.

"Really?" You deadpan ask her as you stare at the neon light adorning the front of the building. This is quite literally the last place you wanted to be tonight, but here you are.

"Yes, it'll be fun, come on." Sarah grabs your hand and drags you alongside into the bar where the music is too loud and the people are even more annoying.

Against your wishes, you line up at the bar and wait to gain the bartender's attention. You figure if you're going to be here you'll need something to numb the experience. Sarah knows you've never been a fan of crowded places so you're confused as to why she even brought you here in the first place.

Once the two of you have your drinks in hand, you find an empty table and take a seat. As you sip, you look around at the patrons; people watching has always been quite enjoyable for you. Your eyes scan the bar and land on a tall man across the way. His smile is wide, hair dark and curly, eyes bright and soft.

Blinking rapidly, you pull your eyes away from the man and order another drink. Guilt eats you from inside as you realize you had been checking out another man; albeit one that looks oddly familiar. And surely another drink will help numb the guilt as well.

Hours later and two drinks turned into four. You feel your cheeks warm from the alcohol, and you're keenly aware that your eyes are back on the tall, handsome man from earlier.

"You should go say something." Sarah says, leaning on the table as she nurses her drink. Shaking your head, you disagree.

"No, I can't." You say, almost as if convincing yourself of your own answer. You're not even sure if you and Spencer are over, you can't possibly go introduce yourself to another man.

"Come on. He's been looking at you all night." She nudges you out of your seat and through the power of liquid courage, you relent.

Turning away from Sarah, you find the man easily and take a quick deep breath. It doesn't take you long to cross the bar and in seconds, you find yourself staring up at the man's green eyes. He's got a small smile on his face, his eyes gleam with curiosity.

"Hi." You smile up at the man, who smiles back.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing talking to a man like me?" He smiles wider, showing off his perfectly white teeth. Your eyes dance from the man's smile to his eyes, relishing in their familiarity.

"My friend said I should come say something." You tell him, having nothing actually prepared to say to him beyond an introduction. The man finishes off his drink and looks over to where Sarah is. He nods,

"Well I'm glad she did. Can I get you another?" He raises the empty glass in his hand. While you feel a little tipsy, you know one more wouldn't hurt.

"Sure." You smile up at him and watch as he goes to order the two of you another drink.

While he's away, you glance over to Sarah, who's smiling at you and giving you a thumbs up across the bar. You suppress your smile, but you're thankful she's still here; she wouldn't leave you alone with a stranger and you know she'll be here to make sure you're okay. Her reassuring presence is probably why you agreed to approach the man in the first place.

The man comes back with two glasses in his hands, and he gives you one of them. He invites you back to his table, which is only a few feet away from where you are standing, and the two of you get to know each other. You learn that he's from the area, he works in finance for a fortune 500 company, and he recently got out of a long-term relationship.

You share how your relationship status is hugely unknown at this point, but spare him the details for your own pride's sake. Thankfully, he doesn't inquire and the conversation flows easily. He even makes you laugh a time or two, which hasn't happened in weeks.

As the night goes on, you find yourself sitting closer and closer to the man, drawn in by how he reminds you of someone you dearly miss. It's entirely clear to you why you're attracted to the man, but you push all of those thoughts away, the alcohol working diligently to cloud your logic and judgment and all you can focus on is the man's lips.

Not even twenty minutes later, you're pulling him in by the front of his shirt, crashing his lips onto yours. His hands hold your waist securely, and his lips move in tandem with your own. The taste of sweetness lingers between the two of you. Your body moves on its own volition, and in the heat of the moment you find yourself practically sitting in the man's lap. Thankfully, the table you two are at is tucked away in the corner, but you're still entirely visible to everyone else. However, that doesn't seem to matter as you place kisses on the man's jaw and down to his neck.

His hands move from your waist up to the first button of your shirt where he expertly undoes it. Your wet lips place another kiss on the man's neck, just underneath his ear like you're used to doing with someone else, and the feeling of another button being undone makes you realize what's happening.

Backing away from the kiss abruptly, your heart drops to your stomach. Your fingers work quickly to clasp the buttons on your shirt and you get off of the man, who looks confused and hurt.

"I'm sorry, I can't- I shouldn't have..." You trail off, giving him no specific answer as you turn around and find Sarah.

She must have been able to tell from the look on your face that you're ready to leave. And thankfully she doesn't ask you a single question on the way back to your house. The entire trip back, you stare out the window and wonder why you let that happen, and how you could've let yourself kiss another man. But mostly you just think about how it should've been Spencer.

Sarah drops you off and wishes you a goodnight, and you half-heartedly tell her goodbye.

Your mind is too preoccupied as you go through your nightly routine and by the time your head hits the pillow, your thoughts have shifted from the unknown man's lips to Spencer's.

You remember how his hands would map out every curve of your body and how his lips would kiss your tender skin, as if you'd break if he wasn't careful. Spencer would always hold you close to him as he showered you in love and affection, his hands unable to get enough of you. Even if the two of you were relaxing on the couch, he would always find a way to touch you, whether that meant you were cuddled in his arms or barely touching his shoulder.

A lone tear drips down your face as you try to sleep, missing having Spencer beside you, missing the feeling of his arms around you, and you know you'll miss seeing his gemstone eyes first thing when you wake up. You mourn the relationship, and can't help but wonder if your actions tonight were the final nail in the coffin.

That night, all you can dream about is Spencer, and how in love you used to be.

- - - - -

Awaking earlier than wanted, Spencer rubs the sleep from his eyes the best he can. It's still dark outside, but he knows that he's not going to be able to fall back asleep. And even if he did, he knows that the only thing he will dream about is you.

The past few weeks all of his dreams have centered around you. At first, they were about how you two met and your first few dates. They were vivid, almost as if they were happening all over again. He could clearly see the tulips he picked for your first date, and he remembers the shade of lipstick you wore that brought out your eyes in the best way possible.

As he makes his way through his morning routine, he's distracted by the traces of you that remain in his apartment. You still have clothes in his dresser, your toothbrush still sits on his bathroom counter. And most noticeably, your scent still lingers on his sheets.

But, his apartment now has traces of JJ too. Her blonde hair sticks to the blankets draped over the couch, her perfume embedded in the material. She had left a hair tie on his coffee table and the mug she used for coffee sits untouched in the sink.

Spencer knows that her confession of love was mainly spurred on by a life or death situation, but he would be lying if he said it didn't reawaken repressed feelings. Back in his early days at the BAU, he had been head over heels for her, but he moved on when she got together with Will. And truthfully, when he met you it was the happiest he had ever been, and he was convinced that you were his soul mate.

That was until JJ told him that she loved him.

A heavy feeling of guilt has taken residence in Spencer's chest since you walked out of his apartment. He knew that you had every right to be upset, and truthfully he doesn't know if the two of you will ever reconcile. As you walked out of the door he wanted to stop you, to beg you to stay, but he knew he couldn't. He had to let you go.

Staring at the couch, he can't help but wonder if your relationship had died the moment he let JJ stay over, the moment she laid on his couch could've been the exact moment your relationship took its last breath. Had that one decision been the beginning of the end?

And he can't help but wonder why he agreed to let her stay in the first place, after a confession of that magnitude, and why he hadn't told you. Was it his subconscious way of admitting he also has feelings for JJ, and that by allowing her to stay in his home it was an acknowledgment of that fact? Had he not told you because of the feelings he harbors for her? Would telling you force him to confront those emotions?

No matter what it may have meant, he can't help but to regret it. The look on your face as you called him a lying traitor will forever be ingrained in his mind. Spencer had never meant to hurt you, no, he loved you dearly.

As each day passes by without hearing from you, Spencer wonders if things are truly over for the two of you. His heart aches from your absence and he yearns to have you back in his arms. But he can't help but feel guilty as he realizes that he may have some of those same feelings for JJ.

- - - - -

Months had gone by since you last saw Spencer, and you finally feel like you can begin to heal. It took some time for you to process what had happened, and now you've come to be at peace with his decision. If he wanted to search for something greater, and found it in her, then there's nothing you could've done.

On a regular routine again, you enter your favorite coffee shop on your way to your new job, needing the extra caffeine. The warm air inside greets you and the rich scent of coffee fills the air.

After you order your usual, you stand off to the side to wait, pushing yourself up against a wall so that other people have room to move around. The lightly falling snow outside catches your attention and from the warmth of inside you can appreciate the beauty.

The barista calls your name out as the front door bell jingles. Grabbing your drink, you relish in how the warmth gives life back to your fingertips before turning to leave, preparing yourself to brace the bitter cold that awaits you outside.

But as your eyes land on the people who had just walked in, it seems as if the wintry cold followed you in after all. Spencer stands at the counter with a blonde haired, blue-eyed, woman next to him who looks like she just walked out of a magazine. Their cheeks are rosy from the cold, but you feel yours drain of all color. And if that wasn't enough, it's like your feet have been superglued to the floor, forcing you to watch as he orders for her with a smile on his face.

It seems he found something greater after all.

After the initial wave of sadness washes over you, you feel a familiar fire within you. Jealousy is an ugly beast, but you can't help the way your eyebrows knit together as you watch them, your thoughts consumed with how that should be you next to him, how it used to be you.

In fact, your jealously goes so far as to create hundreds of impulsive plans to earn his attention away from her. If you spilled your coffee, surely that would do the trick. Or if you tripped on your way out, that would be sure to make him look. Even the fleeting thought of jumping from the roof makes an appearance; the only consequence you can think of is how he'd surely come running straight to you.

But your imaginative plans are all for naught, as they grab their drinks and leave together. She laughs at something he said as the door shuts behind them. And you're still stuck in the middle of the coffee shop with one question floating around in your mind.

Did he really choose her over you?

- - - - -

Staring out of your window that's been frosted over with fresh snow, you can't help but to ponder how exactly you got to be where you are right now. In three days it'll be Christmas, and you've never dreaded the holiday more than you do in this moment.

A few evenings ago you had been rummaging through your closet and found the gift you planned on giving Spencer this Christmas. It was simple, but you knew he'd love it. He had always worn a purple scarf during the colder months, and when you saw this one you just knew he needed it. It was another scarf, but the seamstress who was selling it offered to stitch something on the back of it, and so you had asked her to stitch your initials on the back, so that even while he was away on cases he still had a piece of you with him.

Now the gift lays wrapped on your coffee table, where it silently taunts you with thoughts of what could've been. You stare at it, wondering if you should give it away, throw it away, send it through the mail, or do nothing with it at all.

Unable to look at the box any longer, you take it and put it with the rest of Spencer's things you intend to give back to him soon. Having his belongings in your home is slowly starting to drive you mad, and you know that in order to have any shot of getting over him, it all has to be gone.

In a momentary burst of determination, you grab the box of his belongings that sits in the back of your closet and you take it out to your car, despite the fact that the air is so cold it burns your face and that the snow is coming down at a considerable rate. You figure he's had you in his grasp for too long now and it's time to start reclaiming your home, your life, and begin piecing together who you're going to be after Spencer Reid.

The box is haphazardly shoved into your back seat and your hand quickly grazes the side of a book he had left on your nightstand, and as your luck would have it, you managed to give yourself a papercut. You hold your hand out of the car so you don't get blood on any of his things before closing the door with haste.

Your eyes cast down at the bright, crimson red blood that dots the pristine snow below your feet. Drops of blood roll down your finger and drip from the tip, each drip creating its own prominent mark in the snow. And you can't help but feel like it's more than just blood on the snow, that somehow it symbolizes how you may have very well killed what remained of your relationship with Spencer.

But he gave you no other choice.

- - - - -

Your insides twist and turn with anxiousness as you park your car along the street of a familiar curb. Looking back down at your phone screen, you confirm that this is the time you're supposed to be here before getting out of your car and picking up the box from the back seat.

After Christmas you had sent Spencer a text asking if you could come by and get your things that you had left in his apartment, and thankfully he agreed. You hadn't told him that you were bringing his things, and he hadn't asked for them, but you figured it was just common courtesy to bring them anyways. Plus you can't stand looking at the box any longer, all it does it resurface memories of a better time, one where you were happy and in love. Neither of those things are true anymore.

Walking up the stairs, you remember how excited you were the first time to come over and how you were awestruck by how well he decorated for a man. Of course you added a few things here and there over the years, but soon there will be no trace of you left. Your heart sinks with the realization that Spencer's apartment will no longer be your second home, his arms will no longer be your safe haven.

Once you reach his door, you knock lightly. You had partially hoped that he would just leave your things in the hall, and that the exchange would be easy, but of course he wouldn't do that. And within seconds of knocking on the door, he answers. His hair is messy and he's opted for his glasses today, your favorite look on him. Swallowing hard, you hold the box out in front of you.

"I think this is everything." Your voice is nothing more than a whisper. He steps further inside his apartment,

"Come on in." He invites you, and you wonder if you should accept. You know that if you walk in that a plethora of memories will invade your mind, and you know that if you don't that you may never receive the closure you need. After a few moments of contemplation, you step inside.

You place the box on the ground and put your hands in your pockets as you look around. The decorations you had placed around various locations are no longer there adorning the shelves or the walls, your spare coat no longer hangs from the rack beside the front door, and your handwritten notes are no longer on the front of the fridge. You swallow again and avert your eyes, pleading with yourself to not cry in front of him. But as your eyes move elsewhere, you spot a photograph that still hangs on the wall in his living room.

It was a sunny day in the early spring, and the two of you had just celebrated your one year anniversary. The two of you agreed that a nice picnic would be more than enough of a celebration, and honestly you were just happy that he wasn't being dragged away on a case that day. The two of you laid side by side on the blanket in the plush grass, content with one another's presence, fingers interlaced as his thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. Before the sun went down you had asked him to take the picture, and you always loved how bright his smile was that day.

"This should be everything." He comes back into the entryway with a box in his arms. You spot every little decoration you had ever brought over, along with your clothes that you had almost forgotten about. Spencer places the box on the ground as well, and you nod, clearing the emotion from your throat.

"Thank you." You say and go to pick up your box and get out of his apartment. Truthfully, there's a part within you that wants him to beg you to stay, you hope that he will profess his undying love for you and that you won't have to leave.

No matter how heartbroken you are over his decision, you know that you would take him back in a heartbeat. Your soul still aches for his touch and you're not sure that feeling will ever fade. The intensity with which you love him is passionate and all encompassing. For just another moment in his arms, you can't even begin to list everything you would give and sacrifice. His hugs were always the most comforting, his words always sweet and honeyed, his lips always soft.

Until they were for the blonde-haired woman who came in and took everything from you.

Once the box is in your hands, you give him a weak smile and are almost brought to tears just by looking at his face. Your sweet, sweet Spencer is so close yet has never been farther away. Feeling tears well in your lash line, you commit to memory just how beautiful he is for what is very well the final time you'll ever see him.

In an instant, flashes of what your future could've been runs through your mind. You see the two of you hand in hand at the end of an aisle, long nights of waiting for him to come back home only to be greeted with the most loving kisses, and countless mornings waking up in his arms. You were prepared to give him everything, but now you're left with nothing except the memories of when he still loved you.

Giving him one last chance to say something, your hope begins fizzling out. There's only one thing you want to hear him say, and you're coming to understand that you'll likely never hear those words come from his mouth.

When it's clear that there's nothing left to say, you turn and open the front door. Before the door gets closed on you, you turn to look at him just one last time. You think your eyes are playing tricks on you, but you can almost swear you see a tear fall from his eye.

"Goodbye, Spencer." You say as a lone tear falls from your eye and runs down your cheek, unable to keep them at bay any longer. Feeling your bottom lip beginning to tremble, you make yourself walk away before you have a full breakdown in the hallway right in front of him.

The ride back home is silent, except for the occasional sound of your sniffles. Before the exchange of belongings, you had held out hope that it meant that there might still be hope. But now there's nothing left to give you hope.

It seems things are really over now.

- - - - -

Spencer's phone lights up on his counter, catching his eye as he was walking by. Glancing at it quickly, he sees your name attached to the message. He picks the phone up and reads the message that reads less like a text and more like a cordial email.

"Hi, hope all is well. I was wondering if there is a time that I could come by and collect the rest of my things?"

The words make his heart sink, but he replies and lets you know when he'll be home. He knew that this day would eventually come, but he wasn't prepared for it to be so soon. Placing his phone back down on the counter, he looks around and notices just how many traces there are of you everywhere he looks.

In every part of his apartment he can easily recall a memory the two of you made there. The kitchen is where he remembers making cookies together on a friday night, the living room reminds him of the times you fell asleep in his lap, and the bedroom reminds him of all the mornings he was lucky enough to be awoken by your gentle kisses.

But he respects your wishes and begins collecting your things, committing each one to memory. With each and every little item he packs away, he finds himself becoming more and more angry with himself. He can't understand why he jeopardized the love of his life for JJ. Sure, he thought he loved her, and the two of them had spent extra time together after her confession, but after you left Spencer realized that he could never love JJ the way he loves you. And so he came to the painful conclusion that he could only ever love JJ as a close friend, but only after breaking your heart and shattering your relationship he cherished so dearly.

Spencer knows that he has forfeited every right to be with you by making those series of poor decisions but it doesn't make it any easier for him to accept.

As he packs away the rest of your things, he finally finds himself at his dresser, where some of your clothes remain. He remembers the day you brought some of your wardrobe over and he was happy to make room for you. You had told him that by keeping some of your things here that you two could spend more time together as you wouldn't have to go back and forth between homes when staying over or going out. But he never needed convincing, he would've let you do whatever you wanted as long as it kept that smile on your face.

And all too soon, you show up at his apartment with a box in your arms, filled to the brim with his belongings. As soon as he sees your face behind the door, he feels like he wants to collapse to his knees and beg for you to forgive him.

But instead, he gathers your things and returns them to you when you should be staying here. You should be wrapped up in his arms for the rest of the night. He watches as the photo on the wall catches your eye, and even he can't help but to look at it as well.

Seeing the two of you so happy together in a moment frozen in time makes his throat constrict with emotion, and he feels the tears well in his eyes. What he wouldn't give to be able to see you smile like that again, to hold and love and cherish you until the end of time.

Instead, he watches as you turn and leave his apartment. The realization hits him like a brick wall that this could very well be the last time he ever sees you, and he can't keep his composure.  A tear escapes his eye and falls as you turn around and wish him farewell.

Once the door closes behind you, Spencer finally collapses to his knees, sobs wracking through his body while he mentally curses himself for not saying more, for not fighting harder for you.

His chest hurts from crying, but he can't find it within himself to care about anything other than you. He wishes he could forget, things would be easier that way. But instead he's sentenced to a life where he has no choice but to remember everything.

That night while he lays in bed, throat raw and eyes sore, all he can think about is you. The way you fit in his arms like you were made just for him, how you would rake your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, and how sometimes, after particularly hard cases, you would hold him close.

As the hours pass and he gives into sleep, he can almost swear he feels your arms wrapping around him while you whisper for him to "come here", like you always did. Your voice was always soft and understanding as you took him into your warm embrace.

But now the room feels colder than it ever has before, and there's nobody to blame but himself.

- - - - -

A warm spring breeze blows your hair and with it comes the sweet smell of budding flowers. The sun is shining brightly through the puffy, white clouds and for the first time in a long time, you feel at peace.

Once the snow had melted and signs of life began springing back up, it seems your spirits rose as well. Sure, some days are harder than others and you still miss Spencer, but you're able to live without the constant ache in your chest.

You've taken the time to reflect on what happened, and you have come to accept that there was nothing more you could've done. You had given him your entire heart, but that just wasn't enough for him. He searched for something better, something greater, and it seems like he found it. You only hope she makes him happier than you could have, and that she loves him well.

But no matter how hard you work on healing yourself, you can't silence the voice in the back of your mind that reminds you of just how badly you want to see him again. You yearn to even just see him from a distance, and you desperately crave to hear him tell you that he still loves you.

You wish that he could be here sharing this wonderful afternoon by your side, hand in hand and you wish that things had played out differently. Maybe you two would've been engaged, or even married, by now. After all, tomorrow would've been your five year anniversary.

No matter how much time passes you still don't think you're ready to try to get back out there, much to Sarah's disproval. It just wouldn't be fair to the other man, the way you would still see parts of Spencer in him.

With a sigh, you can't help but think of what could've been, how your future with Spencer could've been filled with happiness, laughter, love, and so much more. But no, instead you sit alone on a bench in the middle of a busy park.

After hours of soaking in the warm sun, you decide it's time to go back home. As you walk down the street you recount memories you've thought of a hundred times before and wonder if maybe your path will cross with Spencer's again someday.

Before you open your front door you stop and take a deep breath. The looming anniversary date has made you a touch more melancholy and sentimental than usual and after a long day of reflection, you're finally ready to admit something to yourself that you've been pushing away for far too long.

It's over now.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #mgg #taylor swift #hurt/no comfort #angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #jj jareau #taylor swift inspired #Spotify

[venomous-qwille]

Ghost in the Machine

This is the master post for Ghost in the Machine links, character refs and FAQs.

I will try my best to keep this post as up to date as possible.

What is Ghost in The Machine?

GITM is a DCA AU and a fic set in the retrofuture (2055ish) long after Fazco has shut down. An eccentric collector has been acquiring versions of the Daycare Attendant animatronic from closed locations around the world. The story involves a reader character who has been brought into repair the original post-Ruin DCA from the games, and hijinks ensue. There are also ghosts.

Where can I read the fic?

GITM is currently being posted on Ao3, and is updated every three weeks on Saturdays. The fic is being beta'd by the tremendously talented @bubbiethesaur. You can read GITM here!

There is also a podfic, which you can find here:

Updates to the podfic will be sporadic, so please be patient &lt;3

Where can I see the art?

On this blog I use the #gitm au and #ghost in the machine au tags for GITM related content. If you are looking for art of a specific character, they also have their own tags: #misuta moon #nova #soleil #clip.exe #sunspot mk1 #fool eclipse #ruin eclipse #sombra #sunflower #mr sandman

FAQ~

Why haven't you answered my GITM ask?

One of three reasons: 1) your ask was too spoilery* 2) I'm waiting to answer it with art 3) ADHD

*spoilery includes but is not limited to: any questions about dual-AI or XYZ character's sun/moon variant; questions about character backstories and lore; questions about characters that have not featured in the fic yet (e.g Nova, Sanii, Harvest, Sunflower, Sandman etc); asks speculating about potential future scenarios (don't get me wrong, I love these asks, but I can't answer them!)

