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the-traveling-poet · 6 months

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Hi , I just hope you accept my request " Eren x reader" s4 the table scene , he said how much he hated Mikasa and turned to y/n and hurt her by words , what if he asked to talk her alone to hurt her more and she said she regret her feelings for him , and he got softened

Regret

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Amidst the chaos surrounding both Paradis and Marley, Y/N finds herself stuck between a rock and a hard place.

While staying close to her childhood friends Mikasa and Armin, Y/N is forced to come face to face with the man she’d grown to love for the first time in months. His departure had hit her the hardest of them all, but still she kept her chin held high.

Will she be able to rid herself of her feelings for Yaeger before it’s too late for her? Or will she succumb to her grief…

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Pairing: Eren x reader

Warnings: Angst. Pure angst. Literally just pain. Language. Spoilers for S4 if you haven’t read/watched it yet.

Angst, depression, betrayal, S4

Taglist: @21aurora

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A/N: Ofc anon! This one seriously hurt to write T-T

I’m sorry this took me forever to publish!

As always if this isn’t to your expectations I’ll re-write it how you want!

Enjoy~🤎

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What had just been a moment of relative relaxation, quickly turned to one of panic.

One minute, you’d watched as Jean and Connie bickered over a bottle of wine in one of the MP’s cabinets, while Commander Hange spoke quietly with the Braus family before aiding Jean in cleaning off a ‘poisoned’ a young Marlian boy, Falco.

But the moment Niccolo lunged for the young Marlian girl, Gabi, shit hit the ceiling. The Braus’s adopted daughter lunged for the girl, screaming and crying out obscenities. You watched on helplessly as Niccolo took a swipe at Gabi, having only just learned of the girl’s murder back in Marley.

Sasha…poor Sasha. The memory of her death still haunted you every night you slept. To see her murderer, a young girl, standing before you uncharged and free of imprisonment…It hurt. But she was a child, you knew. A poor, brainwashed child.

Before you could even attempt to take action and aid the situation, the door behind you creaked open. Looking over your shoulder, you spotted Floch and his ‘followers’; a mix of MPs and what was left of the Scouting Regime soldiers.

By the time Hange and Jean returned to the dining room, you and Onyankopon were already being held at gunpoint.

“What’s wrong?” Hange asked in haste when she heard a muffled yelp from Onyankopon, but froze at the scene before them.

“Commander Hange,” Floch greeted coolly, ignoring your persistent glare. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Floch lowered the gun aimed at your head, and turned to Hange. “I imagine you know where Zeke’s at…We’ll have you take us there.”

You were only a second away from opening your mouth to retort his absurd statement, when Armin’s startled yelp from the adjacent room made your blood run cold.

“Ere-“

Eren…

Without giving it a second though, you raced to the side of the room towards the doors, paying no mind to the soldiers who held guns to your back. You had to go. You had to see him…

“Let her,” Floch’s airy tone caught you off guard, making you pause with your hand on the door handle.

“He’s expecting her presence too, you know.”

The guards lowered their guns from your back, and you took this moment to race through the double doors.

Behind you, you faintly registered a sinister chuckle coming from Floch, but you ignored him in your haste.

You slammed the door behind you quickly, and took a look around the nearly vacant room. And there he stood; just before you at the head of a round table in the very center of the room.

Armin and Mikasa sat with their hands placed palm down on the table cloth, eyes wide and shoulders stiff. Gabi was with them, tense and shaking in utter fear. You visually checked them over for any sign of injury, and when you found none and relaxed. But only slightly. You took your eyes off of your comrades, only for your eyes to suddenly met his.

Eren gave you no sign of emotion as he looked into your eyes from across the room. If anything, he looked bothered. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his clothes worn. But the look of indifference on his face only made his overall appearance look more menacing.

“Y/N, you’re here. Please, take a seat.” He spoke in a low tone while pulling out the chair he stood behind with gestured for you to take it. Taking a shaky breath, you decided to follow his ‘request’ and strode forward to accepted the seat.

“Eren-“ you began, but he cut you off.

“Hands on the table, and don’t remove them.” He shoved your chair into place, and swept his gaze across the four of you.

Despite his glare, you thought he looked…Weary. Sad, perhaps.

After a long pause, he broke the silence suffocating the room.

“As I said; I wanted to talk, with you guys.”

You remained silent and still in your seat, your fists clenching at the table cloth when you noticed the gash formed across his palm.

A warning to you all.

“Conflict isn’t necessary to solve Eldia’s problems.”

Behind you, a grandfather clock ticked against the wall for every silent second that passed his statement, setting you on edge.

“Eren, we’re the ones who wanted to talk.” Armin spoke up, his gaze sharp and focused. “What made you attack Marley all on your own? Did Zeke and Yelena really talk you into joining them?”

The question had been nagging at you for some time as well, but for now you remained silent.

“I am free,” Eren stated solemnly. “The things I do and choices I make are all decided by my own free will.”

“No…No, you are being manipulated!” Mikasa suddenly grit out, leaning over the table and standing up. “You wouldn’t have involved the lives of children and innocents, even if they were enemies!”

Eren kept silent, merely listening to her outburst. But before he could respond to Mikasa’s allegations, you found it within yourself to finally speak up as well.

“Eren, I know you care about us. More than anyone!”

You stood up from the table, removing your hands from the table to place them onto Eren’s broad shoulders.

“Don’t you?! The reason you saved Mikasa…Armin…Me…You love u-“

“I said to keep your hands on the table, now do it,” Eren cut you off with a harsh glare, switching gazes between you and Mikasa. Mikasa slumped back down into her chair in defeat, clutching at her scarf. But you remained standing, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

“Eren please, why won’t you stop this?!” You cried out.

“I said, sit.” Eren spat back through clenched teeth, forcibly removing your hands from his shoulders.

A pang of hurt shot through your heart, making your chest feel heavy. Furrowing you’re brow, you reluctantly sat and placed your hands back onto the table.

Once you were all sat and silent, Eren continued.

“I spoke with Zeke in Liberio; brother to brother. Zeke knows more about titans than even Marley as a whole.”

He paused, turning his attention to Armin.

“Armin, aren’t you still visiting Annie? Do you think that’s if your own free will?”

Armin froze, his eyes blown wide.

“If memories are what shape people, a part of you is Bertholdt now. Within you is an enemy with feelings for another enemy. Armin, Bertholdt has gotten into your head.”

Armin sat in shocked silence, staring blankly back at Eren. You took this moment to make a decision.

For better or for worse, you had to try…

“Then what does throat make me, Eren?”

Eren turned to look at you, raising a brow. He seemed to not have expected you to speak up again so soon, if at all. But curiosity got the better of him, and he gave you room to speak. So you continued.

“You dare accuse Armin for being lost to memories of another, for falling for another that. is the enemy. So what does that make me, huh? Am I now an enemy, too?” You spoke quickly, feeling a need to get it all out.

After all these years…

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” He drawled out. “You have no part in this conversation. You are Eldian and not a shifter. You know what I’m saying doesn’t apply to you.”

“Oh, but doesn’t it? Don’t my feelings for you count for anything? You cant call Armin an enemy without accusing me as well!” You cried out, taking a stand once more.

Eren’s eyes widened; it seemed he wasn’t expecting this. “Y/N…I-“

Mikasa cut him off this time with a hell, not minding his sudden glare on her for interrupting.

“Eren, what could you possibly be sayin-“

“The Ackermans, too.” Eren scoffed, now standing as well beside you. “The Ackermans were intentionally designed to protect Eldia’s king. Back then, when faced with life and death you heeded my order; Fight.”

“No…Protecting you was not a mistake…” Mikasa whispered, fear in her shaky eyes.

“It was because of you I became strong, Eren!”

“No, Mikasa. Your family was made to forget who they are and love only to protect. You are slaves.” Eren scowled, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Their conflict gave you a headache, but you knew better than to speak up just yet.

“Eren, enough!” Armin suddenly called out, taking a stand with the rest of you.

“Do you know what I hate more than anyone?Any of you?” Eren continued on, ignoring his friend. “Those who are not free. They’re just like livestock.”

“Eren!” you yelled, filled with a sudden rage. Rage fueled by grief.

This wasn’t the boy you’d grown up with. Fought beside. Come to love so deeply…

Eren snapped his gaze to you, his glare deepening. “Just seeing you has always pissed me off so much, Y/N. And now I finally understand why; I can’t stand the sight of a slave who obeys orders without question.”

His cold statement made you gasp and stumble back a step. Hurt flooded through you, but you fought off your tears for now.

“You don’t mean that…”

“Ever since we were little…I’ve hated you.”

Everything around you became white noise as you stared on in horrified silence, your mouth agape with all the words you wished to say. And yet nothing came of it.

Faintly you registered Armin leaping across the table towards Eren, fists raised and teeth clenched. Words were exchanged, but you heard none of them. Like Gabi, you remained frozen in your spot.

Mikasa lunged forward to stop Armin, only to freeze in fear as she recognized what Ered had said about the Ackermans might just be true. Armin was pinned to the table by Eren’s strong grip, shouting over his shoulder to the man above him.

The moment Eren threw Armin across the room, you finally snapped and regained your ability to speak.

“Eren!” you screamed.

Immediately Eren held still, his back to you but his head turned to silently acknowledge your voice.

“Stop this! What have you done?” You shouted. Your voice shook as well as your hands with every word you uttered, but you knew you had to keep going. Or else you’d never get another chance.

Deep down, you knew this is how it had to be.

“You belittle Mikasa…manhandle Armin…hate me…And for what? What is it you truly want from us?”

Eren turned to face you, his emotions hidden behind his cold facade. But he let you speak. Let you say the things you both knew, deep down, you had both longed to say for years.

“You can hate me all you want. You can hate all of us, all you want. But don’t you dare for a moment accuse us of anything but loyalty. We love you, Eren. I love you. You know that, I know you do!” You cried out in earnest, tears finally escaping your eyes no matter how hard you fought them.

“I’ve always loved you. I’ve tried, time and time again, to show you this. And for everything I’ve ever done…How could you?”

With that final whisper, you turned your back to him and crossed your arms around your sides. Looking for any form of comfort.

“Y/N…You know I-“ Eren started to speak, his tone much softer now. Though you couldn’t see it, he was fighting tears himself. But he refused to let anyone notice how he wiped them away.

“No. Just, fucking don’t.” You stated softly. “Figure out this mess with the war. Do what you must. But please…Please understand us…”

Just then, a couple MP’s burst through the door, demanding to know what the noise was about.

“I’m fine,” Eren reassured them, his voice hollow. “Go back to Floch. I’ll join up soon.”

Once they hesitantly left, you finally turned in your heel and gave Eren one last pleading look.

“Figure this out, Eren. Figure this out for us.”

With that you turned to leave the room. To leave your companions and to leave your love. But just before you twisted the door handle to rejoin Commander Hange and the others, you looked over your shoulder and made direct eye contact with Eren.

“And just know…Despite everything that happened in the past… Despite what happened here in this room…Just know I still love you. I’m scared that I always will.”

With that you left, not seeing the way Eren’s emotions finally pushed through his facade and showed on his face. The way he reached out his hand to stop you leaving, despite the physical distance between the two of you.

You never would know, just as he would never forget the way what was left of his heart shattered in his chest that day.

#eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x y/n #eren jaeger x you #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #attack on titan #snk #aot #aot x y/n #aot x you #aot season 4 #aot spoilers #eren jaeger angst #aot angst #snk angst

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circle-with-me · 25 days

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heal me when i’m broken

pairing: ricky olson x fem!reader

content warning/tags: 18+ MDNI!! mentions of nightmares, panic attacks, comfort, fluff, shower sex, fingering (female receiving), unprotected p in v sex.

word count: 1.6k

tag list: @deathblacksmoke @concretenoah @tearfallpixie @meekahy @cookiesupplier @lacktoesandtoddlerants @sitkowski @collective-heartbreak @catharsis-in-darkness @undead-ahead-wh0re @to-be-written @collapsedglasshouses

authors note: i wrote this from an anonymous request i received where reader wakes up from an intense nightmare and ricky comforts her. fluff and smut were requested. i hope i made your request exactly what you wanted, love. please enjoy 🩷

also big thanks to my bestie/beta reader @deathblacksmoke 🫶🏻

Screams echo around the room as you wake up in a panic. Your body thrashes underneath the sheets, attempting to escape from the horror that had been chasing you in your sleep. A muffled voice repeats your name, but you can’t focus on it. You open your eyes but you’re too blinded by fear, your chest aching from gasping for air.

The voice gets louder and a figure appears in your still cloudy vision. You feel hands grab your wrists and you fight back to break free. The figure pushes your wrists to your stomach with one hand and the other comes to your face. The thumb rubbing at your temple feels familiar. The soft lips that delicately press to your forehead despite your violent movements are not from a stranger or a monster from your nightmares. It’s him.

As his voice breaks through the ringing in your ears, your body stills. Your vision clears and his stormy eyes stare back at you dejectedly. His eyebrows knit together with concern as he pets your sweat soaked hair out of your face. He lets go of your hands, both of them instantly wrapping around him.

“I’m so sorry, Ricky.” You sob into his neck.

He places featherlight kisses to your collarbone, running a finger up and down your arm. You feel your breathing slow down; your heart no longer pounding in your chest.

“Was it the same one as last time?” Ricky whispers.

You nod, whining. He squeezes your arm comfortingly, moving his mouth to your bicep. Ricky watches you as he thoughtfully kisses the tips of each of your fingers until they stop shaking.

“Is that better?” He asks, placing his face in your hand and smiling.

You’re uncertain of how he does it. How naturally he takes the darkness inside of you and chases it away with the lightest touch. You avoided spending nights with him for so long at first — terrified he would witness your nightmares and leave. The memories that haunted you weren’t his burden to bear after all. He finally persuaded you to stay with him, all but getting on his knees to convince you.

You had one of the worst nightmares you’ve ever had that night. He didn’t bat an eye, just held you until the screaming stopped. Every tear was wiped away as they fell. Consistent reassurance was whispered in your ear that you were safe – he was there, and he wasn’t going anywhere. Finally, you fell back asleep some time later, sleeping in until late morning. You found out later that he had stayed up the rest of the night to keep an eye on you, soothing you back to sleep anytime you stirred unpleasantly.

Being loved by Ricky Olson is the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

You gently move him so that you can swing your legs over the edge of the bed. All of your muscles ache and your bones crack as you stretch. You sigh loudly, feeling Ricky’s hand come to the small of your back. He sits beside you, pulling you into him.

“Why don’t I turn the shower on for you?” He asks, propping his chin on your shoulder. “I’ll throw in one of those lavender shower steamers. Maybe that and the hot water will help you relax.”

You lay your head against him, humming in contemplation.

“Will you join me?”

“I will never say no to that question.” Ricky punctuates his statement with a peck to your shoulder, pushing himself off the bed towards the bathroom. He stops at the doorway and looks back at you. Without a word, he holds his hand out for you, gesturing for you to come to him.

You do so without protest, following him into the cold bathroom and sitting on the counter as he turns the shower on. He ensures the water is at the perfect temperature before he sets the lavender scented disk on the floor.

Ricky helps you out of your sweat soaked tank top. You hop off the counter and wiggle out of your shorts and underwear. The water burning against your skin is pleasant. You let it run down your back, the smell of lavender permeating your senses. Ricky steps in not long after, wrapping you in his arms and burying his face in your hair.

The warmth from his body heat and the water eases the pain in your body. You slump into Ricky’s arms and he chuckles as he peels you off of him to wash your hair. He lets you wash your body, now having enough strength to do so. You watch his eyes wander, following the soap suds as they fall down the slope of your breasts and descend to your stomach.

It’s obvious that he’s trying his best to keep his hands to himself. You can see the inner workings of his mind as his tongue darts out to swipe at his bottom lip. He’s unsure if this is an appropriate time given this morning’s events.

You place your hand on his chest and he glances up at you. There’s little communication necessary, just a squeeze of your waist and a slight nod from you has him lurching forward. Your lips are consumed by his, nearly knocking the air out of you when you collide together.

He backs you against the shower wall, lips attached to your neck. The hot water beats down on your bodies as you tangle together. You wrap your arms around his neck, pushing your chest upwards. Ricky takes the hint, smirking, and dips his head down, wrapping his lips around your breast. Carding your fingers through his hair, you give a playful tug. He groans, gripping the flesh of your ass. His mouth is back on yours instantly, desperate to taste you more.

Ricky’s hand drifts up the side of your thigh, then between them, his fingers running through your slit. Gasping into his mouth, you grab onto his shoulders; the sensation causing you to lift onto your toes. He swirls your swollen bud with the pads of his fingers, slotting his knee between your legs.

“Open up a little more for me, baby.” He breathes, nudging your leg gently.

You do as you’re told, giving Ricky the room he needs to slip a finger inside of you. His pace is brutally slow, languidly drawing a single digit in and out of you. The pleasure is too much, yet not enough, and has you begging him to go faster – for more, anything he’s willing to give. All he does is softly shush you, his lips firmly against yours, hips thrusting against you in an attempt to sate his own need for the time being.