Where are all the Moons?

Read and find out. Seriously. There are at least 5 Moons who are core to the plot but I'm not going to talk about them, no matter how nicely you ask!

Does XYZ character have a Sun/Moon counterpart?

Some of them do, some of them don't. The dual-AI stuff is majorly plot related. If I'm not talking about someone's Sun/Moon counterpart, rest assured you will find out eventually. I won't be spoiling any of it on tumblr though :)

Can I create fanart of GITM?

Yes yes yes please do and please tag me when you post it so I can see it/reblog! If you are unsure if something is ok, please ask.

Can I create fanfic of GITM?

Super flattered about this. I have a longform answer to this question which you can read here. But tl;dr yes you can, please tag/credit me, do not spoil/try to write the lore, and please do not write GITM au (e.g mafia, mer, medieval). I have my own plans for this stuff and I would prefer to release the designs/stories in my own time. If you are unsure if something is ok, please ask.

Do you have character refs I can use?

There is a collection of art 'refs' for each character on the Misutamojis discord. Latest link here.

There are no proper call-out sheets/refs currently, but I have a huge body of art for the characters on this blog which should give you more than enough info for most of them. I will get around to creating proper refs eventually, in which case I will link them here.

Where can I find the playlist?

I update the spotify playlist fairly regularly, if you have any music recs you can send them over in an ask! You can listen to the playlist here!

I've heard there are secret GITM drabbles, where can I find them?

I used to post frequent drabbles from future chapters in the DCA Palooza discord, I have recently deleted the majority of them as people were going back and binging them which hadn't been the intended reading experience. Anywho, this question probably refers more to the spicy drabbles (which people have very kindly made a lot of delicious art for). These are still around! You just need to access the spicy channel and do some digging.

Is there a GITM discord?

Nope! There is a server for GITM emotes and a busy thread in the DCA Palooza, but currently I don't have any plans to make a GITM-centric discord community. If that does happen in the future it's likely I will simply convert the emotes server (Misutamojis).

It finally happened, I converted Misutamojis. You can join the GITM discord here.

Can I smooch the robots?

Yes.

All of them?

All of them.

#master post #ghost in the machine #ghost in the machine au #gitm au #soleil #clip.exe #sanii drop #misuta moon #sunspot mk1 #harvest moon #sunflower and the sandman #fool eclipse #ruin eclipse #nova #gitm yn #sombra #SoundCloud

[unorthodoxx-page]

A Tale of Spirits Status and Other Updates (Long Post)

I've gotten a lot of questions about A Tale of Spirits and its hiatus status over the past few days (months lol). I've been mulling over this post for a while now, avoiding it if I'm honest, but I've gotten to a point where even I can't avoid the writing on the wall.

So, let's start with what's holding me up. Over the last ten-eleven months, I've been dealing with a nerve issue in my wrists and hands (both, if you can believe it). Now it's nothing super serious (we haven't had any surgery talks, thank God), but it bothers me constantly throughout the day, and having an office job doesn't really help. It's crazy to go through some of these older Tumblr posts because my hands were bothering me even then, but I didn't want to admit it.

Long story short, I feel like I'm caught in this...loop of trying to heal. I'll have really good, consecutive days, and when I think I'm on the right track, something happens, and I'm pulled right back into it. It's frustrating, demoralizing, and terrifying all at once. I try not to spiral into worst-case scenarios with this whole thing, but my hands are numbing while I'm typing this. So....yeah, it's slowed my writing practically to a halt. I can bang out a couple hundred words here and there and focus on one-offs since they don't feel so...daunting, but chaptered anything mentally makes my hands twitch. My long sessions are gone at the moment and this leads me to that writing on the wall I mentioned earlier.

I don't know when A Tale of Spirit will return.

Man, that hurts to type. ATOS has been a part of my life for almost two years now. I've grown so much from this story, and my writing has evolved so much from this story. I have so much fun with ATOS. I mean, that's the point of fanfic, but I have fun with ATOS. I go back and reread parts, and I laminate past narrative choices as if those words are written in stone. I snicker while working out dialogue and really (and I mean really) let loose with action choices and experiment.

Hell, I have AUs of this AU on my drive lol. I owe a lot of my growth and confidence to ATOS. I mean, I read every comment and every Tumblr message (and I mean every comment). The support and love this story has received makes me believe that I'm not as terrible of a writer as I thought, that I might actually hack it in the literary world, so it's devastating that I can't put all my energy into this or my personal work.

To be honest, I'm still halfway in denial. I know I'm going to finish this story eventually. I love it too much, but I can finally admit that I'm not sure when that 'eventually' will be. Geez, I should've written this a while ago, but denial is a blinding thing.

I tackle writing when I can, but the nerve thing has thoroughly pulled me into a slump.

I'm going to update ATOS to say indefinite hiatus and put this same message on AO3.

I'm not saying goodbye to ATOS. I was deep in my unposted arcs before all of...this reached a peak even I couldn't ignore. I was really doing something with April, Zuko, and Suki (fun dynamic, by the way). Azula's been fun to play with, and angry, fed-up turtles have been a challenge in a half, so I want you guys to see that one day.

So, there it is. I know this is closure for some of you, and you all deserve to know what's going on with ATOS. I know this update will be a relief for some of you because now, there's no more guessing. The dreaded 'indefinite' has been typed and sealed in digital ink (dramatic, I know).

I'm going to leave it here because I don't know how to end this post. I'll be around, lurking in possible (short) one-shots and slowly chipping away at ATOS. So, until then, rest, rehabilitation, and copious amounts of books and music to listen to.

See you soon.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #crossover #fanfiction #fanfic #atla #a tale of spirits #crossover fanfiction #atos #a tale of spirits question #a tale of spirits update #fanfiction update #health issues are the worst #this literally pains me to write #i'm not abandoning it #hiatus announcement #avatar the last airbender drill

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Second Chance Sorcerer

Chapter 1

Summary: After surviving Mahito's Idle Transfiguration in the Shibuya Incident, Nanami finds himself in an unknown realm between life and death. Will he escape?

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Fem! reader

A/N: I can't believe I actually got around to writing this! *sobs*. I hope everyone does take the time to read it, and enjoys what I've created here. This will be a multi-chapter fic, quite different from the one-shots I've posted before. It was originally made with an OC, which can be read on my AO3 account, but all changes have been made to y/n here.

Thank you @actuallysaiyan for making the lovely title banner and for listening to me rant and giving me all the encouragement to finish this chapter. Everyone needs a cheerleader like you. 💜

Nanami masterlist | Chapter 2

“You’ve got it from here…Itadori kun.”

Those were the last words Nanami remembers saying before Mahito’s Idle Transfiguration fragmented his soul into smithereens. All he felt was pain, gut-wrenching pain as his soul collapsed and rearranged itself, piece after piece trying various combinations of alignment, trying to come back into some semblance of a whole, like chromosomes after being hit with a lethal dose of radiation.

His eyes squeeze shut, senses overloading as he prepares to meet whatever awaits him on the other side. Would it be a lovely afterlife like he’d hoped? Filled with long days on the beach, reading the backlog of books he’d been holding off on? Laying in the sun, no work, no obligations, just doing whatever he wanted to his heart’s content? He felt warmth against his chest, a bright light emanating from it, and for a split second, it felt like someone was calling out to him, a very familiar voice…

And all of a sudden it stops. With a thump, he crumples on something solid, his side colliding with the surface. Was this it? Was he in the afterlife? Nanami hesitantly opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings.

At first, it appears like he’s landed on a sidewalk that wound deeply into a very gloomy and derelict-looking city. He could make out buildings, traffic lights, and little shops tucked away in between these larger structures, all of them looking abandoned or in various states of disuse. Not exactly what he’d hoped for. Was this actually the Great Beyond? 

Nanami pushes himself to his feet, relieved when he realizes he’s not in pain anymore. Had Mahito sent him to a separate contained domain? He squints, trying to find his bearings. There was no sunlight wherever he was, but the street lamps were lit along the length of the sidewalk, casting shadows along the way. He cautiously looks around. The place looks strangely familiar…

He grasps his weapon, the blade having still been in his hand when Mahito touched him, and advances down the road. As he walks, he realizes with a jolt that wherever he is appears to be a phantom of his neighborhood. He recognized this road now, as he had frequented it so often. Up ahead was the grocery store he would go to every Saturday. And right opposite it, a little cafe he would sometimes wander into for their lovely croissants and artisan coffee. The more he walked, the more he started piecing together a map of this area, astonished at what he was seeing. This certainly couldn’t be a domain expansion. There was far too much detail resembling the real world and, although the place gave a foreboding aura, seemed to be unoccupied except for himself. 

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, lowers his weapon, and tries to think. Logic was telling him Mahito had sent him somewhere, perhaps a sealed space, rather than kill him outright. But if that was the case, why was he healed? His entire left side which had been covered with fatal burns was gone, the skin healed over like new, his eye regenerated, hair grown back. His clothes and shoes had somehow been restored to their original condition, his glasses back to their position on his face. 

Things weren’t adding up. He continued to walk, then came upon a library he remembered passing by in the real world but had never really paid attention to before. Deciding this was as good a spot as any to glean information about his whereabouts, he enters, squinting through the darkness. Lines and lines of shelves stood neatly arranged in the building. Nanami walks between the rows, pausing in between sections for a brief moment before continuing his perusing. 

He rounds the corner, then quickly presses his back against a bookshelf as he senses an unusual energy signature fading away from him. So he wasn’t alone, and the thought wasn’t comforting. The energy didn’t match a human or a sorcerer, so he had to assume it was a special-grade curse. After his interactions with Jogo and Mahito, he didn’t know what to expect in terms of its abilities. He was tempted to escape but knew he had nowhere to go. If he was trapped in this domain what hope was there to escape this odd being he was sensing?

Raising the clothed blade with its polka dot pattern, he follows the energy steadily, not daring to breathe too loudly as he advances. It moves stealthily and silently, as though trying to elude him. This makes him immediately wary, sensing he could be getting lured into a trap. He follows at a distance, then stops as he comes to a reading section, the area cleared out and decorated with little chairs, poufs, and tables. Struggling to see in the dim light, he moves into the open, instincts screaming that he’s making a mistake. He pauses, trying to sense the energy again.

“It’s rude to chase one with a weapon you know.” A voice says from directly behind him. Nanami startles and spins around to face his pursuant, arms immediately coming before him to block an impending attack. Upon seeing the sight before him, his gaze fills with both fear and wonder, the being in front of him a vision of amazement. 

All he sees at first are a pair of piercing silver eyes that seem to probe the very depths of his soul. There’s a quiet insightfulness to them like he was looking into the eyes of an old friend, yet an unsettling intensity that made him feel apprehensive. The being appeared to lack a shape, but as Nanami took another step back, the light from the street lamps showed it to be made of wisps of black shadowy mist, neither fluid nor gas, swirling endlessly around it. 

Something within him tells him he shouldn’t fear this creature, yet all instincts were telling him to charge the attack before it got to him first. They stood, staring at each other through the dimness, before Nanami gathered his courage and asked, “What are you? A curse?”

The being huffs, as if it was an impertinent question. “What am I…Who am I…The question has been asked for centuries. Yet, even I do not have an appropriate answer…But I am most definitely not a curse.”

It glides silently over the floor, and Nanami instinctively raises his weapon. The being appears to look amused, based on the way those intense silver eyes glowed. “Put away your blade, Nanami Kento. The things I could have done to you once you entered my realm can’t be defended against by you, or even a special-grade sorcerer for that matter. I doubt even Ryomen Sukuna would stand a chance against me.” The smoky form billows, ebbing and flowing as it circles him. 

Not entirely reassured, Nanami puts his weapon back in the holder of his suspenders. There’s an odd feeling of reverence despite the eerie nature of the being. 

“I am what they call The Mediator, The One Before Death, or The Spectator.” It answers his question. 

“And where am I?” Nanami asks the shadow. 

“You are in between worlds, Nanami Kento.”

“In between worlds?” The blonde man repeated skeptically. Did such a thing exist? He had never given death much thought (beyond the dying part), and always assumed it was like being asleep one moment and waking up in paradise the next. To be in between worlds…had Mahito somehow just locked him away in another dimension that was a bleak version of his neighborhood? 

“So…am I…alive? But in another dimension?”

The Mediator looked at him thoughtfully, as though wondering how best to explain to him. “You are alive for now. But you definitely died, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up here in my realm.”

“I died, and came back to life?” The sorcerer frowned at the obscureness with which this said. “That makes no sense. People don’t just arbitrarily resurrect from the dead. I was severely weakened. My soul was unprotected. Mahito’s attack should have killed me.”

“It did. However, something at that moment reversed the attack and restored the various fragments your soul had shattered into.”

Disbelievingly, Nanami started running his hands over his torso as though trying to find evidence that he had died. It was just…fantastical…impossible…He had survived Mahito’s attack? What divine intervention could have possibly saved him from something so deadly? As his fingers near his wrist, they brush over a small chain, hidden under the cuff of his shirt. He quickly undoes the button and looks incredulously at the small charm, an Aum symbol, dangling from the chain. 

“Y/n…” he murmurs her name softly. His apprentice. He now remembers her fastening one of these to not just him but to Ino and Itadori as well before they were deployed to Shibuya. 

“That’s probably what saved you,” the being said evidently, interrupting Nanami’s thoughts. “Whatever that is, it was imbued with a heavy concentration of neutralized curse energy. So when you died from the attack, that charm activated and repaired your soul.”

Nanami absently fingered the charm, trying to think. Y/n’s ability to neutralize cursed energy had improved immensely under his tutelage, he knew that, but he hadn’t imagined it to this extent. Her other ability included being able to manipulate any cursed energy she neutralized into forms of heat, summoning flames on her palms that towered at least  20 feet tall. How she had imbued the energy into the charm was anyone’s guess. 

“And I’m in between worlds.” He repeats again, trying to make sure he’s not misunderstanding the conversation.

“Indeed. Think of this as your own personal purgatory.” Those silver eyes bore into him like moons against a black sky, waiting to see his reaction.

Purgatory. Nanami pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, unable to fathom how insane this sounded. “I thought purgatory was for people who needed to be redeemed.”

“It is usually. But in your case, it looks like the veil partitioning the worlds got confused, seeing as how you left one dead, and then suddenly became alive in another. Death probably couldn’t figure out what to do with you so it sent you here instead.”

“So I’m stuck here?”

Despite the miraculousness of it all, Nanami couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation. He had been prepared for death for several years now. So much to the point that he had a will drafted, signed, and sealed, declaring all his possessions to be donated to charity since he had no other family or next of kin. A copy of the keys to his house had been entrusted to the lawyer who had helped draft the will. He had all his affairs set in order with the expectation that his death would be sudden and he was unwilling to burden anyone to deal with the repercussions. 

He had known he would die in the line of duty. He had accepted his fate the moment Mahito had laid a hand on him in the underground, welcoming death as a tranquil friend. His whole life had been struggle after struggle, a gamble, clawing his way to stay alive. All he could say was that he had been lucky so far. There had to be a moment when that luck ran out. He had been dreaming of knowing peace and death seemed to be the only option for that. 

“Does it bother you, that you are alive?” The purgatory being asks him curiously, noting his less-than-happy expression. “Most would rejoice at this second chance for life.”

The question hits Nanami with a gravity he hadn’t been expecting. “Most people haven’t lived my life. I’ve done enough. I’m tired. I’ve earned the right to a peaceful death.”

“And yet, it looks like someone desperately wanted you to live.” Those hypnotic eyes wander over to the charm dangling on his wrist. “Is that not reason enough? To not want to die?”

Disturbed by the notion, Nanami grips the charm. Y/n’s energy had kept him alive, unwittingly preventing him from moving on into the afterlife. Whether that had been her intent was debatable. Her desperately wanting him to live? It just didn’t seem likely to him. Sure, perhaps she didn’t want him to die in the way that people didn’t want others to die in general. But beyond that? He couldn’t fathom her being so consumed by the thought of his death that she would create a charm that essentially kept him alive after having his soul damaged to what should have been a point beyond repair. 

Y/n had a late start in her career as a sorceress, and certain concepts about it seemed to stymie her, more typically seen in a younger student than someone her age. He had repeatedly told her to not worry about him when he took her on missions, to value her life more than his. He drilled it into her head when he taught her self-defense, that if there was an opportunity to escape she should take it, the hand-to-hand combat sometimes leaving bruises on her skin because she’d been unwilling to take a shot at him. It always pained him when that happened, marking her, leaving those unsavory blemishes on her but how else was she going to learn that fairness wasn’t something that existed in Jujutsu? Her willingness to get a little scuffed up if it meant protecting him from a curse irked him. She was rather like a kitten unwilling to be shooed away from a reluctant petter. His lips curled wryly as he imagined her expression if she ever heard that comparison out loud. 

‘Don’t be so cruel Nanami san!’ She’d probably say, those large (color) eyes looking at him reproachfully. And for a moment, his mind’s eye couldn’t picture anything else except that; those large (color) eyes, and the shock in them when he told her that he didn’t think he’d live very long. She hadn’t said anything to convince him his mindset was wrong, but she did look like he had betrayed her by expressing his very honest and logical opinion. As though he had broken an oath to her by not saying he wanted to live long and prosper. 

Nanami gives himself a mental shake. This wasn't the time to be thinking about Y/ni's opinion on his death. The bigger task at hand now was figuring out what to do about his imprisonment in purgatory. 

All the while, the shadow hadn’t wavered and had merely continued to look at him work through his inner monologue. Realizing that Nanami had reached a limit, it said, “No, you are not stuck here. At least, not for very long.”

The sorcerer’s head snaps up at those words, eyes narrowing behind the green glass of his frames. “What do you mean, not very long?”

“Well, the neutralized energy imbued into that charm? It’s not infinitely going to remain contained in that. The seal broke when it saved your life, and it’s essentially trickling out little particles of it. It will run out at some point, although it’s difficult to say when that is.”

“And when it does run out?”

“You’ll die.” The being says simply. “And move on into the next realm. That’s the way purgatory is supposed to work. Cleanse you to be fit to live in the realm of death.” 

“And it’s unknown when that will happen?”

The shadow appears to ponder his question before offering a hesitant guess. “A few days, maybe 4 or 5 at maximum, based on the energy intensity that it's currently emitting.”

“And what am I to do for 4 to 5 days here?” Nanami gestures around the gloomy library, obviously not impressed with this arrangement. These extra days before his impending death somehow made a vein pop in his forehead. It was like a pre-death before the actual one.

“Well, you must have noticed by now that this is the neighborhood you used to live in. You are free to wander around here and experience your old life one last time. You can visit your apartment, take the subway and wander around the Jujutsu High campus, or watch a movie in the theater.” The shadow suggested, sounding like a pleasant tour guide for the afterlife. “Think of it as a vacation before your death.”

It struck Nanami as a little absurd but he strokes his chin, considering. “And that’s my only option? To experience my old life before dying?”

“It’s not the only option. You could go back and live.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air at those words. Nanami’s eyes widen at the thought. He could go back to the land of the living? He hadn’t even considered that as an option. He only had death on his mind. Thoughts of living on a beach, days filled with no responsibility still flickered through his mind but at the same time…

“What is it about life that makes you so hesitant?” The purgatory being asks him inquisitively. 

Nanami opens his mouth but no words come out. Had he been thinking about how to escape his situation that all he had ever thought about was dying? It wasn’t unexpected of him. He had learned so long ago that life was mostly shit, with a few moments of relief folded in. At least it was for curse users. He remembers seeing all the people he knew die, how he had tried to escape from Jujutsu, only to be sucked back in because he knew he didn’t fit in anywhere else. When faced with the choice of remaining in a job of corporate greed, or one that endangered his life but was somewhat altruistic, the choice became apparent. He had returned to Jujutsu. Not entirely selflessly, but with the idea that it was the quicker way out of his misery. 

“Is there nothing you would like to return to?” The shadow presses. “Remember that you are a very rare case. Hardly anyone ends up in purgatory under your circumstances. I would hate to see a life go to waste because you don’t know what to do with it.”

A sudden memory comes into Nanami’s mind. A day of unexpected frivolity, when Y/n, Yuji, and Ino had convinced him to come along to an amusement park. It was an odd day but to his surprise, he hadn't hated it. Y/n had mostly stayed away from the roller-coasters, leaving it to Yuji and Ino, wandering with Nanami to the food stalls, closer in age to him than she was to the boys. It was a strange feeling of domesticity he had never experienced before, almost like they were a hodgepodge family of misfits. It was the closest thing he had experienced to a normal day in a long time. 

But days like that were rare. They were like sprinkles on top of ice cream. People could never have more sprinkles than ice cream. Life just didn't work that way. However, Nanami found himself contemplating his choices. Perhaps he had been so jaded that he thought life was wading through ice cream instead of appreciating the sprinkles? And here he was dreaming about sprinkles when he was stuck in purgatory. 

He sighs and shakes his head. “If I did go back, would it make a difference?” He asks doubtfully. 

The being’s eyes crinkle warmly, almost like it's smiling. “To one person, yes. And isn't that more than enough?”

The charm swings from his wrist like a pendulum. He considers the shadow’s words and feels his heart clench uncomfortably. The stakes almost felt too high, wagering his return to life on the chance that it would make a difference to Y/n. Well, maybe not just her. He frowns as he feels the energy in the trinket resonate for a brief moment when he thinks of her, as though it was trying to convince him to make the gamble. He had never quite paid attention to her energy signature before now, so concentrated within the tiny object; it felt like a warm cup of coffee on a lazy Saturday morning. He feels disconcerted that he could sense this now and it was making him want to change his mind about dying. He sighed deeply, feeling his resolve begin to solidify, even though it felt like he was making the wrong choice. 

“How do I get out of here?” 

The shadow has no features except its eyes, but if Nanami could assign it an expression, it would have to be triumph.  

“I’m so glad you asked.” It appraisingly looks at him, before continuing. “Perhaps you might want to let the lady know you’re alive.”

“Must I?” Nanami asks with a hint of exasperation. 

The shadow looks amused but continues in an even tone. “I’m afraid I must insist. It's better to give people a warning when you’re coming back from the dead. Prepares them for the prospect of seeing you again. Trust me, it’s better that way.”

“And how do I do that?” 

It merely continues to look at him with that amused expression and Nanami almost lets out a growl of frustration. “Listen. I died. Then I was told I wasn’t dead, but I’ll die soon. Then I changed my mind and decided I wanted to live. The least you can do is tell me how to get a message out of here.”