Ricky curls his finger inside of you and your vision goes white. As you clench around him, he speeds up his rhythm. You cry out his name, your entire body bucking in his arms as your orgasm rushes through you. He moans in your ear telling you how good you’re doing, moving and bending with your body as you do.

“Fuck..” Ricky pants, his hard cock twitching against your leg. “Turn around, baby. I can’t wait any longer.”

Turning around, you press your body against the tile of the shower wall. Ricky grabs you by the hips, pulling you back to meet his own. He bends over you, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your spine as he lines his cock up with your entrance.

His moans are deafening as he rocks into you. He starts out slow with shallow half-thrusts. You would complain about him teasing you, but from the quiver in his breath, he’s just as affected by it as you.

You call out his name, desperate for him. He runs his hand up your stomach and to your chest, pulling you back against his own. Ricky pumps his cock deep inside of you but his pace is still devastatingly slow.

He swallows every whimper that falls from you, one hand resting on your throat while the other returns to your clit. He increases his pace inside of you only a little, but it’s enough for the coil in your belly to start tightening.

“God, I can feel you, baby.” Ricky grunts in your ear. “Let go for me.”

His words make you clench around him. His resolve crumbles a little as he fixes his arm across your chest, driving his hips into you harder. He bites down on your neck as he spills into you, your orgasm following quickly behind his.

Ricky rinses you off with the now cold water and helps you out. He wraps a towel around you and you sit on the counter per his instructions so he can detangle your hair. He combs each strand with care making sure he doesn’t pull too hard. You watch him with heavy eyes, admiring his dedication. He catches you staring, doing a double take when he notices.

“What?” He asks, huffing out a laugh.

“Thank you.” You reply simply.

“For?” His eyes don’t meet yours this time as he’s too focused on a particularly stubborn tangle.

“For being my safe person.”

Ricky stops dead in his tracks, placing the comb down next to you and focusing his entire attention on you. His eyes search yours for a moment, a small smile on his face. He places his hand on the back of your head, bringing your forehead to his lips.

“Thank you for being mine.” He whispers.

#ricky olson #ricky olson x reader #ricky olson x female reader #ricky olson fanfiction #ricky olson smut #ricky olson fluff #motionless in white #miw #miw band #motionless in white fanfiction #motionless in white fanfic #ricky horror

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ask-serendipity-sky · 8 months

Text

Statements

Jimin doesn't say much at times. But when it comes to Jk, he has things to say.

Statements.

If someone doesn't see it and at least questions it, then there is something terribly wrong with their ability to perceive issues and connect that dots that have been already been connected with a light pencil.

Even with an objective lens, there is something there. There is something between Jimin and Jungkook that doesn't follow the normal patterns of friendship. I've been saying this for ages.

It's not just words and pictures that Jimin is giving us. He no longer hints. He gives us statements.

Of who he is and who he loves.

He's been doing this for years. Subtle but he is getting louder.

What a reveal. I think no one was expecting this now and not from Jimin.

Even weverse had some sort of malfunction when Jimin was bold enough to claim Jungkook's body.

When people thought Jimin and Jk weren't even close, he goes to NYC and spends the weekend with Jk, accompanying him for his debut and spending Silver Day together. Then he comes back and congratulates him for the bb results. On instagram.

"Jungkookie is sleeping." The way he answered fast and graceful. There was no room for thirsties to be Jimin's sister-in-law. Because Jk was sleeping....in their bed, in their shared home because Jk was there and Jungkook is his boyfriend.

Baby, don't leave Just stay next to me To you, who saw me who was tiny as (someone) big So that I can give back as much as I've received So that I can keep the words I said

The statement. In an album about his personal journey. There was only one other voice included there and that was Jungkook's.

How I see things: Jimin went through this phase in his life where the only person who could save him was himself. Just like the only person who could set him free was himself, words said by Jimin. But in the midst of all, Jk was there for him. Of course. Hidden, like the track itself.

So by allowing Jk to be in Letter, Jimin is telling us that Jk was next to him as Jimin lived his own journey.

Jk wasn't going to be getting any more marriage proposals after this.

Not after publicly thirst trapping Jimin. Jimin is not a fool so he has some claiming to do.

A very clear statement. Jimin and Jk in his background for a White Day photo post.

But notice how in the past, Jimin was more subtle? We see a bit of Nam and Jk. Compare that to Jimin today and his postings and mentions about Jk. I see a difference.

Remember Set Me Free pt.2?

Finally free.

youtube

His name isn't "jm" and, of course haters were celebrating this moment because it debunked the tattoo theory (I have a post about this coming).

But then Jimin opens his instagram account and becomes "j.m". The one name that haunts the haters forever. Claiming his initials (and Jk's 👀) in Jk's hand.

One of my favorite moments and it fits today's occasion. It wasn't 2 normal bros hanging out late at night. It was Jungkook's birthday and they were together. Just them. And they fell asleep in bed crying to the bb100 news.

It seems to me like Jimin wasn't supposed to spill this. He didn't the first time for the bb100 live. But the next time he had a chance, he went for it and Jk smiled wide as Jimin retold the story of how they spent that time together.

He was with Jungkook then.

He is with Jungkook now.

That is the statement.

#jikook #jikook posts #post 2020 statements

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alice-angel12x · 1 year

Text

Death isn't so scary

Lilia x Death! reader

(behold my amateur photoshop skills)

Lilia had lived a very long life, and had seen many things come and go. The world was constantly changing, spells, technology, and even fashion statements were different in a flash. Yet There was one thing, or one person who never changed, not even time could change them, other than the names they went by.

Lilia could remember clearly as day the first time they saw Y/n of Death. It was during the war between Humans and Fea. In one of the battles the humans faced a humiliating loss, and General Lilia and his army reviled in their victory. When he noticed a lone figure on the field. Draped in a dark cloak, with chains tied around the hip that two scythes dangled from their hip.

The young cocky warrior Lilia thought the figure was a single surviving human left. With a smirk, he decided to scare the life out of this human. So with his large jade buster blade, teleported above and tried to slam down on the figure.

Only for the figure to stop the blade with one of their scythes. Lilia struggled to force the sword down or break free from the entanglement. But the scythe's curved blade caught the silver vines that wrapped around Lilia's own. Yet the figure stood perfectly still as the continued to block the blade.

"Your quite strong for a mortal, where were you when your friends needed you," Lilia smirked as his allies gathered around.

"Your a bit late human," The general mocked, as the rest laughed.

"Do not laugh," The figure scoffed. " DO NOT BE PROUD OF THIS MASSACRE!!"

With one swift movement, the figure sent the small Fae troop flying.

________________________________________

I remember clearly when they warned us Fae that we greatly underestimate humans. And that they will be back for us soon. Of course in my youth I did not believe them.

Yet their promise would soon be fulfilled as the humans started getting stronger. I began to lose my friends and allies left and right, with that eerie whistle haunting me every step of the way.

Eventually, both sides came to a draw, much to Fae kinds Ego. The thought of even acknowledging humans disgusted them. I wasn't the same after the war. We Fae live for so long that we forget that ultimately we are all powerless to death.

One night, when I went out to mourn the loss of my allies. When I noticed a familiar figure in the distance. I silently approached as I watched them pay their respects to the fallen. I could even see the sparkle of tears run down their face as they placed a flower on each of the graves.

"I know your there, General Lilia. Congratulations on your promotion by the way," Death said simply, not even turning to face Me.

"What are you doing here, demon?" I glared as I clutched my fist.

"Still refuse to admit what I am. Why are all Fae like this?" Death said with an annoyed sigh.

"What! It is your fault that they are dead. You cut their lives short!" I shouted as I readied my weapon.

"My fault... MY FAULT!" Death shouted in rage as they knocked me off my feet, slamming me into a tree. "I never really understand why you fae were made this way. I told Life that giving them a millennium's worth of life, absurd."

"You Fae think because you live so long you are above everything. Even your queen brags how she is above death," Death growled as they reached for my blade. "You take things for granted and waste your time in this life, believing your hot $&@%."

I wanted to shout, scream that they were wrong. They were just cruel being that takes life as they, pleased. Memories of my loved ones flashed in my mind, only for the images to fash to their course in the mud. Suddenly my blade was logged into the tree next to my face.

"Pick it up," Death ordered, but... I couldn't everyone I love and care for... Are gone.

"Why did you spare me?" I asked hopelessly.

"Spare you... I did not spare you. Your skills and luck are what saved you. My job is simply to be there when mortal life is about to end," Death said as they stared into my soul. " Don't take anything in life for granted, no matter how fast and fleeting it may seem. And by the end of your life, you will be content."

They said as they pulled away to turn and leave. I... I had to ask. Why were they... Death themself giving me life advice.

"Because it will be important later down the road. When you will teach this to Malleus, Silver, and Sebek," They answered.

"W-who?" I asked, those were names I couldn't recall.

"They will look to you when the time comes, take good care of them," Was all they said.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Years later I would meet these people, very talented young Fae and human. And I'm glad I did stop to smell the roses of life. I never realized just how quickly humans changed, from technology to even fashion statements. And Every once and a while, no matter where in the world I went. They were there. At times they were in a place of mourning, but a lot of the time they were smelling the roses too.

Never once in my life would I ever thought I would spend a good century getting to know Y/n of Death. One could even say we're friends. But after some time, Y/n just vanished suddenly. Until now.

One night, Malleus vanished on one of his strolls. As Sebek and Silver ran all over the school in search of the prince. I decided to check around ramshackle, where I heard a familiar haunting whistle.

So I only did the logical thing, and whistle along as I followed the sound to its source. And there they were, the same wolf-eared figure standing alone in the open field behind Ramshackle.

"Greetings old friend," I spoke up, Y/n's ears flicked in acknowledgment as they turned to look back at me.

"Hello to you too, Lilia. Wow, you sure look old," Y/n laughed.

I rolled my eyes with a small laugh and stood next to them, as we both just enjoyed the beautiful night.

___________________

Bonus scene: inspired by an anonymous ask.

After many late-night game sessions and improper sleep, Lilia slowly follows behind Malleus and Silver. As his eyes wandered his eyes soon landed on his ancient friend, who was walking towards them. Y/n noticed Lilia's stares, so they stopped to greet them. Only to be met with Lilia's tired mumblings.

"You look like you're going to drop dead. Are you ready to cross over?" Y/n asked as a joke.

"Alright...HIT ME" Lilia shouted as he stood tall with his arms wide open.

Everyone standing around, including Malleus and Silver, look on in shock.

"..I'm sorry what ?" Malleus asked.

"I said, you can go ahead...take me, angel," Lilia said as he fell forward into Y/n's arms.

Y/n chuckle softly as they scoop up the tiny old fae and just handed him over to Silver.

"...Your dad is tired..isn't he ?" Y/n commented with an amused smile.

"I can see that now." Silver nodded.

#twisted wonderland #Death!reader #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst yuu #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland lilia #lilia x reader

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adore-laur · 5 months

Text

GOLD RUSH: PART TWO

— part one

——

Harry doesn't want to let go. He hasn't been this close to you since what feels like a lifetime ago. After a grueling year of separation, considerate greeting hugs and instinctual touches that respected boundaries can't hold a candle to this moment.

He can feel your heartbeat. The organ that once beat fiercely for him is now pounding against his own, its unsteady pulse fueling him with love.

Who is he kidding? He has always loved you. Even when you screamed at him on the other line, poisonous words creeping into every crack of his heart, he still couldn't bear the thought of never having a place in your life again. Even if that place wasn't beside you anymore.