The purgatory being laughs; it’s an eerie noise, yet had all the comfort of a long-lost friend. “Very well 7:3 Sorcerer. It’s simple really. To send a message out of here, all you need to do is blend your cursed energy with the cursed energy of the person you’re thinking about going back to life for. Imbue this energy into a small object which will then find a way to its recipient.”

The elementary way this was said nearly cracks his temper. “Is that all?” He asks, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm out of his voice. 

The shadow chuckles at this, adding to his ire. “It really is. Just try focusing on something other than your disappointment of not dying today.” 

Nanami takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose trying to keep his composure. “A small object…” His hand grips the handle of his blade and pulls it out, eyeing it carefully. The whole blade wouldn’t make it. He just automatically knew it. But he wanted to make sure Y/n would recognize the message was from him. He fidgets with the blade, thinking, and then by accident, the edge of it comes in contact with the Aum charm. 

The blend of energy that shoots through him was a shock; a mix of the warm coffee on Saturday mornings, coupled with the calculated preciseness of a seasoned Q-grader who assessed those coffee beans. The polka dots spattered all over the cloth wrapping the weapon glowed at the edges for a brief second before the blade lost contact with the charm. 

Nanami observed the whole process with fascination. Dormant instinct took over him, and he moved his hand so that the charm now swung over the blade. Focusing on that combined energy signature, he purposefully touches the charm to the blade. Y/n’s neutralized curse energy flows into the blade, and he feels his own beginning to fuse with it. He concentrates on his ratio technique, and with a flash, all the polka dots lift off the blade, glowing with a pale sea foam green aura. 

“Find her,” he whispers to the dots, and in a hazy glow, they vanish. 

Nanami watches, as though in a daze, unable to believe what had just happened. He turns to look at the purgatory being.

“Message sent. Now, how do I get out of here?”

The shadow being had been looking at the spot where the polka dots had vanished. It swirls around and looks at him in the eyes. 

“By facing your deepest regrets.”

Animated lines and support banner by @cafekitsune

If you don't wish to be tagged anymore, please DM me, or if you only want to be tagged for certain posts, fill out the form here. I only tag for SFW posts atm.

@bleach-your-panties @bleachbrainrotbro @kr0wu @grimmjowssoulmate-blog @j-u-u-z-o @brittscafe @keiva1000 @buttercupbitches @vee33ee @cindyneko-strider @dreaming-about-seireitei @quinnyundertow @naoyagasm @sitarawrites @sehunaeri @kentosgirlie @strawberrymuffinlovin @ickkck-09 @connorsui @arabidp0ssum @teasore @un-aesthetic @jadedjane @harlekin6

#jjk #kento nanami #jjk nanami #kento nanami x you #jujustu kaisen #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #kento nanami smut #nanami kento #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #vee writes #second chance sorcerer

[gilbirda]

Okay, I want to follow this content. What do I do?

Hello everyone.

So given the recent raise of "tag me!" replies in fics going around Tumblr, and given the recent awareness post about how disheartening, annoying and sometimes disappointing it can be to only get that kind of engagement — I've thought it was a good idea to explain what you can do if you want to follow content.

Basing on what Dis already added to the original post, this is a more detailed list of what options you have when enjoying the content you see.

I liked this prompt, I wish to see all the additions to it. How can I keep up?

You can subscribe to the post!

Desktop: Left click on the three dots and click on "Subscribe to conversation"

Mobile: Go to the Notes and click the top right bell icon

I liked this fic the author posted and I wish to know when they post the next part. How can I be notified?

You have several options here:

Find their Ao3! A lot of authors crosspost on tumblr and ao3, or prefer to post a more polished version on ao3 later on. Whichever the case, you can go to AO3 and subscribe to the fic/author there if you'd like

2. Follow the author! Really. We don't bite. You can just follow the blog, as easy as that. Want to be notified any time they post anything? You can subscribe to the blog and get a notification when they post anything

EDIT: THERE ARE "SECRET" DASHBOARDS, and one of them is a dashboard of all the blogs you have turned on notifications.

Blog Subscriptions Dashboard or go to Settings and turn on the tab in Settings -> Lab

A post about more fun Tumblr dashboards

3. You can still request to be tagged if they continue! But don't let that be the ONLY engagement you do. Like the post. Reblog it. Leave a comment saying what you like, a keysmash, a lovely "hey i really like where this is going!" and then you can say "if you do continue, can you tag me?". 9/10 we would love to write down your name. I can't speak for everybody so it depends on the person, but we want to not feel like we are screaming to the void. Engage. Respond.

KEEP IN MIND: Tumblr is a reblog-based social media. There is no algorithm. We get readers ONLY via reblogs. Likes? Likes are nice but do nothing. You liked the art? REBLOG THE ART.

Another post about reblogging, why it doesn't feel annoying for authors and how you can reblog and add tags faster on desktop and mobile

UPDATE: Tumblr feature for desktop!!!!! If you hover with the mouse over a post and hit "shift+R", post is automatically reblogged!

I liked this oneshot and I wish to know if they will continue it.

If it's a oneshot, RESPECT IT. The author may not have plans for the story, or doesn't have the energy to elaborate. Or if they do, it will be waaaaay later.

Whatever the case, don't demand a continuation.

Really, don't. Is very rude.

Still want to shoot your shot and see if they continue it?

Reblog it! Say why you liked it! In the tags, in the same reblog, wherever! If the author gets inspired they will continue, but remember we do this for free in our free time, you don't know what their life looks like. Respect that.

PLEASE NOTE: You can still find them in AO3 and subscribe to the fic/author there.

I like the AU/Idea/Project, how can I follow any new content for it?

You can follow a tag!

A lot of authors have a specific tag for their AU/idea/project (eg. "plant princess au") that you can follow if you want to keep up. Just check the tags in the post and hit follow.

Desktop:

Mobile:

And that's it! If I have more ideas or examples I will add to the post.

Remember, the point is not to make fun or to make people apologize for the "tag me" replies. This is informative for newcomers and older users alike.

If you have any questions or worries don't hesitate to ask! 🙂👍💖

#psa #tumblr usage #tumblr #gil talks #tumblr etiquette #tumblr tips #how to tumblr #tumblr stuff

[spider999sposts]

you kept me like a secret—Miguel O'Hara

🕸synopsis: you are done being his little secret

🕸tags: fem!reader × Miguel O'Hara

🕸no warnings

🕸notes: posted this on ao3 and forgot to update here!

🕸part 2

It made your blood boil.

You couldn't take it anymore. It was fun at first. Hiding it from everyone. Concealing your underlying feelings to one another infront of the rest of the Spider-Society, yet if anyone looked closely, they notice your little slip ups. How you glanced at each other with fondness, how Miguel's hand somehow always ends up trailing across your waist, how your fingers brush against his everytime you are in a meeting, how on missions, you two always stick together, and how during break, you would be the only one making sure he's had his daily dose of empanadas.

But now it was ridiculous.

It's been a few months now, and he's been different. Treating you the same way he'd treat any regular member of the spider-society, even a little lesser than that. He was rough, harsh, unforgiving, you knew that about him, but despite his nature, he would always be a little gentler to you. That changed.

You just assumed it was because of the Miles Morales situation. When Miguel became fixated on something, he'd be that way, a perfectionist. It was a blessing and a curse.

But what made you realise that this is getting a little too secretive for your liking, was his birthday.

You stood with your drink in hand at the bar. You were the one who set this whole thing up for him, after all, parties were the only occasion where he would let loose (as well as in the privacy of his penthouse with you, but that was not the case now.)

You made sure you got his favourite flavour of cake, getting decorations that won't bother his sensitive red eyes, going even as far as hacking into his gizmo so no bothersome notifications would upset him that day. You were even dispatching other spider-people on anomaly and canon event missions, so he wouldn't have to worry about it all day. It was exhausting, planning a party while simultaneously keeping everything in order in the multiverse without any guide to how Miguel keeps it all together.

You thought he'd be happy you threw him a party, but ever since he'd walked in, he ignored you. He did not utter a word with you since his arrival, yet you could see him chuckling and smiling along side some other people.

"Hobie, do you have something stronger than this cranberry soda?" You turned to the bar, pushing your glass towards Hobie, who was bartending for the night. "F'course I do," He chuckled, "But you know Miguel's rules, lad doesn't want anyone getting drunk."

"Oh, Come on, I've seen you sneaking Lego Peter and Peter B. martinis and scotch, why can't you do that with me?—Wait, since when do you follow any rules anyway?" The punk chuckled, "I don't. You said it yourself, I've been sneaking drinks and everyone is a little tipsy. But they're drinking to let loose, that's not why you wanna drink though, eh?" His eyes glanced at Miguel, then at you. Hobie was the only one smart enough to notice anything, and he was also the only one who noticed the change in attitude between the two of you. You never really talked about it, but he always had this knowing look on his face.

You grumbled, and he just moved under the sink, pulling up a tall glass of..some unspecified liquid. "The fuck is that?"

"I present you to you, 'The Unnamed'. I don't believe in labels."

"Ah, but isn't calling it 'The Unnamed' a label in itself?"

Hobie's colours changed a couple of times, from red to blue to pink and then back to grey. You've irritated him. He rolled his eyes and then put some of this unspecified liquid into your glass, filling it halfway. "You've bested me, now drink up."

"Is this like regular alcohol or—" You asked, bringing the drink to your lips. It was queit sweet, and it had none of the sting that seeps into the throat when you drink alcohol.

Hobie interrupted, putting the bottle away."It is not alcohol, it is a special concoction of mine. It may or may not make you want to speak your mind." His eyes left your confused face and looked up, to the taller frame making his way towards the both of you. "Birthday lad, want me to get you anything?" He jumped off the counter, standing beside Miguel.

"Hm. A refill on the scotch would be nice."

"Too bad, help yourself, I don't take orders from anyone." He strutted away, and gave you a wink, as well as a small smile.

Miguel huffed, "Ese pedacito de mierda."  He mumbled, grabbing a glass and a bottle from behind the counter. He still did not acknowledge your presence, so you decided to be the bigger person and just talk to him.

"He's funny though, his little antics are amusing." Miguel raised his brows at you, moving to sit beside you. That was good, you were hoping for any reaction.

"He's bothersome." He replied shortly, sipping his drink. When he spoke, he didn't look in your eyes, which is odd, Miguel loved gazing into your eyes. He always said it was the only way he could tell how you're feeling. "And yet you keep him around."

"I never said he lacked skill."

"I suppose you did..not." You took another sip of that weird drink he gave you. An odd sensation was tingling at the back of your head. Miguel took a glance at you, and his nose scrunched up in confusion. "What on god's green earth are you drinking?"

You held up the glass to him, chuckling. The liquid was a bit odd looking. Consistency like melted ice cream and the colour of silver. "The Unnamed."

"Pardon?"

"Its called 'The Unnamed', Miguel. It's Hobie's great invention. It's pretty good, once you ignore how it looks."

"Doesn't look very inviting." He added, and then suddenly it went queit between both of you, the only thing peircing through the thick silence was the loud music playing and the sounds of people laughing and chuckling.

You weren't sure if it was the drink, or the ever-growing, tamed anger in your chest, but you felt the urge to speak.

"I planned this party for you, you know."

His red pupils met yours.

"I made sure you had a nice day. No stress. Made sure LYLA didn't inform you of anything that could make you lose it—"

"What? The multiverse—"

"—and  I dispatched teams to make sure everything goes smoothly. All while getting decorations and setting up the place."

He went dead queit. You did not like that.

"...and yet, you have not spoken a word to me all day." A laugh sounded out of you, but it seemed more like a huff. "Not even a thank you. No anything. It's like you don't even know me."

"I—"

You didn't let him continue.

"You did not even come and talk to me until now, and it was because you wanted a drink."

He slammed his glass on the counter, the glass cracked a bit. You slammed yours too, he was not the only one irritated here.

"What do you want me to say?" He rasped, his voice a little lower than a whisper. So far, no one has noticed your heated argument, but if this escalates further, you will have an audiance. "There are suspicions that we are a thing. I can't..We can't risk it." His tone was a little more gentle, but there was still this look in his eyes that you couldn't decipher. To most, Miguel was a book shut close, one that no body could peak into. With you, he was different.

Was different. You couldn't for the life of you figure out what he was thinking as of this moment.

"Miguel, you don't even ask me to spend time with you when everyone is gone or asleep." You replied, "And what if the spider-society found out? Is that so awful? You hand picked these people because you trust them. What's wrong with them knowing?—"

"You and I are not from the same universe. That could very well disrupt the canon—"

Unknown to both of you, you two have been leaning towards each other, your lips almost touched, but it was hard to focus on anything else when you were boiling.

"Do you think I'm naiive? If our love was a threat to the canon, you would've eliminated the possibilty of us happening anyway. You wouldn't have kissed me that day. You—"

"Oi, birthday boy, this one was specially hand–picked for you!"

Your necks snapped towards the direction of Hobie, who was standing behind the DJ booth with Gwen. A familiar song started playing, Miguel's favourite.

How ironic. Of course you only realise now why a song like Secreto de Amor is his favourite.

You both turned away from each other, but Miguel's features softened.

"You're the one who told them I like this one, I'm presuming." He hummed, sighing heavily. You only gave him a small 'mhm'. "Thank you."

You glanced at him, his fingers were circling the edges of his empty glass of scotch. "It..I'm enjoying my time." He added, giving you a faint smile.

Yet he did not acknowledge what you told him. But you found yourself sighing, that burning feeling subsided for a moment. You let yourself smile at him, extending one of your hands towards him.

Miguel just stared at it, a bit confused.

"Since its your favourite, we should dance. You haven't danced since you got here."

Puzzled, he kept staring at your hand. It took him a moment, then he shook his head.

"No."

Your brows furrowed.

"What?"

"I am not dancing with you."

You stared blankly at him.

"Why?"

"I can't."

"You can't dance?"

"I won't dance. Not with you. You know we can't."

That was it for you. You put your hand down, and picked up your belongings. You couldn't even look at his face. This was absurd. You weren't asking him for the world. You were only asking him to dance.

You moved quickly, you heard Hobie calling out for you, but you had already gone through the door and was heading to the elevator.

You heard heavy footsteps running after you, and a familiar red webbing wrapped around your wrist as you kept slamming the elevator button.

You looked up, and he was there, looking at you like he can't figure out what he has done wrong.

"You're being childish." He spoke, his voice echoing through the space. You couldn't believe him. "What?"

That's all it took him to say for you to burst.

"I am done being with you, Miguel." You said, not noticing the tears that welled up in your eyes until they were staining your cheeks. "I'm done being your little secret. I'm done being your midnight lover, and I'm done being with a man who is so horrified at the thought of us being together."

"You don't know what you're talking about." He pulled the web that was wrapped around your wrist, pulling you towards him, but you ripped it before you could collide with his chest.

The elevator dinged, and you got inside. Miguel rushed to follow you, but you were already closing the door.

"Wait—"

"I'm not coming back to your little club-house." You pulled a box from your bag, and threw it at him before the elevator's door could close.

"Happy fucking birthday, Miguel." was the last thing he heard before the elevator began descending.

Miguel looked at the box on the ground, and picked it up. When he opened it, he saw a silver ring, with engravings inside of it. There was a note as well.

'Consider this a promise, and an oath.

I will always love you, no matter what you do.'

The engraving inside of the ring were the date you first met, with the words 'I'd look for you in every multiverse.'

Seems like that was untrue now.

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #astv gwen #astv fanfic #astv hobie #astv x reader #atsv pavitr #astv miguel #miles morales #the prowler #atsv hobie #hobie brown #spider punk #spider gwen #spiderverse pavitr #peter parker #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 #spiderman across the verse #spiderman into the spiderverse #angst #astv angst #gabriella o’hara #across the spiderverse #gwen stacy #into the spider verse #lyla spiderverse #marvel

[colubrina]

idk if you have a TikTok or if you keep up with the HP fandom over there; but apparently manacled by SenLinYu was posted on Amazon for purchase (not by the author). It’s since been removed but was up for more than a couple days. And there were individuals on TikTok that just didnt understand why others were getting so upset. Like let’s disregard the fact that someone other than the original author profiting off this work, but I actually saw people that were very firm in the belief that they could sell fanfic. Whether that be through book binds, cases like this, or commissions/Patreon. I’m an elder gen Z, and I remember coming into the fanfiction spaces pretty early on maybe like 07-08?? I think I was 9-10 reading HP fics on fanfiction.net and very vividly remember everyone being super specific about “this is not my sandbox, I’m just playing around” or “If you recognize anything, it doesn’t belong to me”. So I’m always surprised by people that really don’t see a problem with it. I’ve even seen people claim that it will either fall within the limits of fair use or that it would be a PR nightmare for someone to go after someone. I guess I was 1.) just wanting to rant about how shortsighted I think it was to someone that was around in fanfic space before 2015 and 2.) get thoughts from an author that I feel like has had several popular/successful fics in the fandom.

Yeah, I've got a TikTok. I never post anything, but I try to share anything people make that's nice about my old fics. I always have this half-assed feeling like I should make things but I don't. (https://www.tiktok.com/@colubrina_)

2. Congrats to Senlinyu on her book deal - very cool!

3. And yeah, I saw that people were doing that, and I wish I was surprised but I'm not. There's always been a not-insignificant part of the dramione fandom that sees the fics as 'belonging to the fandom.' They will post them on sites where the author doesn't want them. They will host PDFs online even when you directly ask them not to. They will rehost fics authors have taken down, orphaning them on AO3 so they can't be stopped. They don't see it as stealing because they see the fics as public property. It was probably just a matter of time before they started trying to host them on Amazon. It's frustrating for sure, but it does feel a bit like 'here we go again.' It certainly doesn't fall under fair use, and I think Manacled might be one of the very few fics that will have a legal department eager to keep it offline so the publisher can make their money from it, but other people will be less fortunate. Fic has become enough of a part of the ecosystem it's not at any kind of risk as an artform. But, yeah, it sucks. Be nice to your authors. Respect their wishes. Don't do this shit.

[leviathans-watching]

Breaking the Ice

includes: diavolo x f!reader (she/her & you/your pronouns used, no physical body description)

wc: 14k | rated t | m.list | crossposted on ao3

warnings: cursing, more raunchy than my normal stuff (implied/fade-to-black sexual content), past raphael x reader

huge huge huge thanks to my three amazing betas for this @jeschalynn, @hyperfixat, & @fickleminder, you all seriously elevated this fic and i'm so grateful to you!!

a/n: i have been (slowly) working on this since NOVEMBER. you can't imagine how good this feels to finally post 😫😫. here's a guide to the boys' positions & numbers if you're interested and also where i go over some of the hockey terminology used within this fic! please remember to reblog/comment/etc., it's really appreciated! also blah blah blah creative liberties and suspension of belief. i'm also not a hockey experts so mistakes should be expected 👍

“Say,” he begins, “I couldn’t help but notice you had on a general jersey tonight. I’m surprised you weren’t repping Simeon’s number.”

“And have more rumors about our relationship spread? I don’t think so. Simeon hates when people think we’re dating, which happened for a bit with the CC Chols. Says it gets in his way when he’s trying to find a date.”

“In that case, how about I send you one of mine?” he offers, and you blink up at him.

“A jersey?”

“Yeah, how about it? You could wear the ‘C’ off of the ice.” His dark eyes are even more shadowed and immensely alluring.

“I suppose that’d be okay,” you agree nonchalantly, though your heart is pounding in your chest. You can’t believe the captain of the Devildom Dogs is flirting with you!

∙

Following your childhood best friend across the country after his trade to the Devildom Dogs—one of the most prolific AHL Hockey teams in the business—hadn't been the plan, but you can't say you're not liking it. Especially because the handsome and charming captain of the team, Diavolo, seems to be making it his new season goal to break the ice between you and get to know you better.

“And now,” the announcer’s voice echoes over the arena, egged on by the cheers of the crowd, “we welcome the Devildom Dogs out to the ice!” 

The sounds of blades scraping on ice fill the air, and the raucous cheering only grows louder. It should be no different from your old arena, your old team, and yet it is. 

Well, except for one thing. Person. As he skates out onto the rink to warm up, Simeon catches your eye, giving you a quick wink that’s barely visible through his helmet. You sigh good-naturedly, and he smiles. 

You and Simeon have been friends for as long as you can remember—since birth, if your mothers are telling the truth—and when he’d been traded from the Celestial City Chols all of the way across the country to the Devildom, you hadn’t really seen a reason not to go with him. Your work was completely virtual, and there hadn’t been anything really tying you to the Celestial City after your engagement had been called off. Honestly, though it kind of sucked that Simeon got traded to the biggest rival of the CC Chols, you have high hopes about this new city and team. 

A puck slams into the glass just in front of your face. You don’t jump. The boys on the CC Chols had always loved to mess with you and you were long used to things flying at you at what seemed like a million miles per hour. But it wasn’t one of the CC boys who’d sent that puck flying, and as you scan across the ice, you see it was one of the forwards, number one. Simeon had been kind enough to give you the down low on all of his new teammates, and you’d spent a fair amount of time pouring over the roster and memorizing stats, so it’s not hard to put a name to the number. Face. Whatever. 

Mammon, starting forward for the season, gives you a smirk then turns away, all flashy footwork and dexterous control. You pause to admire the way his jersey stretches across his back, and then the jersey itself. Damn, he looks good. The jersey looks good—you had designed it after all. 

You hadn’t always wanted to be an AHL jersey and logo designer, but through a combination of hard work and dumb luck, you are now the hand behind a myriad of teams’ looks, including the Devildom Dogs and the Celestial City Chols. Not that many people know about the person behind the designs. The average person is typically a lot more invested in the person wearing the jersey, not the one designing it, which is just fine with you. With the amount of money you’re getting, you honestly don’t need recognition. 

That paycheck allowed you to purchase the highest level VIP season tickets for the season, managing to snag the seat closest to the home team benches, meaning you’re only a few feet from the team. Simeon had laughed when you’d told him this, but you hadn't cared. Now you can make sure he heard you when you yelled at him for his playing.

As you wait out the warmups, you try to compare this rink with that of your old team. The biggest difference that you could sense was the vibe. Back at the Chols’ rink, the air had been light, filled with more excitement than anything else. But here, it’s different. There’s a bloodthirsty undercurrent running through the crowd, a cutthroat competitiveness that’s completely new to you. The fans are already bothering the opposing team, hurling taunts and insults their way, with the mascot of the Devildom Dogs, an iteration of Cerberus the three-headed dog, whipping the fans into an even crazier frenzy. 

And it’s not only the fans that are different; the players are, too. Even within the League, the Dogs have a reputation for playing fast and dirty, masterfully bending the rules without breaking them. You’ve always been impressed by them (not that you’d ever admitted it before, as doing so would have been treason to the Chols), but you’re kind of excited to be able to openly study and praise their skilled playing. Especially since you hope this will give Simeon the team that he needs. It had been clear to you, that he was a cut above the rest in the Chols. Not that that was a bad thing, but now you hope he can be matched, have the room that he needs to stretch his wings and fully use his talent without his team falling behind.

Before you know it, warmups come to an end. The non-starting players file back into the benches and you’re proud to see Simeon remaining on the ice. He’d been traded during the off-season, so it had completely taken you both by surprise to hear he’d be a starter, considering all of the veteran players on the team.

You stand for the national anthem, then finally, finally, the puck is dropped. The team they’re playing against today is one you’re not all that familiar with, and honestly couldn’t care less about, so you focus your attention more on watching Simeon play than you do the game as a whole. 

Due to the proximity of your seat to the benches you’re able to hear the chatter of the players, the coach barking orders, and even the signal to change lines. It’s a whole new experience. When you’d go to watch the Chols’ games, you were in the VIP lounge, which, while pretty fancy and awesome, was removed from the ice and the actual grittiness of the game. 

Plus, you never got a moment to yourself. All of the other wives and permanent girlfriends had always wanted to chat, and while they were pleasant enough, sometimes you just wanted to lose yourself to the game, yell and scream with the rest of the crowd. 

Simeon is on a line with Solomon, who’s a forward, and Leviathan, who’s a left-winger. He’s playing hard and well, proving he deserves to be on this team. You egg him on from your seat, making an effort to have your voice heard above the crowd. The Dogs are playing fairly clean tonight, and you wonder if it’s because it’s opening night. 

Or maybe it’s because they don’t need to play dirty. It’s clear they outclass the opposing team in every way, their insane training schedule paying off. The boys are blurs on the ice, and hardly ever on your side of the rink, as they’re pushing hard to keep the puck near the opposing team's goal. At least you’ll be able to see better when they switch sides in the next period. 

Simeon returns to the benches and gives you a grin, chugging water. You flutter your fingers in a wave, mouth twisting with a smile. Solomon, following his gaze, locks eyes with you, and you flick a glance between them before turning back to the game, determinedly not looking over. Your eyes are drawn to Diavolo and Lucifer, the defensemen currently on the ice. The other pair you’ve seen tonight, Barbatos and Belphegor, are good, but these two… they’re something else. 

They move in perfect formation, seemingly able to anticipate one another’s actions. You remember that Simeon had said they’ve been together since the Q, even were drafted together which is practically unheard of, and now you understand why. They’re menaces of black and red, and it would be a complete shame to separate them. There was even talk of Diavolo moving up to the NHL at one point, but after he became captain he chose to stay down. 

You watch as Diavolo steals the puck from under the opposing team’s nose, sending it neatly toward Lucifer, who delivers it right to Asmodeus. He, like the rest of the team, is incredibly talented, but unlike the others, he relies on speed and agility rather than brute force. You’d read somewhere he’d taken a fair amount of figure skating classes to improve his balance and form, and it’s really paid off. 

Asmodeus takes the puck all of the way down to the other end of the rink, passing to Mammon, who scores. You’re on your feet with the rest of the arena before you can think, cheering loudly. The boys do a quick celly then get right back to business, switching out with Simeon’s line. 

The players on the bench all slap Mammon on the back as he takes his seat, casual as can be. 

“You should have sent it to me,” Satan grumbles, barely audible over the din of the crowd and you unashamedly eavesdrop, not even bothering to hide your stare. Around you, the other superfans are still celebrating and their enthusiasm is infectious. 

“Whatever,” Mammon shoots back. “I got it in, didn’t I?” 

Asmodeus laughs, light and airy. “Barely.” 

“Can it, dipshit.” Mammon leans over and smacks him on the shoulder, and you notice he’s taken off his gloves. You smother a chuckle, then return your attention to the ice. The opposing team’s fighting pretty hard, but they’re clearly fighting a futile battle. Any time they manage to get the puck near the Dogs’ goal it’s quickly sent back across the ice, and the few rare times they do manage a shot, it’s easily stopped, mostly by the d-men or the goalie. It almost seems like the Dogs are toying with them, letting them get close to scoring and then removing the chance completely, then repeating the action. 

Frustrated, one of the players on the opposing team lashes out, dropping his gloves and rounding on Simeon. He dodges the clumsy blows easily, putting him in his place with a clean uppercut. The ref finally gets between them, taking longer than normal, something you’ve noticed from watching the Devildom Dog’s old games is pretty usual for their arena. They tend to let them go a little longer, which gives the Dogs a better opportunity to beat the shit out of the other players with beautiful brutality. The Chols had been all about good sportsmanship, so fights were a lot less common with them than the average team.

You wish you had been filming, but no doubt there will be videos online depicting the fight thanks to some other fan uploaded within the hour. 

Simeon is unscathed, but the other player spits blood across the ice, glowering at him. You let out a long whoop, and he half turns towards you, lips curving up in a small, feral smile. You can already see it—this change is good for him.

They both get a few minutes for roughing, but Simeon looks all too happy to be in the sin bin. You can’t help but snap a few pictures, throwing them on your story. The game resumes with more energy, with both the players and the crowd whipped up into more of a frenzy. The fans want blood, or at least for crushing defeat to be delivered, and it seems like the team’s hellbent on delivering. It’s a fantastic game, wilder and more energizing than you’ve seen in a long time, and you can’t help but be excited for the upcoming rest of the season. 

As the game draws nearer to the end, the opposing team pulls their goalie, but quickly puts it back after the Devildom Dogs score yet another goal, increasing the already sizable score gap. When the buzzer finally goes off signaling the end of the game, the away team looks utterly defeated while the Devildom Dogs celebrate. You catch a few curses and middle fingers shared between teams, and again, have to laugh. 

You stand and cheer with the rest of the crowd, reveling in the thrill of the win along with the team. Simeon’s in the center of it all, receiving congratulatory slaps and fist-bumps, and you know without a doubt he’s been accepted as one of their own. You’re a bit relieved—he’d been worried about not getting along with the others. Not that it’s necessary at this level of playing, but at his center, Simeon likes being liked and had been worried about how he was being received. 

Around you, fans start making their way out of the auditorium, and you follow, knowing Simeon’s going to go out to celebrate with the rest of the team. You feel eyes on you as you leave. You look over and make eye contact with the team captain, Diavolo, who gives you a half genuinely warm, half inquisitive smile. You tilt your head and smile back, slightly teasing, then turn away. 

∙

The walk back to your and Simeon’s shared apartment isn’t far, but it is a bit chillier than it is this time of year in Celestial City, so you’re grateful when you’re able to close the door behind you. You send off a quick text to Simeon telling him you’d made it safe, then just pause for a moment, digesting the game. The boys had played great, your jerseys had looked fantastic, and you were pretty sure you’d already caught the attention of some of the players. You’ll get to know them all eventually, or at least that’s what you assume since you’d been so familiar with the CC Chols, so you’re not too worried, but the image of that smile the captain had sent you plays in your head. It’s unusual for fans to be given attention like that, so you wonder if Simeon’s already said something about you.

Shaking yourself, you start your bedtime routine and change into more comfortable clothes. You won’t actually go to sleep for a while, perks of making your own hours and being a night owl, but starting it early never hurts. You also need to stay up for Simeon, as you know he’s going to want to tell you all about the game from his perspective. You’re excited to hear it, as well as excited to hear what hanging with the guys after is like. 

Time passes, and with no word from him, you begin to get a little worried. It’s not unheard of for him to come home late. If he were with the Chols, you wouldn’t be worried at all, but he’s in an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar guys, you’ve heard about the hazing horror stories. You uneasily move around the apartment, trying to convince yourself that you’re overreacting. Suddenly your phone rings, that familiar ring-tone carrying through the air, and you hurry to answer it, raising your phone to your ear. 

“Simeon?” you ask breathlessly. 

“Uh, not Simeon,” an unfamiliar voice says, and you jerk back, checking the caller ID. It is Simeon’s number. “My name is Diavolo, I’m captain of the Devildom Dogs hockey team, the one that Simeon recently joined. I’m not sure what all you know or who you are, but your name is favorited in his contacts, and I think Simeon needs to get picked up. I would drop him off myself,” he adds regretfully, “but I’m a little buzzed and don’t want to get behind the wheel.” 

“Totally understandable,” you assure him. “Is Simeon okay? What happened?” 

Diavolo sighs. “Solomon and Asmo happened. They’re two other team members and they love welcoming the new team members with open arms. And lots of booze.” 

“Are you saying he’s drunk?” you ask, finally catching his drift. “Simeon doesn’t typically drink much.” 

“Asmodeus can be very persuasive. And not like, black-out drunk, but definitely feeling it.” 

“I see. Well, what bar are you guys at? I can swing by to pick him up now, if you’d like?” 

“That would be great,” Diavolo sighs with relief, and his warm tone sends butterflies through your stomach. He gives you the location and you realize it’s only a few blocks from your apartment, easily within walking distance. You’ll walk there, and if needed, call a rideshare back. 

“I’ll be there in like, fifteen minutes,” you say, already pulling on your shoes. You look like crap, but honestly, you’ve never been one to care about things like that.  If Simeon’s drunk enough that you need to pick him up, you really don’t want to waste time. 

“Okay, thank you. And I’m really sorry about all of this,” Diavolo says earnestly. “I’ll be having words with Solomon and Asmo both about this.” 

“Don’t be,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “It’s only natural they’d get rowdy after a win, and I’m sure you have your hands full with everyone else. I totally get it. As long as it’s not a repeating occurrence. I can’t come and get him after every game.” 

Diavolo laughs, deep and warm. “Yes ma’am. See you in a few.” 

You hurry to the bar, hand wrapped around your pepper spray. Though Celestial City has been pretty safe, you know that the Devildom is less so, but there are enough people still out that you don’t feel too sketched out. When you arrive at the bar, you walk in, scanning the room for the team. They’re easy enough to spot, and you make your way over. 

“No more autographs,” someone groans as you approach, and you realize it’s Belphegor, the d-man who plays beside Barbatos. 

“I’m not here for that,” you say, and everyone looks over. You only have eyes for Simeon, who’s slumped over in a booth, tapping away on his phone. “Get up,” you demand, poking him in the side. 

While he struggles to sit up properly, sluggish from the booze,  you lean over to Diavolo. 

“Hi,” you say, clearing your throat, “I’m MC. We spoke on the phone earlier.” 

“You’re the chick who was at the game,” Mammon crows, pushing himself next to you before Diavolo can reply. “It’s nice to meet ya!” 

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you too,” you say, taking him in. He’s tall and muscular, but nowhere as near as broad as Diavolo, who is honestly, a hunk of a man. 

“Thank you for coming,” Diavolo says gratefully. “I’ve been giving him water to help him sober up but he’s still tipsy. You got here quickly.” 

“Yeah, well, our apartment is only a few blocks from here,” you say with a shrug, pulling Simeon up to his feet.

“You live together?” Out of the corner of your eye, you see a flash of honey-blonde hair and Asmodeus as he speaks up. “Are you two married?” 

Before you can reply, Simeon laughs, and it seems like he’s starting to sober up a little. “No. Lord, no.” He continues to laugh, shaking his head.

You roll your eyes and clarify, “No, Simeon and I are childhood friends. When he got traded to the Devildom Dogs I decided I was sick of the CC Chols and followed. And it’s a good thing I did,” you say severely, turning your scolding to Simeon, “because look at the state you’re in.” 

“Please,” a smile tugs at the edge of his lips, “if you’d been here you’d be way worse off than me and we both know it.” 

Well, he’s got you there.

“Hey,” Simeon says, and it’s like a lightbulb has gone off over his head. “I just had the most genius idea. MC, let’s stay here for a bit so you can meet everybody.” 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” you say doubtfully, and the boys all begin talking at once. 

“No, no, sit down!” Diavolo encourages you, and after another moment of hesitation, you sit. Simeon slides back into the booth, scooting further over so you have room, and you make sure to jam him in the side with your elbow ‘accidentally’ as you’re settling. He pinches your side in return, but since you’re in public you can’t retaliate like you would at your apartment, or even back with the CC Chols, who were familiar with your relationship. Starting the night by getting into a hissy slap fight isn’t the image you want to start off with. 

“Um, congratulations on the game,” you say. “You all played very well.” 

“Of course we did,” Mammon crows, “we’re the fucking Devildom Dogs!” 

“Mammon, be polite,” Lucifer, Diavolo’s d-man partner says, and Mammon makes a face. “Thank you very much,” he says, turning to face you directly. “I’m Lucifer, and this is…” 

Lucifer introduces everyone around the table for you, and you do yours when they’re finished. 

“So, MC, what do you do?” Satan asks. 

“I’m a logo designer,” you reply. Simeon rolls his eyes at your vague response but doesn’t spoil your fun. “I run a small design business out of our apartment.”

“You must be pretty good to be able to afford those seats,” Solomon points out slyly. “That is if you’re a season ticket member? I guess you could have just bought it off the actual member for the night.”

“So, you’re not successful?” Belphegor asks.

Simeon shakes his head. “No, she is, but she’s also really humble.” 

“Sure, humble,” you agree wryly. 

“Is there anything you want to drink?” Diavolo cuts in, leaning over the table to be heard better, but you shake your head regretfully. 

“Sorry, not today. One of us has gotta be able to manage getting us home.”

“Next time, then?” 

A handful of men have pursued you in the past, but he’s definitely the most charming, you think as he gives you a look both guileless and expectant. And you’re not opposed, so you laugh and agree, “Sure, next time.” 

“MC, was it?” Asmodeus purrs, and you turn to him. He knows damn well what your name is. “Are you seeing anyone?” 

“Ah, no,” you reply, and your mind flashes back to your ex-fiance. Your relationship with Raphael had been fun, but it was clear that neither of you were really interested in marriage, but the pressure took its toll. Honestly, your decision to move to the Devildom was a really good opportunity to start fresh. You were glad you didn’t have any reason to really see him anymore. “I broke off my engagement recently and I’m still trying to get back on the dating scene.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Asmodeus says a bit awkwardly. You wish you’d given him a little less of the truth.

“Don’t be.” You give him a bright smile. “It wasn’t a bad relationship, we just realized that we weren’t compatible long-term and it was best to part ways.” 

“Kudos to you for having the balls to break it off, then,” Diavolo speaks up suddenly. “That must have been difficult.” 

“It was difficult at first, yeah,” you reply, “but it was the best choice and I don’t regret it.” 

“Enough of that,” Simeon cuts in, throwing his arm around your shoulders. He can sense your reluctance to fully jump into talking about your failed relationship. “I think MC wants to know more about all of you.” 

“That’s true,” you agree with a laugh. “A girl can’t help but be curious about the most notorious team in the AHL.” 

“What do you think of us so far?” Satan asks, raising one neat eyebrow.

“You’re all a lot nicer than the rumors say, for one,” you begin, and Mammon laughs. 

“Well, that’s because we like you so far. Believe me, if we didn’t, you wouldn’t be callin’ us nice.” 

“I’m almost offended,” Solomon says, putting a hand on his chest. “I’ve been described as a lot of things, but nice’? I deserve more credit than that!” 

“Well damn, okay,” you say jokingly, holding your hands up innocently. “I wasn’t trying to offend. I guess you’re all also a lot funnier than I thought. In my experience hockey boys usually aren’t quite as witty as you’ve been tonight.” 

“Was that an insult to hockey players?” Beelzebub grumbles to Belphegor, who nods seriously. 

“I think it was.” 

“Well not to you,” you say exasperatedly, and the honeyed laugh that you get from Diavolo feels like a win. 

The night goes on with info and chirps being swapped back and forth, and by the time it’s time to pack up and all separate, you feel like you’ve gained a lot through this experience. Your worries are mostly assuaged; you’ve gotten to know all of the boys at least somewhat, and everyone now knows you.

“Well, we’re this way,” you say to Diavolo, who walked you out. Simeon is still inside, paying his tab, so it’s just the two of you under the entrance lights. The city is dark yet still busy, and you’re glad to see the nightlife is what had been advertised, lively and entrancing. “It was really nice to meet you. Thanks for letting me hang out and meet everyone.” 

“We enjoyed your company,” he says smoothly. “Thanks for giving up your evening to spend time with a bunch of nice, witty hockey players.” 

“Oh my god,” you groan. “You guys are never going to let me forget that, are you?” 

“Nope.” His teeth glint in the light, standing out against his dark skin. He has a nice smile, you think to yourself before you realize you’ve been staring. 

He doesn’t seem to mind, though, if the interested expression on his face is any indication. 

“Say,” he begins, “I couldn’t help but notice you had on a general jersey tonight. I’m surprised you weren’t repping Simeon’s number.” 

“And have more rumors about our relationship spread? I don’t think so. Simeon hates when people think we’re dating, which happened for a bit with the CC Chols. Says it gets in his way when he’s trying to find a date.” 

“In that case, how about I send you one of mine?” he offers, and you blink up at him. 

“A jersey?” 

“Yeah, how about it? You could wear the ‘C’ off of the ice.” His dark eyes are even more shadowed and immensely alluring. 

“I suppose that’d be okay,” you agree nonchalantly, though your heart is pounding in your chest. You can’t believe the captain of the Devildom Dogs is flirting with you! “You can just give it to Simeon whenever it's convenient for you.” 

“Oh, no,” he disagrees, “I think I’ve gotta give it to you directly, you know, to make sure it gets to you safe and sound. How about you swing by one of our practices next week? I can give it to you then.” 

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” you say, knowing you’re definitely free. “I’m a busy woman. Popular, too.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” he recipes silkily, but before either of you can add anything else, Simeon appears, his suspicious eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you. 

“MC, stop your flirting so we can get home,” he instructs, and you laugh. 

“As if you’re not the reason we’re still here. See you, Diavolo.” 

“I’m holding you to that,” he calls as you walk away. “Next week, okay?” 

“We’ll see,” you return without looking back. You both know that means ‘yes’.

∙

Cracking your back, you push away from your desk, finally finished with work. The Devildom Dogs reached out to you and asked for a Veterans Day design, so you’ve spent the whole day brainstorming potential ideas for the jerseys.

You were glad they contacted you, especially since they were asking for a rush job which meant you were able to get them to sign a contract that would pay you a lot of money. Man, you love your job. And money.

“Done with work?” Simeon asks, poking his head into your room. Your apartment was pretty modest so your workspace was in your bedroom, and honestly, though it was kind of cramped, the setup was pretty sweet. 

“Yep,” you say, and he walks fully in, sitting on the bed. “Management of the Dogs reached out, they want Veterans Day jerseys.”

“What do you have so far?” he asks, and you spend a few moments looking at the designs you’d thrown together. 

“I really like that one,” he says, choosing his favorite, and you make a mental note of that. Ultimately, it comes down to the people you’re working with with the Devildom Dogs, but Simeon has pretty good taste and is usually right about which design will get chosen.

“How was your day?” you ask. They didn’t have a game or official practice, but you were pretty sure you’d seen him heading out to the gym earlier in the day. 

“It was good,” he says, flopping back onto his back, “but I’m tired. And I don’t want to cook.” 

“I don’t either,” you admit. “Takeout?” 

“My trainer’s going to kill me,” he grumbles but opens his phone and starts scrolling through the delivery options. 

“You rarely go off of your diet plan,” you dismiss. “Once in a while won’t hurt.” 

Within a few moments, Simeon’s placed an order at some sandwich place nearby. “Should be delivered within the hour.”

“Sweet.” 

When the food comes, the two of you ignore your table to sit on the couch, putting on the shows you’ve been watching. You take a moment to snap a picture of him, the TV, and the food, and put it on your Instagram story. 

It’s only a few moments before your phone buzzes and you see someone’s swiped up. 

Diavolo_14: Is that meal trainer approved? 

MC: What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him lol

Diavolo_14: I guess at least it’s sandwiches. Could be worse.

MC: And I convinced Simeon anyway, so blame me not him

Diavolo_14: Oh, I have no doubts about who’s responsible. What are you watching?

MC: Some dumb sitcom. IDK, Simeon and I just make our way through shows together for something to do

Diavolo_14: Jealous. 

MC: Of the food?

Diavolo_14: Of Simeon. I want to watch dumb sitcoms with you. 

“What—or who—has you smiling like that?” Simeon asks, leaning over to look at your phone. You turn it away from him, sticking out your tongue. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“It’s Diavolo, isn’t it?” he asks, and you roll your eyes. 

“You better not try to warn me or him off, okay? We’re both adults and—”

“I literally do not care.” He gives you a sideways glance. “Unless he breaks your heart, of course. But other than that, do whatever you want.”

“Thanks for the heartfelt sentiment,” you say sarcastically, and he laughs. You’re so glad Simeon’s never been the overprotective type, as you’d definitely chafe under it. Over time, the both of you have mostly been a listening ear, only giving advice when asked, and it’s a system that works really well for the both of you. 

With a start, you realize you’ve left Diavolo hanging, and go back to the DM thread. 

MC: Is that so?

Diavolo_14: That is so. Now, when are you going to come to practice to get that jersey?

MC: Well, I was going to surprise you tomorrow…

Diavolo_14: And now I’ve ruined the surprise, haven’t I?

MC: Yeah lol. 

Diavolo_14: Well, you should still come tomorrow.

MC: Alright, alright, see you then

Diavolo_14: Looking forward to it, MC.

His words send a flutter through your stomach, and you have a hard time focusing on the show for the rest of the night, too busy thinking about one, handsome captain of the Devildom Dogs. Simeon chirps and needles you for it, something you let him do because you probably deserve it. 

“Whatever,” you finally say, standing up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Oh, yeah, get that beauty sleep,” he replies. “You need it.” 

Grabbing a throw pillow, you chuck it in his direction, making a hasty retreat to your room. 

It’s hard to fall asleep, but once you do, you have good dreams and wake up well-rested. Even though you’re really looking forward to Simeon’s practice, it’s not until the afternoon so you keep busy working on the Veterans Day jersey designs though your mind drifts more often than you’d like to admit. 