You told him you were proud of him a mere minute ago. It was a simple statement but also a diminutive glance into your mind. What do you think about when you're pressed against him, aware of his hands on your back and the kisses left on your head? What feelings do they ignite? All Harry wants is to spread you open and lay your cards on the table, both the good and the bad ones, and just talk to you. He only sees you a handful of times a month, so the questions that have been piling in his throat beg to spill out.

He fears his patchwork heart would also spill out onto the floor, and you'd see how miserably he's been coping. Mentally draining months were spent mending the broken relationship. Yet, the last and largest shard that couldn't piece it together again was the one that was simply the dying relationship itself.

A year should be enough time to get over someone, but when that someone is his ex-wife and the mother of his beautiful child, he reminds himself that time never stops in moments of hurt. His personal life and career had to chug along even when the train constantly veered off the tracks.

The regret he feels for not putting his family first kills him inside every time he opens your door to take his daughter for half the week. It's never enough time, and to see you for much less weighs heavily on his soul. The haunting supposition of being unable to notice every tiny detail about you one day is the nail in his coffin. He remembers opening the door a few months ago to find you with shorter hair. It shouldn't have affected him the way it did, and he couldn't help but think that you probably would've asked for his opinion on it if you were still together.

He also hasn't kissed you or had sex with you in over a year. There have been no romantic dates or nights cuddled in bed, limbs tangled like the wilting vines of your love. He has not held your hand or watched you be a mother except for fleeting moments. He doesn't want those things with anyone else, so why can't you forgive him? Why can't you revive your love for him?

Harry knows asking for a revival of love is irrational.

"When do you need to be on stage?" Your voice reaches him, warm like melted honey and gentle like a balm that heals his wounds.

"Doesn't matter," he says, fixing the twisted strap of your dress. "I can be a little late."

You step away from the hug, and he feels an ache in his chest due to the loss of physical contact. "No, you can't."

He tilts his head to the side and smirks. "Says who? It's my show."

You narrow your eyes dubiously, but they slowly soften when they drift downward and take in his outfit. He'd be lying if he said he didn't plan a revealing outfit just because you were coming.

"You look handsome."

Handsome. When was the last time you called him that? He can't remember, but the word sends a tidal wave of shivers rolling across his body.

"Thank you. You look lovely, as always. How've you been?"

"Fine. Work keeps me busy." Something nearby clatters to the floor, and you nod your head toward the culprit, who has a guilty expression. "Her too."

"Not overworking yourself, are you?" Harry asks. God knows he's seen you at your worst because of it.

"Not as much as you. I still worry about you with all this traveling."

He stuffs his hands into his pockets while moving closer to you. "Yeah? You worry about me?"

You nod and look past his shoulder. He misses when you didn't shy under his gaze. "But the videos I see ease my worries. I know you're safe and having fun."

He clears his throat and asks, "What videos?"

There's a heavy lull of silence before you say, "Ones of you performing. They pop up on social media all the time. You're pretty famous if you didn't know."

He ignores your teasing because he's grasping at straws, needing to know if you still keep up with him like he does with you. "And you watch them?"

"Yeah," you say, nervously touching your earlobe. "It's hard not to with those outfits and how happy you look, you know?" You point to your daughter and add, "She loves to watch them too."

Harry roughly swallows and curls his hands into fists. Your admittance makes the ache in his heart grow tenfold. He never would have guessed.

Someone suddenly knocks loudly on the dressing room door, making him flinch. "Harry, we need to start heading to the stage! Right now, preferably!"

With a sigh, he heads over to the connected bathroom to grab his mic pack and in-ears, but not before crouching in front of his daughter. "Hey, Dad has to go," he tells her. "Gonna stay with Mama and watch me?"

She nods and lifts her arms. He picks her up before setting her on his hip and swaying her. "Do I look okay?" he murmurs.

"Mm-hmm," she hums, grabbing at the silk material of his vest.

"Good." He kisses her forehead and then rests his own against hers. "I love you, all right? Dance your heart out for me."

She impatiently squirms in his arms. He sets her down so she can play with the toys you brought and then moves to quickly fix his hair in the mirror. He can already tell tonight is going be one of his favorite shows, and it has everything to do with the fact that his two favorite people will be in the audience.

After he puts his in-ears in, he shuts the bathroom light off and shakes his arms to get any remaining pre-show jitters out. He looks at you the entire time, watching you glance around his dressing room like it's an art gallery. All of his vulnerable belongings are out in the open and on display—his shirts you used to wear stuffed in his duffel bag, printed pictures of his daughter tucked into the mesh pocket of his suitcase, and a pack of diapers he had delivered earlier today in case you forgot or ran out.

Most vulnerable, however, is his wedding ring right next to the microphone that you're about to grab for him. It's the same ring he kisses every night before he goes on stage, never having gotten rid of it because it's one of the only things he has left of the love you once had for him.

You freeze, your hand hovering over the microphone. The color drains from Harry’s face as he stands there, dreading your reaction.

"Harry..." Your voice is weakened with a certain sadness that could break him if he let it.

People gather in the room, trying to get him to start heading to the stage, but he's stuck in place. Paralyzed from fear. Everything is a blur around him, and all he can focus on is the shake of your hand when you pick up the damned ring that was cursed from the beginning. You set it in your open palm, then stare at him with a slightly parted mouth and confusion swimming in your eyes.

Harry then makes a stupid fucking mistake.

He rushes toward you, grasps your cheeks, and smears his lips over yours with pitiful desperation. His eyebrows pinch painfully, and he lets out a muted sob when you don't return the kiss. Your hands push against his chest, making him stumble back.

There's no time to apologize since he's immediately being escorted out the door and down the hallway toward the stage. He wants to look back, but he knows the expression on your face will tell him all he needs to know.