You’ve only known Diavolo for a few days, but things are just so electric with him. Sparks truly do fly between the two of you and his flirting makes you feel giddy, but your last relationship wasn’t been filled with lots of laughter so you feel like you’re entitled to it. You wonder if he feels this way too. Does he feel the connection? What does he want with you? Before you can linger on the thoughts, you stand, forcing yourself to switch gears.

“Ready to go?” Simeon asks when you walk into the living room, and you nod. You have your laptop just in case you get bored (which you doubt will happen) and you put it in the backseat of Simeon’s car. 

“This is so exciting,” you say, only half-kidding. “Behind the scenes with the Devildom Dogs. Do you think the others will mind me watching?” 

Simeon shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. Everyone likes you and this gives them a chance to show off.” Laughing, he says, “I think they might like you more than me.” 

“That is so not true,” you argue with an eye roll. “They’ve only met me once. And how could they? Everyone has always gotten along better with you than me anyway.” 

“Yeah, because I’m not annoying as hell,” he says nonchalantly, and you send him a glare. 

“You’re so lucky you’re driving,” you threaten. “I don’t know why everyone always thinks you’re so angelic. You’re such an ass to me.” 

“It’s deserved,” he points out, and okay, you have to agree.

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the ice rink they use for practice, you waste no time gathering your shit and hopping out of the car. 

“Nervous?” Simeon asks, and you scoff.

“As if.” It’s a half-lie. Maybe nervousness isn’t the right word. It’s more like… anticipation.

Simeon leads you through the back doors to the rink, and you look around, taking everything in. You’re assuming it’s open to the public when it’s not in use by the team and that theory is backed up by the presence of a skate rental sign pointing down another hall.

“You can hang out on the stands,” Simeon says, pointing like you don’t already see them. “I’ll tell everyone you’re here and they can do whatever they want with that info.” 

You sit near the rink, but not directly in the front row, and mess around on your phone for a few moments. You’re expecting people to approach you from the ice so when someone taps your shoulder, you jump, looking behind you.

“Sorry, sorry,” Diavolo says, holding out his hands in a peace gesture. His grin is easy and just as attractive as you remembered. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“You’re good,” you say. “I was just waiting for you to skate over to me, not walk.” 

“What I’m hearing is that you were waiting for me.” He does something with his eyebrows that comes off as insanely attractive and you wonder just how desperate you are. 

“Well, yeah,” you say. “I was promised a gift.” 

“That you were,” he agrees. “And I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait a little longer for it. I left it in my car and since practice is starting so soon I totally don’t have time to go and get it. Darn.” 

“Is this your way of asking me out after practice?” 

“Well, it was my way of asking to give you a ride home, but hey, that works too,” he chuckles, eyes sparkling with some positive emotion you can’t quite pin down. “As long as Simeon won’t get mad. I know you’re close friends.” 

“Him?” You laugh. “He won’t be, first of all, because neither of us really cares what either gets up to romantically, and secondly, even if he was, it would be none of his damn business. I’m a grown woman with my own agenda and I’m glad he’s always recognized that. Even when we were younger,” you say with a sigh, “he’d let me get myself into all sorts of scrapes and situations, then just smugly tell me it was my own fault. Nothing serious, of course, but out of the two of us I’ve always been rasher and he definitely uses that for his entertainment.” 

“Seriously?” Diavolo questions. “He seems so kind and nice. I have a hard time believing that.” 

“That’s because he wants you to think that,” you tell him darkly, and the laugh you get in return is glorious, full-bellied and rich. 

Not noticing your sudden stupor, he sighs, catching his breath. “Well, I better get on the ice. Duties of being a captain and all of that.” 

“What, actually having to show up to practice and set a good example? So hard.” 

“You get it,” he says, and you shake your head, unable to stop your smile. 

“Watch me on the ice?” he asks, beginning to walk away backward. 

“Obviously,” you say, “but Diavolo…”

“Yeah?” he begins to reply, then trips over a bench, stumbling to the ground. 

“...there’s a bench behind you,” you finish, and the gobsmacked look on his face is one you endeavor to remember, pressing into your memories.

The boys waste no time getting into the swing of practice, though you receive a few looks and waves. Their drills are intense and difficult looking, but they make them seem easy. Watching them makes you yearn to get back on the ice, a feeling you haven’t had in a while. Maybe you should see what days the rink offers open skate and pull yours out of your closet. 

Watching them makes you feel oddly nostalgic. Both for the Chols and for the rec league with Simeon. You’d played hockey with him through school, quitting in college when he’d been scouted directly to the Chols. You’d been the forward to his right wing, and though you’d never had the same amount of sheer talent as him, you’d been no slouch.

But as time went on, you’ve been satisfied with just watching. Marveling at the feats the Chols were able to do on the ice, rather than rush to attempt them yourself as you might once have. 

You’d been on the ice with the Chols a few times, but after the first year, the novelty had worn off. You’d shifted to the stands after your engagement, sticking with the other girls, and again, while that had been fun, you’re realizing now that you truly, sincerely missed the feeling of skating. 

The coaches hardly pay you any attention, and while you’d thought that maybe your presence would have distracted the boys, they’re all business, showing you a much more serious side than you’d seen so far. Discounting that first game, of course. 

Before you know it, the practice is halfway over. It’s going by way too fast!

“Hey,” Simeon calls from the ice, grabbing your attention. “We’ve got a five-minute break. Come down here!”

You roll your eyes but stand, crossing the short distance to the edge of the rink. He’s out of breath and sweating, clearly working hard on the drills. 

“What do you think, huh?” he asks, putting a hand on the board. 

“Yeah, I want to know!” Mammon cries, skating over and almost running into Simeon. “Cooler and better and more awesomer than the Chols?” 

“‘Awesomer’ isn’t a word, dimwit,” Belphegor says, clearly listening in on the conversation, and you laugh. 

“Way awesomer than the Chols.” 

“Glad you think so,” Diavolo says from behind you, and you jump. Again. Man, he’s really got to stop doing that. Or maybe you need to be more attentive; you hadn’t even seen him get off the ice! He’s sweaty too, hair sticking down slightly on his forehead, but unlike with Simeon, you drink the sight in. God, this man gets more and more attractive every time you see him. “Did you see me out there?” 

Honestly, he was pretty much all you could look at. 

“Of course I did.” 

“Was it impressive?” 

Mindful of Simeon, Belphegor, and Mammon (whom Diavolo doesn’t even seem to care about), you choose your words with care. “Don’t fish for compliments.” 

He grins, opening his mouth to speak, but before he can, the coaches call everyone to the ice. 

“Stop your flirting, Captain!” Mammon cackles, and Diavolo sighs. 

“I barely even got to talk to you!” 

Your heart flutters. “Well, I’ll be here after practice…” 

“That you will,” he says dorkily, looking all too excited. How can this man go from unbelievably sexy to cute so quickly?

The rest of practice flies by, and when it’s called to an end, anticipation bubbles in your chest. Diavolo nods towards the shower, and you give him a thumbs up. Simeon shakes his head with a laugh, and you can’t help but flip him off. 

You pack your things slowly, or maybe it’s that Diavolo showers quickly, because he walks out of the locker room at the same time you approach it. And lord, if you’d thought sweaty Diavolo was attractive, then what was post-shower Diavolo? Off the fucking charts is what. His shirt, slightly damp, sticks to his chest in a way that makes you want to drool. 

 “Ready?” he asks, taking your laptop bag from you before you can protest. 

“Of course.” You gesture for him to lead the way. “I’m excited to see this jersey after hearing so much about it.” 

“And I’m excited to see you wear it,” he replies smoothly, and your cheeks heat up. 

“Sweet talker.” 

“Honest,” he corrects amusedly, holding the door for you as you exit the building into the parking lot.

His car is nice. Much nicer than Simeon’s well-loved and well-worn sedan, it’s sleek and expensive looking. Too bad you’re not much of a car girl, otherwise you’d definitely appreciate it more. You notice it’s also clean and smells good when you buckle in. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,” Diavolo says, sliding into his own seat. “Burned off a lot of calories at practice there.” 

“What about your meal plan?” you question, faux-innocently, and he raises his eyebrows. 

“What my trainer doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he replies, repeating your earlier words back to you. You can’t help but giggle. 

“Well, I’m hungry too, so I think lunch is a great idea,” you say. “I’m obviously new around here so I’ll let you choose. Now, I want to be impressed.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He starts up the car and smoothly exits the parking lot. “How about my favorite brunch place?” 

“Isn’t it a little late for brunch?” you ask, and he shrugs. 

“Eh, they serve brunch all day.” 

“That sounds good to me,” you say, and he grins. 

“Good, because it’s literally right down the road.” 

∙

Once you’re seated inside, Diavolo takes the menu from your hand and sets it aside. “You won’t need this,” he says. “Trust me.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know I was dining with an expert,” you joke. “Fine, I’ll trust you. But if you get me something I don’t like, get ready to pay the price.” 

“If it’s you—” he waggles his eyebrows devilishly “—I wouldn’t mind getting punished.” 

You shake your head, trying to clear the thoughts and images that had arisen from his words, and take a long sip of water. “So, um, what do you like to do?” 

“Play hockey.” 

You wave a hand. “You know what I mean, dipshit.” 

“Fine, fine. Let’s see… I enjoy running, especially at this park near my place. The sunrise is super pretty. And I spend a lot of time with Barbatos and Lucifer too.” 

“You do?” you ask, surprised. They were pretty close for a professional team but you hadn’t known it was that close. 

“Yep. Been friends with them forever. Barbatos, for as long as I can remember—I’m pretty sure our parents introduced us in the hospital—and Lucifer and I met at a camp years ago. It’s honestly pretty crazy we made it to the same team.” 

“Wow,” you say, remembering reading headlines of the unexpected draft pick for both of them, “that is crazy. I’m glad you guys are all so close.” 

“Well, most of us have been on the team for at least a season,” he replies. “I’m glad Simeon’s growing closer with us too. He seems like a really cool dude.” 

“He is,” you reply, “but don’t tell him I said so. He’d never let me live it down.” 

Diavolo winks, miming locking his mouth with a key. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

The waitress comes to take your orders then, and you leave it all to Diavolo. He gets the same dish for the both of you, promising it’ll be worth it.

“I hope so,” you say. “I’m kind of nervous. I’ve never heard of a dish called ‘Hotter Than Hot Toasted Sandwich’. It’s a good thing I like spicy food. What would you have done if I didn’t?” 

He looks sheepish then, rubbing at the back of your neck. “I asked Simeon just to be sure.” 

The thought put into it touches you, and you look down, then up at him through your lashes. “I see.” 

The conversation drifts, moving from one topic to another with ease. And that’s what things are with Diavolo. Easy. He’s kind and funny, attentive to your feelings, and seems to find you just as appealing as you find him. 

That is, if you’re reading the signs right, but honestly it’d be kind of hard to interpret his actions otherwise.

Your food arrives, and thankfully, it’s as delicious as he’d promised. You both finish eating at around the same time, and as if she’d been waiting, the waitress comes and drops off the check. Before you can move, Diavolo has his card out, a shiny black Amex, and sets it on the table. 

“I’m not going to argue,” you say with a laugh, and he smiles. 

“Good. I want to treat you.” 

“Careful,” you warn playfully, “or I might get used to it.” 

He leans forward, a little more serious. Those eyes burn into you, making you breathless even though he hasn’t said anything. “And what if that’s what I want?” 

You blink at his sudden bluntness. It’s almost hard for you to believe what you’re hearing. That a man like him is interested in a girl like you. Not that you’re not a catch, but damn, he’s out of this world. “Well,” you finally say, “I guess you’ll just have to keep taking me out to prove it.” 

“If that’s what it takes,” he says lowly, “then I’d be happy to provide. Let’s get out of here.” 

The waitress had apparently grabbed his card and returned it without you noticing, so when he stands, it takes you a second to follow. He leads you back to his car. 

“Do you need to get back to anything or can I steal you for longer?” he asks, and you consult your watch. 

“Unfortunately, I do have a work meeting in like an hour,” you reply reluctantly. “That's not enough time for us to really do anything.” 

He frowns. “That’s unfortunate. I wanted to show you around the Devildom since I figured you hadn’t had much time to explore.” 

“That’ll just have to wait until next time,” you say airily, and he shakes his head. 

“You really do know how to wrap me around your finger.” 

You give him the address to your apartment, and all too soon he’s pulling up outside of the building. 

“I had fun today,” you say earnestly. “Thanks for taking me out.” 

He reaches into his back seat and pulls a piece of fabric forward. The jersey, you realize, as he presses it into your hands. A smile blooms on your face. 

“I had fun today too,” he says. “And I better see you wearing that to the game tomorrow. That is, if you’re coming.” 

You unbuckle, throwing his door open. “Oh, I will be. Coming, that is. And wearing your number.” 

∙

The season continues. You wear Diavolo’s jersey to the games, cheering for the Dogs with wild abandon, and they continue to win. And win, and win, and win. 

(“It’s all thanks to Simeon,” Solomon faux-whispers to you at one celebratory post-game hang. “He’s way better at being my right than Asmo ever was.” 

“Rude!” Asmo returns, jostling into Solomon’s side. Everyone laughs, and you easily join in. These boys, they’ve become a part of you, like you’ve become a part of them.)

Off the ice, you and Diavolo grow closer. You get familiar with his life outside of hockey, staying overnight at his apartment here and there when you both have the time. You haven’t put a label on it, something Diavolo seems to sense you’re not ready for, as the ended engagement with Raphael is still a little fresh, but it’s clear to the both of you that this isn’t some passing fling.

Before you know it, months have passed, and it’s playoff season. The Dogs obviously make it, having a perfect season thus far, as do the Chols, who had a rocky start to the beginning of the season, probably due to the changed dynamics without Simeon, but quickly redeemed themselves to finish strong. 

(“We bring home the Calder Cup all of the time,” Belphie says with an eye roll. “How is this season any different?” 

Mammon grins slyly. “It’s different for our dear Captain. After all, he’s finally got someone he wants to win the cup for.” 

Diavolo’s hand, where it’s wrapped around yours, squeezes lightly.)

Diavolo offers to fly you out to the West Coast for the championship game, as somehow, the Chols made it into the final two. They never quite managed that when Simeon was on the team. You decline, not because you’re not going, but because you can fly yourself. 

The bonus from both teams’ championship jerseys is sitting nice and pretty in your account right now.

You’re a bit nervous on the plane. Not because of the flying, but at the thought of seeing the Chols. Especially since this wasn’t any old game, but the championship one. It’d be a hard loss, for whoever doesn’t make it, and though at this point, your loyalties lie entirely with the Dogs, you don’t want to make anyone on the old team feel betrayed.

It’d also be your first time seeing Raphael in a long time, and the thought makes you a little scared. But you’re also hopeful. Hopeful that you’ll get to see people who were once your world again without it being too awkward. 

Although, considering the rivalry between the teams you’re not sure how feasible that one is…

When you get off the plane, carry-on in tow, you text Diavolo that you’ve landed safely, not expecting his reply to come right away. 

Diavolo_14: I’m glad you made it 

Diavolo_14: Still not sure why you wouldn’t fly in with us though :((

MC: I told you, I had it covered. You can spoil me some other way, on a trip that’s unrelated to your games

Diavolo_14: Is that you saying you want to travel with me in the off-season? After all of this postseason stuff is completed?

MC: Yes but you already knew that.

Diavolo_14: I suppose I may have had an idea.

Diavolo_14: Anyway, don’t get in a taxi or anything, our hotel is within walking distance.

MC: I already had reservations somewhere else!

Diavolo_14: Reservations Simeon canceled

Diavolo_14: I was hoping it’d be a nice surprise but if you’re uncomfortable with it I can get your old room back. 

MC: It’s not bad, and I am surprised. I just don’t want to distract you before such an important game.

Diavolo_14: Pssshh, this game is nothing. And you’re never a distraction &lt;3

MC: Liar. 

MC: Remember when I made you late to practice last week?

Diavolo_14: Oh yeah. Anyway, if you’re really fine with it you’d be sharing with me

Diavolo_14: It’s got a jacuzzi tub………

MC: You spoil me. Yes I’m fine with it. 

MC: What’s the name of the hotel so I can walk there?

Diavolo_14: You should be able to see it if you go to the east entrance and look up.

MC: Oh, good, I’m near there. Hold on

Diavolo_14: Yeah just look up and over by the sign for the shuttle, then slightly to the left.

You do as he directs, eyes widening when instead of a hotel, you see a familiar head of red hair. He waves, and you cross the street in a hurry.

“Hey!” he greets, wrapping you in a hug. “You sure it was a good surprise? I was worried it’d be too much, but I really wanted you with me. If I went too far, seriously, tell me. I know we haven’t really talked about where we are but I really like you and it seems to be the same for you so I’d hoped it would be alright. Plus, Simeon said you’d like it. And yes, I’m totally throwing him under the bus right now in case you don’t,” he adds, trying to alleviate some of the seriousness.

You laugh. “I like it. And I like the idea of a jacuzzi tub. I’m all gross from the plane. And I do like you, a lot, so you have nothing to worry about there. It’s a sweet gesture.” 

Diavolo leans in to kiss you then, something you return, pleased. Though it’d only been a few days of separation, you’d found yourself really missing him. Almost too much, you worried.

Once you break apart, Diavolo takes your bag from you, slinging it over his shoulder, and you can’t help but smile up at him. You twine your fingers through his, relishing the feel of the west coast. Though it was winter, the balmy beach weather was much nicer than the frozen streets of the Devildom. And to think you once considered this weather cold. 

Diavolo and you mosey out of the airport and down the street, not in any particular hurry. When you do get into the lobby, you’re instantly greeted by half of the team, who’d apparently been stalking the two of you from the expansive windows. 

��You made it!” Asmo cheers, eyes sparkling. “Now we can really have some fun!” 

“Sorry, sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to be keeping MC all to myself for the time being,” Diavolo says, not sounding very apologetic. “We’ve got a date with the jacuzzi tub.” 

“We?” you say, giving him a look. “Who said anything about ‘we’? I said that I wanted a bath.” 

Simeon laughs, shaking his head, and you share a smile with him. 

“No, no, come on,” Diavolo begs theatrically. “Don’t deprive me. Of the wonderful jacuzzi jets, of course,” he adds hastily, seeing your unimpressed look. 

“You’d better be nice to him,” Lucifer warns you, in a tone you’ve only recently begun to recognize as his joking one. “I already gave up rooming with him for you, and I don’t need him complaining to me. Not when I now have to deal with rooming with these nitwits.” 

“Hey!” Mammon and Simeon protest. 

“It’s not like I said your names,” Lucifer says drily. 

“Yeah, but it was clear you were talking about us,” Mammon responds, and their squabbling fades into the background as Diavolo pulls you to the elevators, mashing the ‘Close Doors’ button before anyone else can get on. 

“You didn’t really mean that, did you?” he asks, turning to you. “You’re going to let me in the tub, right? If you don’t it might cause me to not play my best and lead to the Chols winning the cup tomorrow. You don’t want that, do you?” 

“Oh, we’re threatening now, are we?” you laugh, and he shakes his head. 

“Not threatening, just informing.” 

“I see,” you say. “Well, since I have a vested interest in seeing the Dogs take this game, I guess I’d better do anything that I can to ensure a win.” 

“Anything?” Diavolo asks, eyebrows waggling, and you give him a sly smile. 

“Anything.” 

∙

“Are you getting hungry?” Diavolo eventually asks, and you roll over to better face him. He looks like a dream, hair spread across the pillow, dark skin beautiful against the white sheets. “Lucifer just texted; apparently some of the Chols want to meet up at a bar, do a little pre-game catching up. They really want to see Simeon.” He hesitates. “But if you don’t want to do that, we can grab food somewhere else by ourselves.” 

“No, no,” you say quickly. “I’m not going to deprive the team of its captain. And, I have missed the boys. I’d love to see them. I’m just a little nervous.”

“Because of Raphael?” he asks gently. You’d filled him in on your past with the other hockey player, in bits and pieces, and Diavolo's been fully understanding, sharing his own stories of past love in return. You’d only grown closer through honesty, and you’re glad you’d been open with him, as now you don’t have to do any awkward explaining or suffer through any misunderstandings. 

“Some,” you admit honestly. “Well, mostly because of him. But I think it’ll just be weird to see them all. The Chols were my life at one point, you know, so it’s just going to be bittersweet. I do want to see them, though,” you add firmly, making up your mind, “so let’s go.” 

“Are you sure?” Diavolo reaches over, brushing across your cheek. You lean into his touch, nodding. 

“I’m sure. Now, stop touching me, because I need to actually get out of this bed and get ready.” 

“You already look perfect,” Diavolo insists, and you bat his hand away, sitting up. 

“Flatterer,” you reply cheekily. “But I’m pretty sure you’re the only one I want to see me like this. So let me get ready, alright?”

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I guess I’ll shower. Unless you want to join?” 

“No!” you huff with a laugh. “Stop tempting me. And, we just took baths.” 

“Well, I need a shower if we’re going to leave this hotel room,” he says meaningfully, and though your cheeks heat a little, you remain strong. Seeing that, he sighs, then stands, heading for the bathroom, leaving the door open as he dramatically turns on the shower, sending you enticing looks over his shoulder as he does so.

Once he finally gets in, you pull yourself out of bed, moving over to your carry-on. Thankfully, you’d packed a couple of outfit choices, not knowing what to expect. Choosing the most suitable, something casual and yet attractive, you get dressed, then realize you’re going to need the bathroom to fix your hair and do your makeup. 

“I’m coming in,” you call, toiletry bag in hand. It only takes a second for his head to pop out from behind the shower curtain, excitement diminishing once he sees you’re dressed. 

“Oh,” he says. “I thought you meant into the shower. But I guess not.” 

“Stop it, you,” you say, turning on the sink to wash your face, and he laughs. 

You’re almost finished with your makeup when the shower turns off, Diavolo stepping out a moment later with the towel low on his hips. You studiously ignore him, applying mascara with more focus than necessary. He doesn’t let that slide, wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

“You better not get me wet,” you warn, switching to your setting powder. 

“I won’t,” he says, and you turn your head slightly, giving him a look from the corner of your eye. His chin rests on your shoulder, and when you turn, your faces are mere inches apart. Diavolo hugs you tighter, kissing you, and you’re glad you haven’t applied lipstick yet. 

“Alright, alright, get off of me,” you say after a moment, a small smile crossing your lips. “Unless you want to have to take another shower.” 

“Cruel woman,” Diavolo bemoans, but does as you say, disappearing into the other room to get dressed. He returns a moment later, in dark jeans and a t-shirt, one that displays the Dogs’ logo. 

“You can’t be serious,” you say as he combs through his hair with his fingers. 

“What?” 

“Team merch, really?” 

He cracks an attractive smile, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Of course. I’ve gotta represent, you know.” 

You can only shake your head. 

As you’re putting on your shoes, there’s a knock on the door. Diavolo answers it, revealing Barbatos. 

“Oh, good, you’re both decent,” Barbatos says mildly, and you give him a glare. “We’re all headed downstairs.” 

“We’re ready,” Diavolo says and you stand, making sure you have your purse. You all walk down to the lobby, Diavolo’s hand in yours the whole way. 

“How are you feeling?” Simeon asks at one point, voice quiet.

“Nervous,” you reply honestly. “You?” 

“Nervous,” he echoes. “But I think it’ll be fine. I’m excited to see Raphael and the others again.” 

“I am too,” you agree. “It’ll be nice to catch up. Especially before we kick their asses tomorrow.” 

Simeon laughs. “I like the way you think.”

As you get closer to the bar where you’re all meeting up, you can’t deny that your hands get a little sweaty and your stomach starts to knot. You know the worst thing you'll find is a shit-ton of awkwardness (or at least that’s what you really hope), and that once you see it through it’ll ease, but you’re still not super keen on putting yourself in the situation. 

Ten minutes, you tell yourself, then things will be fine. Plus, you’ll have Diavolo and Simeon by your side and all the other boys to make distractions and break the ice. 

Diavolo squeezes your hand as you enter the bar, and immediately, your eyes find the familiar sight of Raphael’s ash-colored hair. You gulp; there’s no turning back now. 

“Hey!” Mammon calls out easily, and the boys turn. You recognize some others aside from Raphael, and thankfully a few have brought their wives, making it less awkward that you’re there and also giving you a breath of relief because you were familiar with them. 

Raphael’s eyes lock onto yours, then sharpen on you and Diavolo’s linked hands. There’s no animosity in them, just that same awkward cautiousness you feel, another relief. 

“Hey, come join us,” Raphael says, gesturing to the rest of the table. The bar staff, or maybe the Chols, had pushed a few tables together, making a monster table to fit the mishmash of people. You pull out a seat between Simeon—who’s across from Raphael—and Diavolo, who lets go of your hand as you sit. You smile at the girl across from you, not recognizing her. 

“Hi,” you greet the table at large, among various other greetings being given. “It’s nice to see you all again, and nice to meet you, those I haven’t met yet.” 

The girl across from you smiles at that, introducing herself as Thirteen, the main goalie’s sister. 

“So, uh, how goes the season?” Raphael asks Simeon awkwardly. “You miss us yet?” 

Simeon laughs. “Miss your snoring? Nah, not really. And the season’s going great, obviously. I’m glad you guys made it this far too, it’ll be fun to put you in your place.” 

“Starting the chirping already?” Diavolo asks him, throwing an arm across your shoulders. “Careful, Simeon, I think we’re outnumbered here.” 

“You’ve changed, Simeon,” Raphael says. “I think the Dogs are rubbing off on you. Anyway, MC, how have you been? Business going well?”

“Oh, yeah, your designs for this season are killer,” Thirteen adds before you can answer. “I mean, the font change for the Dogs’ numbers was such a good touch.” 

“Oh, thank you,” you laugh. “I’m surprised anyone picked up on that! It’s such a small detail but really impacts the overall vibe of the Jerseys.” 

Awareness dawns on Diavolo. “Wait. Are you talking about the team jerseys? As in, the jersey designs?” 

“Bingo,” you say slyly. “My job: designing jerseys for sports teams. Mostly hockey teams.” 

“I forgot you guys didn’t know,” Simeon says. “Yeah MC’s like, totally in charge of the jerseys. Remember the Veterans Day design? I helped with that.” 

“Barely,” you snort.

“You’re serious,” Diavolo mumbles. “How did I not know that?” 

You shrug. “Well, I didn’t mention it when we first met and it hasn’t really come up since. Anyway,” you turn back to Raphael, unable to hide your amused smile, “yeah, business is going well! Thanks for asking. How’s that knee been?” 

“Oh, you know,” Raphael shrugs. “I’ve been more careful this season since I don’t have someone to nurse me back to health.” His ears steadily turn red as he realizes what he just said, and you’re sure you’re no better. 

“Well,” you begin, but thankfully Simeon cuts in. 

“You were always lucky with that. Lately, MC just throws an ice pack at me. No sympathy, I swear!” 

“That’s because your injuries are all your fault,” you criticize. “Never stops when he should, this guy.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’m getting something from the bar. Raphael, you want something?” 

They both head for the bar, and you sigh, slumping in your seat. Diavolo leans over to you, eyes concerned but also accusing. 

“I guess we’ll talk about the jersey thing later,” he says, quirking his lips slightly. “I’m sure the team will be very interested to hear. Who knows, maybe they’ll have some design input.” 

“Oh, god,” you say quickly. You hadn’t even considered that. “You’d better not tell them, I swear! I’ll kick your ass if you do.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” he assures you, laughing. “But seriously, I can’t believe I’ve never known that. Now I feel like a bad person for not knowing something so basic. And also kind of like an idiot. I guess I just thought you were acquainted with the upper staff through me when it was really through your own work. Self-centered, much?” 

“Really, Diavolo, it’s fine,” you assure him. “I was aware you didn’t know, even taking care to avoid bringing it up at the beginning. Now you do know, so you can stop feeling bad about it. And I’m sorry if you feel betrayed, that wasn’t my intention.” 

“No, no,” he hastens. “It just reminds me how much I still have to learn about you.” 

“Well, there’s lots and lots of time for that,” you reply, and he smiles, something in his eyes easing. You really hadn’t intended to hurt him with this and now just feel like an asshole. “And I have so much to learn about you, too. But I’m looking forward to it.” 

Realizing how rude you’re being to Thirteen, perhaps at the same time, you and Diavolo turn back to her. So lost in your own world, you hadn’t realized Solomon had taken Raphael’s empty seat, now engaged in some fiery debate. 

“Let’s stay out of that one,” Diavolo murmurs to you, as Solomon starts using four-syllable words he only pulls out when he’s trying to academically shame someone, and you nod. 

Instead, you and Diavolo split up, talking to various people around the room. It’s nice for you to check in on the Chols’ players and their wives and partners, and they seem just as happy to see you. Any worries of tension (to you or to Simeon) disappear quickly, and you find yourself interacting with them just like you used to. One look at Simeon shows he’s faring well, surrounded by teammates old and new. 

Warmth expands in your heart and you grab another drink from the bar, just happy to be with the people you love and care for.

(Your eyes find Diavolo as you think that, and though you don’t particularly care to dig into the sentiment, you find yourself comfortable with it all the same.)

Raphael finds you, eventually, offering another beer as a peace offering. You take it, looking at the man you used to love so dearly. You still love him, but only as a friend. Something settles in your chest at the confirmation of what you’d been suspecting: any lingering feelings for him have fully dissipated and you’re ready to move on. Fully.

He seems to realize this, and you suspect that he feels much the same way. The memories between you will hold a special place in your heart forever, sometimes even hurt, but you don’t regret the time you’ve spent with him. You only regret that you hadn’t met Diavolo sooner. 

“You’ve got yourself a real catch,” he says, a little sleepily in the way you know to mean he’s slightly inebriated. Not too much, of course, but socially, as are most of the players. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.” 

“Thank you,” you say. “I’m glad, you’re doing well too, Raphael. Congrats again on making it this far this season. Your playing has been incredible.” 

“You’ve been watching?” 

You sigh softly. “How could I not? Especially at the beginning of the season, when all I was doing was missing you. Guys. You guys. The Dogs are great, of course, but I can’t lie. They were a little intimidating at the beginning.” 

He laughs. “You should see them on the ice.” 

“Oh, I can imagine.” 

A silence, soft and fragile like an early spring day falls between you two, and you give him one more smile. “I’ll see you around, yeah? Don’t be a stranger.” 

“I won’t,” he promises, and you both exchange one more look, laying it all to rest, before you float off to find Diavolo, who’s conversing with Lucifer and one of the rookies from the Chols.

“Everything alright?” he asks, pulling you into his side, pressing his cheek to the top of your head.

“Yeah,” you say, leaning into him. “Everything’s alright.” 

∙

Excitement bubbles through your veins as you take your seat, one similar in position to the one you have at the Dogs’ home rink, basically on the ice and near the team box. The only difference is that you’re on the away side instead of the home, allowing you to continue to sit near the Dogs.  

As a personal guest of the Captain, you’d been offered a plush VIP box but had declined, preferring to get down and dirty in the thick of things as you always had. 

Diavolo’s name sits proudly across your shoulders—his real jersey, not a replica sold to fans—and you inhale the spicy scent of his cologne (yeah, you’d asked to borrow it to spray on the jersey, so what), reveling in the electric feeling filling the arena. Though many of the fans are in the white and light blue of the Celestial City Chols, quite a fair amount of black and red can be seen throughout the crowd, showing the many diehard fans who’d made the trip across the country. The only similarities between the teams’ color schemes are the gold accents, glittering and shining under the harsh overhead lighting. 

Everyone is excited for this game. Not only is it the last deciding game in the finals, the one that will determine who will take the freaking Calder Cup home, but it’s also between two rival teams. Two rival teams that are both determined to work themselves to the bone, pouring blood, sweat, and tears into winning (though not all of it their own, knowing the Dogs). It’s going to be a game that’ll go down in AHL history.

The minutes tick by and finally both teams take the ice for warm-up. The boys wave and smile, Mammon taking care to be an ass and send a puck right towards your face, as has become his pre-game ritual, but you really only have eyes for Diavolo.

Diavolo, who looks hot as hell in your championship jerseys (white, with red, gold, and black accents), who blows you a kiss as best he can around his mouthguard, who looks like he’s ready to lead his team to a very satisfying and devastating victory.

You would swoon but instead settle for yelling and screaming just as loud as the rest of the arena. 

After the starting lineup is announced, with much more pomp and circumstance than the other games, and the national anthem is finished, you sit on the edge of the seat, watching as the ceremonial puck is dropped. It’s very nice and all, but you’re ready for the game to begin.

After what feels like forever, it finally does, and you watch as Raphael and Simeon face one another, kitty-corner. It’s surreal, after so many seasons of watching them play the same line. Diavolo and Lucifer aren’t far behind the forwards, and every member of both teams is completely and utterly focused on the puck.

The arena is so silent you could hear a pin drop as the music fades, and in a clatter of skates and sticks on ice, the puck is dropped. The Chols gain possession, the center sending the puck back to the left d-man, who sends it to the left winger smoothly. The Dogs don’t take that lying down, and chase after the puck. Levi gets there first, and manages to take the puck, passing it to Solomon, who forges a blazing trail down the ice. Amidst the various cheering and booing, you think, perhaps delusionally, you can make out Thirteen’s unique tone, screaming out her displeasure. 

The Chols d-men are frustratingly persistent, and what follows is several minutes of back and forth, with both teams failing to make a goal. Shots are attempted by both sides, but are all blocked by the goalie or intercepted by other team members, and when Beel finally gets the puck in his glove, you let out a sigh of relief that they’re all able to take a break. You watch as the players all assemble for an end zone face-off, one that the Dogs win. Both teams are playing viscous and dirty, with checks rattling the boards all around. 

“Get it out of there!” you scream, as yet another attempted goal shot is made, and as if they hear you, the forward line, which is now Mammon, Asmo, and Satan, push back towards the Chols’ goal. A brief scuffle near the defending line takes place, and the ref whistles, calling offsides on the Chols. 

The first period passes without any goals, despite both teams' desperate pushing. Though neither side scores, you know it’ll only be a matter of time in the second, as the Dogs have been gaining momentum as the night goes on. 

You whistle at the boys as they make their way from the bench to the locker room and Diavolo grins up at you, pulling off his helmet. He’s sweaty and out of breath, but handsome as all get out, and you’ve never been prouder to be bearing his name on your back. 

When the teams finally return after the break, you’re back on your feet, cheering as they take the ice. The Dogs gain possession of the puck in the first face-off, heading the opposite way than they had been previously due to the goal switch, unstoppable. Asmo, who has the puck, leaves the other team in the dust, zipping through and shooting in the blink of an eye. It goes in, as you’d hoped, prayed, suspected, and the roar of the crowd is thunderous. You can’t help but imagine what it’d be like in your home arena, in your home city. 

And it's odd. Sometime, over the course of the season, the Devildom had truly become your home. It’s not a shocking thing, by any means, but serves to make you cheer that much louder and clap that much harder. 

With a goal under their belts, the Dogs have a new fire lit beneath them. But the Chols aren’t giving up easily, and once Raphael checks Simeon hard across the boards in front of you. He’s a fearsome one when it comes to that, known even during his rookie days for his painfully-placed and technically legal elbow placements, and you wonder if the smile that had been shot your way was purposeful. Simeon skates it off impressively, though you know he’ll be aching later.

Diavolo does a great job staying on top of defense, and you’re aware of that same ease between him and Lucifer that you’d picked up on during their very first game together. You’d gotten to know Lucifer well during the season, and you make a mental note to yourself to take extra care when making his ‘good job on winning the Cup’ basket, to thank him for being such a great friend and partner to Diavolo.

When the two of them go back to the bench, switched out by Barbatos and Belphie, Diavolo waves at you in between great big gulps of water, and you make sure to take lots of pictures when you can tear your eyes from the game. 

The CC Chols score as well during the second period, tying them up as they go into the third. Though you’d think they’d all be quite tired, neither team is flagging, both playing and pushing hard. The Chols get another goal in, unfortunately, when Beel’s just a tad too slow, and you’re once again aware you’re in the fan minority as the crowd goes wild. 

They stay in the lead for several heart-pounding minutes, and apparently fed up with the tension, Mammon drops gloves, firecracker personality on full display. He gets the Chol player into a headlock, raining punches down onto him until he’s pulled off by the refs, much to the crowd’s disappointment. That gets him a few minutes in the sin bin, and you groan, knowing what a disadvantage the Dogs are at. The last thing they need is to be two down in the final period!

Diavolo rallies the team, showing his incredible skill and prowess as a captain, and thankfully, the Chols are unable to use the power play to their advantage, and Mammon skates back onto the ice like a hellcat.

Gameplay is stopped again after elbowing is called towards a Chols player, and you cheer as he gets some time in the box. Unlike the Chols, the Dogs score on their play, tying it all back up. Satan manages to scare and gets piled on by the team, and for once, he’s not pushing them back, a rare smile lighting up his face.

The end of the period draws nearer and nearer, and yet neither team pulls ahead. Anxiety and excitement are racing through you, and you continue to scream out your support, even as your voice grows hoarse.

Will this game go into overtime? That almost never happens in a finals game like this!

But as you resign yourself to the possibility, Simeon takes possession of the puck, passing it to Solomon, who goes to take a shot, and upon realizing he doesn't have a clear one, gives it right back. Simeon doesn’t hesitate, finely honed instincts taking over, and delivers it into the net with only a few minutes left of play. You scream, cheering as loud as you can, and the celly that follows is almost disrespectful, lasting a bit too long. 

Though the Chols don’t give up, they're unable to get another point before the buzzer sounds, and you can hardly believe it. The Dogs won! Your team won the fucking Calder Cup!

The boys celebrate in the ice, hefting Simeon up and onto their shoulders and Diavolo takes the cup and delivers it right into his waiting gloves. Simeon hefts it, grinning and crying, and you feel yourself crying too, unable to believe how far he’s gotten, the monumental feat he’d just completed. 

Diavolo’s eyes find yours, and hastily, he skates for the bench, fitting on his skate guards sloppily. As if he expected it, the door attendant pulls open the door to the dating section, still blocked by the metal gate, and you reach for him through the bars, glad they’re wide enough for you to pull him close by the pads and kiss him long and hard. Fans around you boo and scream, but you’re lost in your own world, lost in him. 

“I love you,” Diavolo says as he pulls away, breathing heavily. He’s crying too, but his smile is ear-to-ear, and you pull him in again, peppering kisses all over his cheeks, nose, and forehead, overwhelmed by your joy. 

“I love you too,” you say, and finally, someone opens the gate between you, and Diavolo lifts you up into a hug, kissing you again. You hear camera shutters and see flashbulbs go off and have no doubt your image will be all over articles and social media posts by tomorrow, but can’t bring yourself to care. Eventually, Simeon joins you, and you break from Diavolo to hug him tightly, both of you breaking down fully into sobs.

Diavolo lets you have your moment with your best friend, but Simeon’s soon stolen away by members of the team and you’re all shepherded out of the stands and off the ice so the boys can do their post-game photos and interviews and the like. Diavolo hesitates to pull away, but you shove him along, smiling. 

“Go,” you say. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.” 

“I love you,” he says again, a little helplessly. 

“I know.” 

How did you get so lucky, with this man, this team, this life? You watch the boys, heart bursting, and can’t wait to support them for their next season as well.

Although, not before you and Diavolo do everything you want during the offseason, including traveling and exploring, putting some of both of your accumulated wealth to good use. You’ve heard the Maldives are pretty this time of year, and nice and relaxing for Diavolo to recover. And private, you think with relish. The hotel you pick will be private. Very, very private. 

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

#obey me #obey me game #obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me x you #obey me x reader #diavolo x you #diavolo x reader #diavolo x mc #diavolo x y/n #diavolo obey me #obey me diavolo #diavolo om #om diavolo #obey me! #lucifer obey me #mammon obey me #levi obey me #asmo obey me #satan obey me #beel obey me #belphie obey me #raphael obey me #thirteen obey me #simeon obey me #hockey #hockey au #leviswriting #leviswriting-obeyme

[jscwrites]

Please Follow this Backup Blog for Vendetta-IF

Hey guys, it's jsc, the author of Vendetta. I'm making this blog to backup all of the stuff I've posted over on the vendetta-if blog because I can't access my main account. Until I can access my account again, this will be the blog I'll use to interact with all of you and post updates. And in the worst case scenario, this will become the main blog.

So, please, follow this blog as I will be posting updates and answering asks like usual here. Also, for those who want to share their fanarts and other fanworks, please tag this blog too so I can see it. I'll also start reblogging some posts and asks from the Vendetta blog here in hopes of preserving them as much as I can. So, be prepared for a little blast from the past as we walk down the nostalgia road, I suppose.

I'm really sad because just earlier today, I checked my followers count and saw that we were 30 followers away from reaching 4K Followers in the main Vendetta blog, and I was thinking about what to do to celebrate it. Plus, there are also so many awesome fanarts and asks that I don't want to just be gone, which is why I'm making this blog to reblog all of them.

For those who are new and wondering what my story is all about, please check out the intro post I've reblogged. I might need to make another intro post in the future if I never get access back to my account, but for now, I hope it'll suffice.

IMPORTANT LINKS

[ORIGINAL INTRO POST]

[VENDETTA BLOG ARCHIVE]

[DEMO | Latest Chapter: 6 Part 1 | 272.8K words total] 

[FORUM] 

[PATREON] | [KO-FI]

[DISCORD]

CHARACTER RELATED MASTERPOSTS:

[CHARACTERS LIST]

[ARTBREEDER PORTRAITS] [ROs] [Other Pt. 1] [Viktor] [Other Pt. 2]

[CHARACTER PLAYLIST]

ADDITIONAL LINKS

[PUBLIC SIDE STORIES LIST]

[AO3 WRITTEN FANWORK] -> Currently 3 works

For those who are interested in what happened, I'll tell the details under the cut.

So, a few hours ago, I decided to open my iOS Tumblr app to check on notifications and stuff, as I usually do. But instead, I got hit with the Tumblr error messages over and over as it keeps trying to load in.

At first, I just thought it was my cellphone Internet connection, so I tried logging in on the desktop. At first, after I input all of my login credentials, the page loaded, but it brought me to the viewing page of my Vendetta blog as a non-user. I tried again, and this time, it said that my account got terminated. I never got any email from Tumblr about this, and it came as a shock because I just used my Tumblr earlier today to reblog some fanarts with no problem and I have never really used my account for other non-IF related stuff.

So, I scrambled to ask my members in Discord whether my Vendetta blog is still up, and thankfully it still is. But, my main account is somehow gone. The problem is, my Vendetta blog is actually a sideblog to my main account, jsclarissa.

As you can see here, when I tried searching for my main account, it says "Ghost blog! This blog does not exist." despite me having used that account to respond to comments and send asks to other authors before.

I have sent a support ticket to Tumblr support and also tweeted them on Twitter. I really hope they can give me my account back as I'm pretty sure this is some kind of technical issues on their end. I'm just worried about how long it would take them to respond and of course, the worst case scenario that it actually got terminated, so, I'm making this account.

Even if I got my account back, I'll still reblog stuff from the main blog here and maybe I can finally have a more personal blog where I can talk about stuff that is not really related to Vendetta.

#intro post #important announcement #writing update #if: vendetta #if vendetta #vendetta if #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #interactive games #cyoa #cyoa game #choice of games #hosted games

[raph-x-reader-logs]

Masterlist

I would like to preface this with a disclaimer that I do not own TMNT and I am not a writer! This is a collection of all the Raphael writings I can find, so it would be easier to binge-read for my favorite turtle. Last Updated: 17 April 2024

╔════════════════════╗

Directions:

This is fairly simple and straightforward, but I'll add some directions just in case!

The master list is split into different iterations, genres, points of view, and then reader types. If the section gets too long (which I'm expecting they will) a new page will be created and linked on this post.

Each link will take you exactly where you want to go within this blog! This exempts the posts with a cut in them, those links will take you directly to the blog where the story is posted.

As for AO3 links, if the story has multiple chapters, it will take you to the "Entire Work" version so you can binge the whole fic.

Rules:

I am open to any suggestions or submissions! HOWEVER, within this Masterlist, you will not find the following:

OC x Raph

Canon x Raph

TCEST x Raph

Now that all of that stuff is out of the way; Enjoy!! :D -Pinto🌱

╚════════════════════╝

Fluff

NSFW

Angst

Just Friends by @theyhavetakenovermylife , 2POV, fem! reader, NSFW too, Summary: Raph has trouble juggling his mission and his feelings for you.

—

Fluff

NSFW

Angst

—

Fluff

Focus by @pebblestar , 2POV, gn!reader, Summary: Raph helps you focus, whether he likes it or not.