You don't love him anymore.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #gold rush series

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theroyalhouseofwindenburg · 3 months

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The Black Death: Part 5

In the subsequent days, the guard meticulously gathered a group of his most trusted men, forming a secret alliance fueled by a shared purpose. True to his promise to Augusta, he orchestrated her discreet release from the confines of the dungeon, providing her sanctuary in the knights' quarters. Seated around a dimly lit table, they convened, plotting the downfall of King Wilhelm. Augusta, her resolve unwavering, proposed a strategic strike during the late hours of the night, precisely when the changing of the guard offered the opportune moment. Unified in purpose, the conspirators collectively acknowledged that this marked the beginning of the end.

Several days later, on a frigid winter morning, King Wilhelm lay ensconced in the warmth of his bedchambers, immersed in a deep slumber. Abruptly, his restful repose was shattered as one of his guards entered with an urgent demeanor. "What is so pressing that it's worth disrupting my slumber?" Wilhelm bellowed, his voice resonating through the chamber. "Your Majesty, I'm deeply sorry to disturb you, but an unsettling breach in security has occurred. We believe there's a threat to your safety within the castle. I urgently request you to accompany me to the knights' quarters; it's the safest location for you," the guard instructed, his expression reflecting genuine concern.

Reluctantly rising from his bed, Wilhelm, gripped by apprehension, followed his guard down the dimly lit hallways, the weight of impending danger hanging heavily in the cold, early morning air.

They traveled through the corridors of the castle, descending into the shadowy depths of the basement. As they entered the dungeon hallway, a gnawing sense of unease crept over Wilhelm. He turned to the guard, agitation evident in his voice. "I thought the knights' quarters were further down the hall. Why have we stopped here?" Wilhelm questioned, his tone laced with frustration. The guard met Wilhelm's gaze, an ominous smile playing on his lips.

"Funny, isn't it, Your Majesty? How the mighty can fall. Your castle, once a symbol of power, is now but a fortress of your own demise."

Before Wilhelm could voice his confusion, one of the cell doors swung open, revealing a formidable assembly of guards, effectively blocking any escape route. Standing among them was his own daughter, Augusta, wearing a smirk that mirrored her newfound resolve.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Wilhelm shouted in a rage.

"The meaning, Father, is the inevitable consequence of your cruelty. Your reign of oppression ends here, and the people you've tormented will finally see justice. These guards have chosen the side of righteousness, and Windenburg will be free from the chains you forged." Wilhelm tried to order the guards to apprehend Augusta, but his influence had diminished, and, in turn, they forcefully restrained him. "Unhand me! I am your King!" Wilhelm desperately shouted. Augusta delivered a final statement to her father, "You hold no kingship over us." With that, the guard forcefully threw Wilhelm into the dark cell, swiftly locking the door behind him.

As the heavy door closed with a resounding thud, sealing Wilhelm within the confines of the dimly lit cell, reality set in. When he turned around, a haunting sight greeted him—the room was filled with the anguished presence of plague-ridden souls, their hollow eyes reflecting the torment of the cruel disease. A palpable sense of terror was etched on Wilhelm's face as he desperately pounded on the unyielding door. "You won't escape the consequences of this, Augusta! I'll make sure you pay for this betrayal. Mark my words!"

Realizing that no one was listening to his desperate pleas, Wilhelm crumbled to the ground, his head in his hands. The weight of his own suffering mirrored the agony he had inflicted upon others. The following morning, Cordelia lay in her chamber, having endured solitude since Wilhelm's last visit. Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupted her solitude, "My lady, forgive the intrusion, but I thought you'd want to know that young Prince Alvin is here. He's missed his mother dearly, and I thought it best to reunite you both."

Cordelia initially believed she was lost in a dream, but as she opened her eyes, the reality before her was as tangible as anything. Positioned by the entrance to her chambers, Cordelia's guard and Lady Philippa stood with Prince Alvin in her arms. Overwhelmed with emotion, Cordelia rushed out of her bed, racing to her son and embracing him tightly. She turned to Lady Philippa, her eyes filled with curiosity, and inquired, "How did you possibly get Wilhelm to agree to this?" Lady Philippa responded with a subtle smile, "His Majesty has been missing since last night, Your Grace. There's no trace of him anywhere." She continued, "I've been asked to escort you to the council chamber; everyone is waiting there, Your Grace."

As Cordelia stepped into the chamber, Prince Wilhelm rushed into her arms, marking the long-awaited reunion of their fractured family. Joy and relief filled the air, enveloping the room in a momentary respite from the shadows that had cast a pall over the kingdom. However, amidst the warmth of familial embrace, an eerie silence lingered, a stark reminder of the absence that loomed over the reunited kin.

In the ensuing days, a gradual decline overcame King Wilhelm. The unmistakable signs of the plague manifested on his weakened form as he sat on the unforgiving cold stone floor. The once-mighty ruler now grappled with a sense of profound loss and despair. The weight of his deeds bore down on him, and the impending specter of his own mortality loomed ever larger.

Locked in the dark chamber, Wilhelm faced the cruel irony of his fate. The same suffering he had inflicted upon others had come full circle to claim him. Each passing moment carried him closer to the precipice of his inevitable demise. In the shadows of the castle that was once his seat of power, Wilhelm confronted the consequences of his actions, and the haunting silence echoed with the reckoning of a ruler who had lost not only his kingdom but also the compassion he had forsaken.

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cablecar-s · 16 days

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to love and self loath

Description :

With the death of her lover too much to bear, she makes the decision to run away from her life as Spider Woman, finding solace in the most crime ridden place in the U.S: Gotham City.

Note:

Hello! I'm currently just testing the waters of Tumblr at the moment, so bear with me because I have no idea what I'm doing. Constructive criticism is welcomed, just remember to not be mean >:/ Enjoy the first chapter!!

Prepare For Trouble

"You're Spider-Woman, right?" He looked at her with a knowing yet amused smile on his face, all the while the woman who stood before him could only stare at him with slight bafflement. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, she blinked at him, beginning to stammer.