NSFW

When The Tables are Turned by @theturtlelovers , 2POV, gn!reader, Summary: Raph really likes it when you take charge..

Angst

—

Fluff

NSFW

Shower Sex by @theyhavetakenovermylife , 2POV, fem!reader, Summary: Things get a bit steamy with Raph.

SnapCall by @oozedninjas , 2POV, f!reader, Summary: You send him nudes while he is on patrol and he isn't quite happy about it.

Angst

Acceptance by RubyRaspberry , AO3, 2POV, Hurt and Comfort, fem!reader, Summary: An injured Raph lands on your fire escape! Turns out you’re an extremely understanding person! But how much are you willing to accept?

—

Fluff

NSFW

Rough and Tumble by @mytheoristavenue , 2POV, fem!reader, Summary: After dating Raph for almost a year, he begins to ache for you...

Angst

A Reasonable Turtle by @thejudiciousneurotic , 2POV, gn!reader, Yandere, Summary: Raphael wasn't an unreasonable turtle—at least that's what he told himself with each hit of his fists, relentlessly beating the man who dared to try to take you from him.

Fire Breather by @tmntxthings , 2POV, fem!reader, Summary: Reader is fed up with Raphael's attitude.

There, I Said It by @tmntxthings , 2POV, gn!reader, Summary: It's that awful feeling when you can feel them slowly start to slip away.

—

Here

—

Fluff

Cuddle Headcanons by @mysticovo , 2POV, fem!reader

He's Too Nervous to Ask You Out by @scaredycatqlt , 2POV, masc!reader, hc format

You Don't Scare Me by @tmntfixationxreader , 2POV, fem!reader, Summary: Raph misunderstands your shyness toward him as fear.

Self Conscious Sleepover by @tmntfixationxreader , 2POV, gn!reader, Summary: Raph doesn't want you to see his retainer during your sleepover together.

Make You Feel Loved by @tmntxthings , 2POV, gn!reader, Summary: Raph takes a love potion!

Wherever You Go by @tmntxthings , 2POV, gn!reader, Summary: Raphael is head over heels in love with you and he would do absolutely anything for you, just as you would for him.

NSFW

Gentle by @fishstixloser , 2POV, gn!reader , Summary: You spend some quality time with Raph while he's brumating.

Angst

Change by @tmntxthings , 2POV, Hurt no Comfort, gn!reader, Summary: You make him happy and he's willing to do anything to make you see that he loves you. He wishes you can see that.

Big Teddy Bears Are The Best by @theyhavetakenovermylife , 2POV, fem!reader, Summary: Raph knows he's a big guy, he can't change that. But sometimes he wishes he could.

Your Protector by @tmntxthings , 2POV, gn!reader, Summary: It was supposed to be a normal night -- a normal date. But someone got to you before he could.

—

Fluff

Miss Me? by @theyhavetakenovermylife , 2POV , fem!reader , Summary: Raphael is away in Gotham and you miss him.

NSFW

The Night Before by @theyhavetakenovermylife , 2POV , fem!reader, Summary: The events of the night before Raphael leaves for Gotham.

Angst

—

Fluff

Hallway Crush by @theyhavetakenovermylife , 2POV, f!reader, Summary: Raph had a crush on the prettiest girl in school, but he's too nervous to talk to her. He took down SuperFly! He saved New York! He can do this!!

Angst

—

Fluff

NSFW

How The Movie Night Went by @theyhavetakenovermylife , 2POV , fem!reader, Summary: Things get a little steamy during movie night with Raphie.

Angst

—

This absolutely is NOT all of them. I'm steadily working through the tag again, so I'll be updating this frequently (as frequently as my life will permit lol).

Again! If you have a fic in mind and you don't see it here, please submit it! I'd love to add it to this list!

#bayverse raph #rise raph #2003 raph #1987 raphael #mirage raph #mm raph #batman raph #2012 raph #fortnite raph #2007 raph #tmnt raph #tmnt x reader #lol guess what my preference is #im gonna try and be more neutral but gosh #bayverse raph is delicious

[unseededtoast]

I’ve Got My Eye On You | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: A piece of Spencer Reid died the day Tobias Hankle kidnapped and tortured him. Seeing your friend in desperate need of help, you take it upon yourself to keep an eye on him and help him every step of the way, no matter how hard those steps may be. Inspired by “Say Yes To Heaven” by Lana Del Rey.

Content warnings: mention/discussion of addictions, narcotics references, withdrawal description.

wc: 9.3k

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

a/n: thank you to all who take time to read my stories. I appreciate each and everyone of you, and you all deserve the softest forehead kisses.

- - - - -

"Spencer I know what Tobias did to you, and I want you to know that I'm here for you. You're one of my closest friends and I don't want you to feel like you have to handle this on your own. It's not your fault, and what he did to you was wrong, please don't blame yourself. And please let me help you, I know you'd do the same for me. I can't lose you to this, you mean too much to me and you deserve to be free of this torment." Your throat constricts with emotion and you can't help the single tear that rolls down your cheek.

"I've tried to stop but I can't." Spencer's voice cracks through his tears, beckoning you to lift your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are tear-filled and his grip on your hands tightens. Sniffling, you nod your head, prepared to take on this challenge with him.

- - - -

A part of Spencer Reid died the day he was kidnapped by Tobias Hankle. You noticed it like day turned to night. After he had been rescued, there was a hollowness in his eyes you had never seen before. The rest of the team seemed quick to move on and it's like they almost disregarded the horrors and trauma Spencer endured.

But you were not as quick to forget, nor did you brush it under the rug. You had taken note of the needle tracks left in his arms when he was rescued, and you were keenly aware that narcotics addiction is one hell of a beast to slay. And so you took it upon yourself to keep an eye on him; you were not about to lose one of your closest friends, and it became obvious that nobody else was going to be there to support him.

As you look across the bullpen to the man who occupies your thoughts you reminisce about the Spencer you knew before the tragedy. He was bright-eyed and innocent, socially awkward but charming in his own way. And while many of those things are still true, he's changed.

You've noticed how he's taken on a much more serious tone on cases, how he's becoming more skeptical of people. And you don't miss how his fingers find their way into his pockets during stressful conversations or how he's developing a short temper. Alarm bells sound off in your head and you wonder how the others could be missing this. But you know if nobody else is going to intervene and help him, then you will.

Spencer turns around with papers in his hands and you avert your gaze quickly, not wanting to be caught staring at him. The clock lets you know it's time to go home and the other team members head out the door with farewells. You politely say your goodbyes to them but hang back intentionally.

The bullpen is occupied only by you and Spencer now. It's not unusual for either of you to work over, but this time you're not staying for the paperwork. While Spencer wraps up his work you feign busyness, you don't want him to become skeptical of you. This plan had been mulling over in your mind for a week now, and you've just now been able to find the courage to act on it.

Twenty minutes pass before you see Spencer start wrapping up his final report, and so you casually begin packing up as well. What a coincidence that you two finished at the same time. You stand from your chair and shrug your coat on, preparing for the crisp air that awaits you outside.

"Hey, if you want I can give you a ride home. The buses stopped an hour ago and it's pretty cold out." You softly break the silence between the two of you. Spencer stops in his tracks and you see the conflict on his face. You hope he takes you up on your offer, your entire plan kind of hinges on it. After a few fleeting moments of contemplation, he nods his head.

"Sure, that would be nice. Thank you." He gives you a small smile and you let out a breath you were unaware of holding. The two of you walk side by side out of the building and into the cold air, where your breath turns to white clouds.

"How'd your reports go?" You ask, trying to keep a conversation flowing. Your stomach turns in nervousness and you remind yourself of what's at stake so as to not back out of your plan for fear of rejection or failure.

"They went okay." His answer is too short for your liking. As you buckle your seatbelt you notice how his hand finds it way into his coat pocket. Your heart drops, but you remain casual as you start driving towards his apartment.

"So do you actually think we're going to get a full weekend off?" So far your plan is going almost as well as you had hoped, and you count down the minutes before you'll arrive at Spencer's building. He sighs in the seat next to you,

"Maybe. I think I heard JJ and Hotch talk about a no-contact weekend unless it's an absolute emergency." He turns his head to look out of the window and you swallow your nerves. You only hope that he's not trying to read your body language.

"So any fun plans this weekend then?" You come to a stop at a light and look over to Spencer. From the soft glow of the street lamp you see how tired he looks, and your heart aches for your friend.

"No. You?" His answer is simpler than the ones he usually gives you; conciseness is also a new development it seems.

"Nothing particularly fun." You honestly answer before pulling up to the curb next to his apartment. Pushing back all doubts that float in your mind, you know the time has come and only hope that things turn out well.

Spencer goes to reach for the door handle, uttering a thank you, but you reach out and grab his bicep to keep him in the car for just a few more moments. Your heart thumps in your chest as he settles back into the seat and looks at you with curiosity. Taking a deep breath, you decide to just rip the bandaid off and be straightforward with him.

"Spencer. There's something I want to talk to you about." Your eyes meet his, faces only illuminated faintly from the street.

"What is it?" There's no trace of skepticism in his voice and it gives you a boost of hopefulness. So far his short temper hasn't effected your relationship with him, but you know full well that this conversation could change that.

You and Spencer had developed a good friendship over the years. The two of you were hired around the same time and so it was easy to bond over being the newbies on the team. And after a few years the two of you had been able to build a strong bond based on trust and respect; he was one of the few people you know you can count on. You trust him with your life and now you hope he trusts you with his.

Keeping a gentle hand on his arm, you want him to know that what you're about to say is coming from a place of love.

"You know I care about you, right?" You start off your rehearsed lines, careful to pick your wording just right so that he doesn't feel attacked or judged. His head nods almost instantly.

"Of course." He says, and you see the authenticity clearly in his eyes. But they're not the eyes you've come to know, you see within them the anguish he's going through.

"Spencer I know what Tobias did to you, and I want you to know that I'm here for you. You're one of my closest friends and I don't want you to feel like you have to handle this on your own. It's not your fault, and what he did to you was wrong, please don't blame yourself. And please let me help you, I know you'd do the same for me. I can't lose you to this, you mean too much to me and you deserve to be free of this torment." Your throat constricts with emotion and you can't help the single tear that rolls down your cheek.

Though you had practiced these words several times over the week, saying them out loud makes this situation all too real for you. The reality hits you like a brick wall that if Spencer doesn't get some help, his life may be on the line.

Spencer's jaw sets tightly and you see his eyes follow the tear down your cheek. Your lower lip quivers as you try to keep your composure, but once you see his jaw waver, your façade cracks. Soon enough, you and Spencer are crying together, both of you gripping onto each other's hands like a lifeline.

His hands shake as they grab onto yours, enveloping them completely. You know the tremors aren't from nerves, and it causes you to cry harder. All you want is for him to be free of this addiction.

"I've tried to stop but I can't." Spencer's voice cracks through his tears, beckoning you to lift your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are tear-filled and his grip on your hands tightens. Sniffling, you nod your head, prepared to take on this challenge with him.

"You don't have to do it alone. I'm right here with you, every step of the way." You rest your hand on his cheek, letting him know that your words are true. And though you have a long road ahead of you, you know you'd walk across fiery coals every second of your life for him.

- - - - -

The road to recovery is one full of bumps, twists, and turns. You knew that this would be difficult, but you had severely underestimated just how challenging it was going to get.

As soon as Spencer had accepted your offer of help, you had done everything you could to educate yourself about narcotics addiction and how to support someone who is seeking recovery. An interesting fact you had come across was that the withdrawal symptoms for Dilaudid addiction typically cease quicker than other drug withdrawals, but they're more intense. And this had never been clearer than it is right now.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Your hand brushes hair out of Spencer's eyes as he lays on the couch, drenched in sweat with shaking hands.

He had been running a fever for a few hours now, and developed nausea and anxiety recently; all normal and expected symptoms but that didn't mean they were easy to handle.

"Some space." He snaps back quickly, and you try hard not to take it personally. Irritability is also an unfortunate side effect of withdrawal.

With a sigh, you back away from him and walk over to the window, which has frosted over with fresh snow. Due to the holiday season, Hotch gave everyone two weeks off to celebrate Christmas and also New Year. Spencer had asked you to stay with him during these two weeks so that he could quit, and of course you said yes.

It's not like you had family plans anyway, the team is more of your family than blood relatives at this point. And before you arrived at Spencer's you had delivered gifts to the rest of the team, peddling a story of how you're going on a vacation during the break, so that they don't contact you. And how you wished you were on a tropical island sipping a fruity drink somewhere instead of watching your best friend writhe in pain.

Turning your head slightly to look over at him, you see his trembling hands ball themselves into fists over and over again, a likely coping mechanism for the torment he's experiencing. From the research you've done, you know the worst is yet to come.

- - - - -

Hours later, in the middle of the night, you hear Spencer make his way to the bathroom. Seconds later you hear him get sick and you check the watch on your wrist. According to your estimates, he's likely hitting the peak of withdrawal symptoms.

Sighing and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you cautiously enter his room and see the bathroom light on. Spencer's hunched over the toilet, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat that's dripping down his temple. Upon hearing your arrival, he looks over to you in the doorway and you've never seen a more pleading look.

Instead of just standing and staring, you move to run cold water over a cloth and place it on the back of his neck. Another wave of sickness comes over him, and you kneel beside him, rubbing circles on his back to try and bring some sort of comfort to him.

After the nausea has ceased, he collapses back against the wall. You take the cloth from around his neck and gingerly wipe away the sweat and clean up around his mouth.

"It's okay Spence, you're doing great. I'm proud of you." You whisper and place a kiss to his forehead, and you mean every single word.

You sit beside him and his clammy hand finds yours, and he holds it tight. Your eyes travel up his arm, seeing the faint marks from previous needle injection and you hope that they fade quickly, he doesn't need a constant reminder.

"Did you get rid of it?" He asks suddenly, startling you out of you focus. His head is tipped back against the wall and his eyes are closed.

"I got rid of it all. Nothing is left here." You confirm to him with a gentle squeeze of his hand.

Earlier when you arrived the first step was for you to destroy the vial of Dilaudid and all the needles he had so that when this stage of withdrawal came around he wouldn't be able to give into the intense cravings.

"I need it." He says, eyes opening and staring into yours. Spencer's eyes are glazed over and watery. You shake your head, encouraging him to keep going.

"No, you don't need it. This is the peak of the withdrawal Spence. A few more hours and things will get easier." You recite the information you remember from your research.

As if he's suddenly disgusted with you, he drops your hand and looks away, pushing his own hair out of his face. His jaw tenses and his foot starts tapping against the floor.

"Get out of here." His tone is harsh, and your heart drops, but you listen to him.

Without a word, you leave his bedroom and close the door behind you. You know that the withdrawal is wreaking havoc on his mind and body, but it's hard to watch and hear your best friend behave so differently.

You go to take a seat in his couch, and reminisce on the good times the two of you shared here. There were weekend nights spent completing puzzles and making cookies together, and other times you just lounged around while he read. The connection you two shared was an easy going one, there were never any expectations and you two were just content with each other's company.

You can't wait to have those nights back, and you know they may not happen for a while. And that's okay, as long as Spencer was getting better that's more than you can ask for.

- - - - -

One week had passed and thankfully Spencer's condition improved greatly. His hands no longer tremble, he doesn't break out into cold sweats anymore, and his personality is beginning to shine through again. Sure, there are still some bouts of anxiety and irritability, but overall you couldn't be happier with his progress.

While you wait for him to get up for the day, you make him some pancakes and bacon. His appetite had also made a reappearance. The maple smell wafts throughout his apartment and makes your tummy grumble.

The sound of Spencer's bedroom door opening cues you to turn on the coffee pot, so that he can have some fresh coffee with his breakfast. You place his favorite mug beside the pot and flip the bacon, estimating another two minutes before everything is ready.

"Good morning." Spencer's raspy morning voice says from behind you. He walks around you, mindlessly placing a hand on your waist as he squeezes past you to get to the coffee pot.

The warmth of his fingers on your waist in the cool air of the apartment sends a wave of heat through you before taking residence in your cheeks. Spencer had touched you a hundred times before, but his touch had never elicited a response from your body like this before.

"Good morning, how'd you sleep?" You ask, trying to distract yourself from whatever it was your body was doing.

After pouring steaming hot coffee into his mug and dumping a small ton of sugar into it, he leans back against the counter. Unable to help yourself, you glance over at him and see his unruly hair and take note that he's decided to wear his glasses today. Another wave of warmth radiates through you.

"Good, I didn't wake up once throughout the night." He says with a small smile, sipping his coffee. You match his smile, happy to hear that he's made another improvement.

You turn the burners off on the stove and motion for him to help himself. He sets his mug down on the counter and you turn to get yourself ready for the day. Not that you're going anywhere, you just prefer to feel a little put together. Plus, this gives you a reason to get away from Spencer's observant eyes. What if he noticed something was weird with you this morning?

Mind occupied with dissecting your own feelings, you manage to toss on a sweater and some comfortable sweats, not even bothering to see if they match or not. No, your brain is too wrapped up in decoding why your body had reacted the way it did to Spencer's touch.

In all the years you two had been friends, he had touched you like that before to get past you, he had held your hand after particularly hard cases so you could fall asleep on the jet, and yet none of those times made you feel like he just had in the kitchen. So what exactly had changed?

The question plays itself over and over in your mind as you rejoin him at the dining table for breakfast. Only the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional scrape of a fork across a plate can be heard. It's typical for the two of you to share your mornings relatively peacefully, letting each other wake up for the day. It's a calm routine, one you know you'll miss after this is all over.

"Are you ready to get back to work next week?" Spencer breaks the silence, finishing off his bacon.

"Yes and no. I'll miss the free time, but it'll feel good to get back out there. What about you?" You admit that you're not completely ready to get back into the swing of things, you've found that you quite enjoy spending your days with Spencer.

"I'm just ready to be back to myself." He says, a soft smile on his face. You nod knowingly,

"You will be, Spence." You fight the urge to reach across the table for his hand, afraid of how your body may betray you again, so instead, you offer him your most genuine gaze. But it hardly conveys the sincerity you want it to.

"I still crave it, and I know that once I'm back out there I'll want it even more." He tells you with a sigh. Unfortunately, craving the drug of choice is a lasting side effect, especially for those experiencing stress.

"That may be true but you've worked so hard to get here. And I'll be there for you, never forget that. If it ever feels like it's too much, come to me and we'll work through it. I promise." Spencer's eyes look slightly enlarged from his glasses, and it only allows you to see their beauty enhanced; it's like you could spend hours swimming in them.

"I know, thank you." His voice drops to a whisper, and you know he means it. Spencer has never been very good at expressing his feelings or emotions, but you know him well enough to understand the depth of his sentiment.

The two of you spend the rest of the day together tangled in blankets to keep warm. Spencer chooses to read while you only pretend to read, your focus is stuck on Spencer for some odd reason. Your back is up against the couch's armrest which gives you a clear view of Spencer overtop the book you're "reading".

You can't help but to admire the delicate crease in between his eyes as he scans the words on the page, or appreciate the soft curl of his hair that falls to his shoulders. Of course these are all things you had noticed before, but it's like you're seeing them in a new light, like it's all new. An unfamiliar feeling blooms within you but you're unable to put a finger on it.

You're sure it's nothing more than caring for you friend. Right?

- - - - -

The first day back to the office comes sooner than you would've liked. Last night you spent the night alone in your own apartment, just like any other night, except it felt oddly empty and cold. And this morning when you woke, you had almost expected to see Spencer sitting at your dining room table with a cup of hot coffee in his hands. But instead you were met with a barren table, the sweet smell of coffee nowhere to be found.

When you reach the office building you're thankful for the distraction it offers. Everyone is in good spirits from the extended break, and even you find yourself excited to get on another case. The team congregates in the briefing room, and Spencer strolls in at the last second and takes a seat next to you like always.

You turn to greet him and notice the dark circles underneath his eyes and your heart drops to your stomach. It's only been one night alone, surely he didn't give into temptation. But to your relief, he gives you a sly head shake and a thumbs up, as if he could read your mind. Perhaps he also didn't sleep well last night.

JJ presents the case as usual, and Hotch tells the team to be wheels up in thirty. You know you'll have to review the case file on the jet, your mind was anywhere except the case and you hope that you're able to get your head in the game before the team lands and starts working the case.

- - - - -

It seems your wishes for a clear head go unanswered. The team had successfully caught the unsub, but you felt guilty because you know you were distracted the entire time. Sure, you helped out where you could and still did your job, but you know that your analyses were not as thorough as usual.

Instead of being fully dedicated to the case, you kept glancing over to Spencer every few minutes and found your thoughts seemingly to revolve around him. Sometimes he would see you looking and other times not. But when he did catch your eye, a bundle of nerves within your stomach would ignite themselves, leading you further into your mystery.

There's just no good reason for you to be reacting like that to something as simple as his gaze. It's perplexing you, a puzzle you can't quite seem to put together. Nothing had changed between you two, there's no clear reason why you would begin having these feelings.

"Meeting for drinks tonight?" Garcia walks into the bullpen as the team arrives back, in a chipper mood as always.

You wait to see how others answer, not particularly in the mood to go. You would much rather go back home in silent contemplation or maybe see if Spencer wanted company. Seeing as how bars weren't really your scene, it was common for you and Spencer to find something else to do together. Usually you two would end up agreeing to a movie or going for dinner somewhere.

"Sure." Morgan answers first, slinging his jacket over his shoulders. Emily and JJ agree as well and you watch as Penelope waltzes over to Spencer.

"How about you my favorite resident genius?" She nudges him with her shoulder. As if on instinct, he looks over to you. You know his mind is going down the same path yours is, deciding whether or not to go. To answer his silent request, you simply shrug your shoulders.

"Uh, yeah sure." He eventually answers, loosening the tie around his neck. A part of you is grateful he said yes, you know this will give you plenty of opportunities to distract your mind.

The team enters a familiar bar, providing some comfort though the environment is anything but tranquil. Everyone takes a seat around a table, chattering about the case and everything else that comes to mind.

"What's up with you tonight?" Morgan asks, nudging your arm. With a sigh, you shake your head and look at the drink swirling in your glass.

"I don't know. I guess I just feel a little off." You admit, but fall short of the whole truth. You should've known, working with profilers, that one of them was bound to pick up on your unusual behavior. Giving you a knowing nod, Morgan brings you in for a side hug,

"Happens to the best of us sometimes." He says, and you nod, knowing he's right. During your time on the team you've seen everyone experience a lull of some sort. Maybe that's what this all is, just some weird mental lull.

The rest of the night goes off without much excitement. That is, until everyone is about ready to leave. As you grab your jacket off the back of the chair you notice Morgan lean in to whisper something in Spencer's ear. You watch as their eyes flit across the bar to a woman who's staring right back at Spencer.

A nauseous feeling rises within you, but you force yourself to be quiet and watch as Spencer smiles to Morgan before crossing the bar to talk to her. In all your years of knowing Spencer, this was out of pattern behavior if you've ever seen it.

"Come on pretty girl, I think our boy is finally catching on." Morgan wraps his arms around your shoulder and guides you out of the bar. The last thing you see is the woman wrap her arms around Spencer's neck.

The walk home is so much colder and lonelier than it usually is.

- - - - -

Months later, you realize that the feelings Spencer gives you aren't going away. In fact, you think they've only become more prevalent with each brush of his fingertips and each smile he gives you. But, you've done a good job suppressing them so far for the sake of the friendship. After all, you and Spencer work closely together during cases and still keep up your routine friendship activities.

Or at least, you did up until three weeks ago.

Something happened around three weeks ago that you haven't been able to put your finger on. Spencer's been distancing himself from you little by little, but it's glaringly obvious to you. At first it was skipping a planned movie night and then it was taking a rain check for dinner at his favorite Thai place. And then during cases you'd noticed how he doesn't joke with you as much and that he almost avoids your gaze.

Sitting at your desk, you look across the bullpen and try to zone in on the conversation Spencer is having with Morgan. It seems Morgan has become Spencer's confidante of choice these days. And while you want to respect Spencer's choice, you can't help but wonder why he doesn't come to you anymore. A piece of you feels hollow without Spencer around as much as he used to be.

You considered that maybe you had simply become too attached to his presence during his detox, and that you're overthinking everything. Maybe this is all just in your head. You try to convince yourself of any other explanation, but a nagging voice in the back of your head tells you that it's something wrong with you, that he just doesn't want to share a close relationship anymore.

Later in the day, you find Morgan in the break room and decide to get some answers. As casually as you can, you join Derek in finding a snack.

"Can I ask you something?" You keep your voice quiet, and give Derek a look to let him know that this isn't one of your jokes. Standing straighter, he nods.

"Of course pretty girl." You pick at the skin around your nails before you can force yourself to say the words.

"Is Spencer okay?" You tread lightly, unsure of how much Derek is willing to give you.

"Yeah, he's fine. Why?" Derek's eyebrow quirks and you sigh, knowing you have to come clean to him or he won't let it go.

"It's just that he doesn't hang out with me much anymore and he hasn't been talking to me. We used to go out at least once a week and we always talked. I don't know if I did, or said, something." You meet Derek's eyes reluctantly but see no traces of judgment in his expression. He reaches out and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"I don't know if I'm supposed to keep this under wraps or not, but I think you deserve to know. He's been, um, putting himself out there lately." Your eyebrows scrunch together, not following what Derek is trying to say.

"Putting himself out there?" You ask for clarification but a pit of dread begins forming in your stomach. Derek licks his lips and offers you a sad smile, the pit of despair grows.

"It seems that he's becoming quite popular with the ladies." Is all Derek has to say before it sinks in. Your mouth goes dry and you suddenly lost your appetite for your snack. Pushing yourself off the countertop, you give Derek a rushed thank you before retreating back to your desk.

Spencer's sitting at his own, filling out paperwork and you can't help but to look at him in a different light. If you concentrate hard enough, you think you can see traces of bruises on his neck. They're faint enough that you wouldn't really be able to tell they're there unless you were looking for them.

Your heart hurts with the realization, you miss your friend dearly. After helping him detox you were sure that there was nothing getting between your friendship, but you guess other women seem to have won his favor.

Images of Spencer's lips on other women makes your skin crawl. This behavior just isn't like him. It's almost as if he's traded one addiction for another.

Your blood runs cold as the thought crosses your mind. In your studies of addiction during detox, you had read about addiction transference and how people who are prone to addictions can sometimes trade off. In Spencer's case it seems like he's traded the needle for sexual gratification.

While his dependence on Dilaudid was easy to pinpoint and treat, sex addiction is another beast entirely. This kind of addiction gets brushed under the rug by a lot of people, and commonly isn't seen as an issue. And truthfully, if it was anyone but Spencer, you may not have even noticed or cared. But as images of his hands on other women's bodies, his lips attached to their neck, their hands traveling his body flood your mind, you realize that you care a lot.

The realization dawns on you that you're actually feeling jealous of these faceless and nameless women.

- - - - -

Your patience is tested two weeks later, when the team is out celebrating another victory. And instead of Spencer sitting beside you or Morgan like usual, he's across the bar talking to a beautiful woman.

Through your jealousy you try to figure out when Spencer became such a social person, it's unlike the man you became friends with. Never would you have ever imagined that Spencer regularly seeks out women to spend his nights with. But here you sit, watching as he leans in and whispers something in her ear.

Your face runs hot and you tip back your glass, desperate to go numb. You had known Spencer was partaking in this lifestyle, but it's something entirely different when you're face to face with it and be forced to actually acknowledge what's happening.

"Woah that's your fourth already. You good?" Garcia asks from beside you, nursing her second drink. Ripping your gaze away from Spencer, you give Garcia a wide smile.

"Never been better." The sarcasm drips from your voice. You slip from your seat and go to the bar, your steps only slightly wobbly.

Purposely, you take a spot beside the woman Spencer's talking to, partially to eavesdrop and partially to get the bartender's attention. The woman beside you giggles insufferably at something Spencer said, causing you to tap your fingers against the bar top impatiently waiting for the bartender.

After you finally get another drink in your hand and turn to go back to the team, your eye catches Spencer's. His gemstone eyes meeting yours is enough to cause your heart to stop beating. Your lips fall apart, suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. You miss Spencer so much.

But unfortunately he doesn't keep your gaze for long, as the woman beside him runs her hands up his chest. Fighting the urge to get violent, or get sick, you give him a half-hearted smile before returning to your spot.

Perhaps you should've cherished your time with him more. Maybe you shouldn't have taken for granted your movie nights, shared dinners, or days spent underneath the same blankets. You certainly should've been more appreciative for his friendship. And now that all of that is gone you feel lost.

Drowning your sorrows with tequila, you understand that it's not just jealousy that fills you. You had actually fallen in love with your best friend. And now you're destined to watch him love other women.

You only wish it could be you.

- - - - -

"Rough night pretty boy?" Derek teases Spencer across his desk. Your eyes look over just in time to watch Spencer adjust his sweater and rub his eyes.

"Something like that." He answers, a faint blush creeping up to his cheeks. The wave of emotion that washes over you is the perfect storm of sadness, grief, and anger.

Unable to handle hearing their conversation, you abruptly get up from your desk and carry your paperwork back to Garcia's office. You know her office is like a safe haven, and truthfully, you're hoping she can brighten your dreary mood.

Knocking on her door lightly, you hear her invite you in. Like a child coming to their parents' room, you peek in before entering all the way. Screens are lit up across her desks and it looks like she's completing ten tasks at once.

"Are you busy? If this is a bad time I don't have to-"

"Nonsense, come here." She interrupts you and clears off a space for you to put your things. At least you can still count on Garcia.

You sit next to her and open the folder, half of your report already written. As you go to put pen to paper again, Penelope speaks up.

"Are you gonna tell me why you're here?" She has a knowing tone. Your pen taps against the desk a few times as you decide on what to tell her.

"I just needed a change of scenery" Your voice isn't very convincing, and you know she doesn't buy it from the look on her face.

"Okay and now the truth?" She asks, voice light yet firm. Relenting, you decide that it's not fair to yourself to keep your emotions bottled up, where they'll inevitably erupt.

"I guess it's just that, it's silly really, but I think I just miss Spencer." You attempt to downplay the severity of your feelings. But Penelope, in her typical fashion, presses you for more because she knows there's more to the story than you care to let on.

"He's right out there." She points out and you shake your head.

"Yeah but he's not him, if that makes any sense. We never hang out anymore and we rarely even talk to each other. And we used to be so close. But maybe he just outgrew me." You think out loud, fingers playing with the pen in your hand to try and distract your mind from all the racing thoughts.

"Outgrew you? Not a chance, he adores you." She says like it's a fact, but you have trouble believing it.

"Maybe he did some time ago, but he's adoring other women now. Lots of them." You can't hide the disdain in your voice. Every time you think about someone else with Spencer, it makes your blood boil. The selfish part of you wants him all to yourself, you want more shared mornings together and you crave more afternoons spent next to one another.

"Well, that may be true, but, I know him well enough to know that he still cares about you. I see the way he looks at you from across the room. Have you tried talking to him about it?" Of course Garcia would offer a logical and mature way to handle the situation. And you're thankful for her level head, because the way you want to deal with the situation involves dragging a woman by her hair out of his apartment.

"I don't even know what I would say that wouldn't make me sound like a kid who saw their friend playing with someone else at recess." You drop your pen on the desk, frustrated with your feelings. Penelope puts a hand on your shoulder, and you look up to meet her eyes.

"You've been friends for years now, I think he probably misses you too." She tells you, a soft look in her eye that lets you know she's being genuine.

"Maybe." You shrug.

"Finish your report and before you leave for the weekend talk to him." She spins around in her chair and gets back to work, allowing you to finish your report in peace.

Her words play over and over in your mind, and you realize that she has a good point. There's no way that after being friends for so long, and going through a detox together, that he just doesn't miss you either. You know Spencer well enough to know that he's a creature of habit, he likes routine; and lately he hasn't had much of one.

Feeling more like a bad friend for not checking in on him, you talk yourself into seeking him out at the end of the day. He's not responsible for your feelings, and you shouldn't have taken his actions so personally. Spencer is your friend first, and you've been neglecting your end of the friendship. Though, a voice in the back of your mind reminds you that he has as well.

Soon enough, the end of the day rolls around and you turn your report into Hotch. Thankfully Spencer is still here, collecting his things before heading out. It seems everyone else has left for the most part. With a deep breath, you swallow your pride and walk over to him.

"Hey." Your voice is meek and much weaker than you had hoped for. Startled by your presence, Spencer turns around. Your eyes meet his but trail down his neck, where there are sure signs of bruises. But this isn't about you, you try to remind yourself. This is about making sure your friend is okay.

"Hey." He greets you back, shrugging his coat over his sweater. There's an obvious tension between you two, and so you just decide to rip the bandaid off.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, making yourself keep your eyes on his face. Spencer's eyebrows crease together,

"Everything is fine, why?" He acts as if your question is coming out of left field. Finding it difficult to come out and say what you really mean, you shift your weight from foot to foot.

"It's just that we haven't really talked much lately and I just want to make sure that you're okay." You tell him truthfully.

"I'm fine." He tells you and glances down at his watch.

"Any fun weekend plans?" You ask, knowing full well that his answer could ruin your mood for the rest of the night.

"Um, yeah. I'm supposed to meet a friend tonight. But, you could come over tomorrow if you wanted to? Or we could go somewhere?" He offers, and a smile finds its way to your face.

"I'll be there tomorrow, I'll send you a text when I'm on my way." You tell him, satisfied with your plans. He gives you a quick nod before leaving the office to go meet whoever it is that he has plans with. You doubt that he even knows her name.

But you take some comfort in knowing that you'll be able to spend time with him tomorrow. And maybe, just maybe, it'll be exactly what the two of you need to smooth things out and go back to how things used to be.

- - - - -

You awake with an unusual happiness, excited to see Spencer. It's been months since the two of you actually spent any time together and you're eager to get over to his apartment to see him. Last night you had told yourself that no matter what he may be doing, that he's still one of your closest friends and that you still need to be there for him.

After picking out a nice outfit and ensuring your hair looks nice, you send him a quick text that you'll be there shortly. And of course, you never go empty handed, and so you pick up the plate of cookies you had made last night for him.

The trip over to his apartment seems to take less time than you remember, and you make your way up the stairs until you find yourself outside of his door. You knock on his door and wait for him to answer, but a minute passes and you hear no movement on the other side. Thinking that maybe he was in the bathroom or something, you wait another minute and then knock again. This time you hear movement.

The door swings open and you smile, but it quickly drops once you see who has answered the door. Her makeup is smudged on her face and she's still in the dress she probably wore last night. Feeling sickness rise in your throat, you wordlessly turn to leave.

"Hey what are you doing? Who is it?" You hear Spencer come to the door, but you don't bother to look back. You don't want him to see the tears in your eyes. You blink the blurry tears from your vision so you don't trip and make an even bigger fool of yourself, and you get halfway down the hall before Spencer is calling your name. But you act like you don't hear him.

Just before you reach the stairwell, you feel a hand on your shoulder. You stop in your tracks and a breath catches in your throat. Looking back, you see Spencer with disheveled hair and beyond him, his friend he met with last night. The sight of her in his doorway makes you shrug his hand off of you, disgusted to think about where those hands may have been just moments before you knocked on the door.

"Where are you going?" Spencer's voice is quiet, but you can hear the hurt and curiosity in his words. With a sniffle, you look from the woman back to him.

"I'm going back home, I didn't mean to interrupt your plans or whatever." You say, words cold and curt. Turning back around, you're determined to go back home, but Spencer stops you again.

"Please don't go. Come in, please." He practically begs. And as if she just got the hint, the woman leaves down the opposite end of the hall, heels in hand. You glare at her retreating figure before turning your attention back to Spencer.

"Fine." You agree and follow him back inside his apartment.

His floor is littered with the outfit he wore to work yesterday. Tie slung across the back of the couch and shirt tossed in front of the bedroom door. Nausea washes over you and you try your best to keep your facial expression neutral. The plate of cookies finds its place on his countertop and you stand with your hands in your pockets, feeling oddly out of place in an apartment that used to feel like your second home.

"I'm sorry about that, I um, I didn't see your text." Spencer closes the door behind him and walks over to you. Trying your best to appear calm and collected, you shrug.

"It's okay." You say, feeling like it's anything but.

A silence settles between the two of you and you almost regret your decision to come over. You watch as Spencer tries to quickly tidy up the place, throwing dirty clothes into his bedroom and tossing trash away. As he makes his way through his apartment you realize that you two hadn't made any real plans, just that you would come over. And while that used to mean movies and relaxing, you know that it just wouldn't feel right tonight.

"Listen, if now is a bad time we can always reschedule." You offer and go to move towards the door.

"No! No it's okay, I want you to stay." He says, throwing the last piece of garbage away. You sigh, realizing that you're probably not leaving here without some sort of confrontation.

"So how have you been? We haven't really talked in a while." You ease into conversation, hoping to coax Spencer into opening up. He rubs the back of his neck and his eyes dart around, looking anywhere but at you.

"I've been okay. And you?" The conversation feels like one between two acquaintances, not friends.

"Yeah I've been okay. Just worried about you." You somehow find the courage to tell him your true thoughts. After all, you figure you can either tell him or simmer in your own feelings.

"Worried about me? Why?" His eyebrows scrunch together. Feeling like his gaze is too intense, you look over at the counter and let your fingers trace the lines of granite.

"I know what you've been doing Spence. And it's none of my business but, don't you kind of think it might just be a trade off?" Sure, this might be out of line and too bold, but your concerns are real.

"A trade off?" He asks, taking a step closer to you. Standing firm, you nod your head.

"Spence you put down the needle and started picking up women. Just take a second and think about it Spencer." Your eyes find their way back to his. The image of the woman opening his door gives you newfound confidence.

You watch as he closes his mouth and thinks, instead of retorting right away. It's almost as if you can see the gears of his mind turning and churning the information and analyzing his actions over the past few months. After about five minutes, he looks back up at you with his mouth slightly agape.

"It's just addiction transference." He confirms what your suspicions had been for weeks now. And Spencer isn't stupid, he knows he needs to hold himself accountable, and you're thankful he is, or this conversation could've take a far more drastic turn.

You watch as his face falls and he buries his head in his hands. Your angry resolve begins to crumble, and the love you have for him reblossoms within you, washing away any other feeling. Walking over to him, you place an unsure hand on his back to try and bring him some comfort.

"It's okay." You whisper, rubbing circles on his back. With a sigh, he looks back up to you. His soft, caring eyes look into yours and you finally recognize him. This is your Spencer.

"How could I not have seen this? It's plain as day and I let myself fall into another addiction. I was doing so good while you were here and then-" He cuts himself off abruptly, as if he said something he hadn't wanted to.

"And then what Spencer?" You push him for an answer, desperately needing to know what he was going to say.

"And then you left and I felt so alone." He admits and you can almost feel your heart stop beating in your chest.

He stands back to his full height, towering over you. Your blood runs hot in your veins as you stare into Spencer's eyes, searching for an answer.

"I know I've been a really bad friend lately but, do you think we could go back to how we were?" His voice is tender and vulnerable. Your mind was already made up the second the question left his lips.

"Of course, that's what friends are for." You say, despising having to describe yourselves as friends.

But at least you have your Spencer back.

- - - - -

"Come in!" Spencer's voice carries through the door and you let yourself into his apartment.

The past two weeks have been good, albeit a little rocky between the two of you. Spencer had stopped picking up women after a few failed attempts at stopping, but you can tell that his mind is itching for another fixation.

You step into his apartment and close the door behind you, seeing Spencer already on the couch, movie ready to play. He had let you pick out the movie this time, which is a rare occurrence but you didn't question it.

Sitting beside him, you relish in the familiar smell of the blankets. One of your demands is that he wash all of them before tonight, and he happily agreed. With a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of you, you snuggle underneath your blanket and watch the movie, but you can almost guarantee that you'll fall asleep before the end.

The movie is about halfway over when Spencer spills his drink on his blanket. He balled it up and threw it in the washer to deal with later, and as he resumed his spot on the couch, you offered half of your blanket.

Scooting closer, you gave him a generous share of your blanket, and you don't miss the way his hand rests on your knee. Suddenly your attention is no longer on the movie.

He keeps his hand on your knee, until he slides it up your thigh. Breath catches in your throat and you glance at him from the corner of your eye. He's still watching the movie, he probably doesn't even realize what he's done.

Spencer's thumb lazily draws shapes on your skin, causing you to shiver. He must've noticed, because you can swear a grin spreads across his face. His hand dares to go a little higher, and this time you're able to find your voice.

"What are you doing?" You keep your voice soft. Spencer doesn't miss a beat, and he licks his lips before answering.

"I'm just watching the movie." He answers with faux innocence. Not buying his explanation, you cock an eyebrow.

"Spencer." You say, urging him to tell the truth. A part of you is worried that he's unable to help himself and is just trying to satiate his need for satisfaction.

"I'm not allowed to love on my friend?" His voice is raspy, eyes dark in the dim light.

"You can, I just, you never do this to me." You stumble over your words, the feeling of his warm hand on your skin making your brain short circuit.

Without another word, he pulls you closer to him. Your shoulders are touching, faces inches apart. With this proximity, you're sure he can hear your heartbeat.

"It's nice having you here. It doesn't feel right when you leave, it feels empty." He whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips graze your neck and you shudder.

"I miss being here all the time with you." You admit, feeling particularly vulnerable. The way he looks at you is almost enough to make you melt.

"Then stay." He says, hand coming up your arm and resting on your cheek.

"What are you doing?" You ask again, brain foggy from his touch.

"You want to know something?" He keeps his voice deep, and you nod silently.

"All of those women had one thing in common." He says and almost causes you to retract from his hold. But he follows up quickly, sensing your aversion to the topic.

"They all looked like you. But, none of them could ever begin to compare. I was searching for you in each one of them but came up short each time." You're breathless with his confession, and you allow your hands to reach up and rest on his shoulders, begging him to stay close.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You ask, keenly aware that your noses are almost touching. Spencer's eyes flick from your eyes to your lips,

"Because I didn't want to lose you. I couldn't live without you in my life, and if you didn't feel the same way then our friendship would've been in disrepair." He says and it's ridiculous to you, the thought that you didn't feel the same.

"I watched you with those other women and wished it was me. I wished you would've said yes to me, not them." You come clean, one hand trailing up to the side of Spencer's neck. This time it's his turn to shiver.

"Having you would be like having a piece of heaven." He says, and before you know it, his lips are on yours.

The two of you are warm from the blanket and from burning desire. His hand keeps you close and you grab onto the front of his shirt. Spencer kisses you with a hot need, his lips desperate to know yours intimately.

One of your hands releases his shirt and tangles in his curly hair. The brown curls still as soft as you remember.

Spencer's lips leave yours and start placing wet kisses on your cheek, to your jaw, before landing on your neck. You gasp with pleasure, eyes fluttering shut.

"Just like heaven." He mutters against your skin before finding your lips again.

When he pulls away, you can feel your swollen, wet lips and your warm cheeks. Spencer looks equally as flustered, but it's the most alluring thing you've ever seen.

Resting his forehead against yours, he takes your hands into his own. This time they're free of tremors, they're warm and inviting.

"This is me saying yes to you, if you'll have me. I've realized that nothing, and nobody, will ever be able to satisfy my heart the way you do." He states, pulling back to watch your reaction.

Squeezing his hands, you nod,

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for you. I've had my eye on you since day one." You admit, leaning in for another kiss.

Spencer wraps his arms around your waist, keeping you pressed flush against him. Your fingers find their way into his curly, and now disheveled hair, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

The feeling of his lips on your skin is indescribable, each kiss lights your love on fire.

- - - - -

Morning rolls around, sunshine breaking through the curtain in Spencer's bedroom. You roll over to face him, eyes heavy with sleep and love.

Your eyes are met with his, and as you take in his beauty you think you can see the hollowness in his eyes begin to fade. A small smile finds its way to your face as you reach out and run your thumb over his cheekbone.

"What are you smiling about?" He asks with a grin on his own face.

"Nothing, I'm just proud of how far you've come." You say, gingerly caressing his face. He hums with contentment, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

"I'd be nowhere without you." You can feel the authenticity in his words, and you know he never had to thank you for anything. You bury you head into Spencer's chest and take in his warmth, appreciating the moment with him.

Being held in his arms, you know that you would do everything over again and again if it meant that Spencer found a piece of himself again, that he's been able to heal from the damage Tobias inflicted upon him. You told him you'd be there for him every step of the way, and those words have never been more true.

You're glad you kept your eye on Spencer Reid.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #friends to lovers #angst #criminal minds #spencer reid friends to lovers #mgg #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #penelope garcia #lana del rey inspired #lana del rey #fluff