"I.. What? How could you..? What kind of crazy.." She let out a small mix of what seemed to be a huff and laughter in trying to play off his not-so-false statement.

Her crush could only give her a look that read all too clearly as 'Really?' which led her to promptly give up, a sigh of defeat leaving her lips.

"I.. Yeah, you got me. I'm.. I'm Spider-Woman." She looked at him with a defeated smile. "How'd you know though? I thought I was pretty secretive!" She raised her hands up in defense, making him laugh.

"Well, with how much you sometimes ditch me last minute every time I hear sirens going off or how you always disappear out of thin air when something big or small happens, it was pretty easy to deduce the reasons why." He chuckled softly.

"You are also talking to the most smartest person in his entire school." He quickly added.

The female vigilante could only slightly scoff at this, looking around, as if someone else could hear the ridiculousness that was coming out from his mouth.

"Really now?" She questioned, almost mockingly.

Slowly, the two teenagers inched closer to one another while continuing to bicker, a teasing smile on both of their faces until finally they were mere inches away from one another.

"I hope you're not waiting for something." The teenaged boy said teasingly, a smile on his lips.

"No, not at all." The girl hummed, smiling back.

With the night air nipping at their skin, the warmth of their breaths could be felt on one another. And as they leaned in for a kiss, the floor beneath them fell in an instant, and they were soon falling down the clock tower.

With her spider suit on, breathing now heavy, adrenaline pumping into her veins, she watched as the boy she loved since high school began falling, watching as her single web was shot down towards him.

It was silent in that moment, everything having gone in slow motion, her web slowly reaching out to him, but was only seconds too late. The web, sticking itself to the man at the last second, his head still hitting the cold, hard floor, killing him in an instant.

The sound of her cries echoed in the now broken clock tower; grief, guilt, and anger consuming her body, until...

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP

In an instant the woman woke up, covered in her sweat, her heart pounding against her chest. Her fight and flight instincts having kicked in, her eyes darted around her new apartment, her brain slowly catching up as to where she was.

The muffled sound of cars honking from outside her window was heard, the slight musty smell that her apartment had, and the multiple of unpacked boxes laying around in her small bedroom had slowly calmed her down.

Memories from a few days ago came back to her again, making her sigh while simultaneously burying her face into her hands, that night continuing to haunt her time and time again no matter how many times she had tried to forget.

Finally turning the alarm on her phone off, she got herself out of bed and went to her bathroom to freshen up, her morning not doing so well with that dream of hers.

Pulling her hair back from her face, the woman left her bathroom and started to continue where she had left off from yesterday with unpacking her stuff. Putting her playlist on shuffle, she began digging through all of the boxes that held her belongings, putting them in their respective places.

The female vigilante was glad to have gotten away from New York, it gave her time to take a break from playing Spider-Woman—and to hopefully heal. Though it's obvious someone from above thought it would be funny that she would be transferred in the most highest crime rated city: Gotham City.

There goes her vacation.

Though Gotham City should be fine without the help of Spider-Woman shouldn't it? They have all the other vigilantes that kept Gotham fairly safe.

From Batman and Robin to Nightwing, Orphan, Spoiler, hell they even have someone to protect Gotham in the morning, which would be Signal. Of course there was also Red Hood, though she still wasn't so sure if he was to be counted since he did run a few drug cartels.

Wasn't really her business though, as long as she didn't have to do any fighting in the mean time of her slight vacation.

Boy was she wrong.

"I need you to take some photos of our vigilantes." Her new boss ordered.

"I'm sorry?" The woman furrowed her brows, staring at the woman who was busy typing away on her computer.

"You heard me. Pictures. Vigilantes. Stat." Her voice was monotone, yet it had a slight intimidation to it.

The vacationing vigilante did her best in holding back her frustration, moving her arms a bit to exaggerate her words just a bit.

"But Gotham is a lot more crime ridden at night. Can't you have one of the men do it? I'm sure they'd be less likely to get mugged unlike me." She couldn't help but huff, nothing but familiar with this attitude this older woman had.

She was very much the same as Jameson back at the Daily Bugle.

It wasn't long until the woman peeled her eyes off from her computer screen to stare at the vigilante with sharp eyes.

"Listen sweetheart, the reason why you were even transferred here was because of the crystal clear pictures you had taken of Spider Woman over back from where you're from." Opening a file cabinet from her desk, she flipped through a few divided folders before pulling one out in particular and opening it up, slightly tossing it in the middle of her desk.

Photos that she had taken slid itself out from its place in the divider, all of them of which were in good quality and all had good angles to them, only because she was quite literally taking pictures of herself in order to even obtain a job as a photojournalist.

"So it's either you take photos as nice as these of our vigilantes or we can throw you back to New York, your choice." Quite literally, Jameson's female doppelganger looked back up at her new transferee before going back to typing.

Letting out a small sigh, a muttered "Yes ma'am" left her lips before leaving her new demon boss' office. She really can't catch a break can she?

Well it's not like she wasn't a night person in the first place right? Being able to do whatever she wanted during the day, and once the sun had disappeared and the darkness and rain had taken over Gotham was when it was her time to go out and do her job.

The only downside was how incredibly freezing cold it was in Gotham once night had hit. She could stand the cold to some degree, as a New Yorker she was quite used to the cold, but Gotham was a whole other story.

She should probably install thermos into her suit. As much as she didn't want to think about vigilantism, she knew deep down she would end up doing it, only reason she had brought her suit, which was buried in the deepest parts of her closets.

As her uncle had said time and time again: With great power comes great responsibility.

Being way too busy being deep in her thoughts while slightly, not really, looking as to where any of Gotham's vigilantes may be swinging by, the hair's on her body shot up, the familiar feeling of a tingling sensation in the back of her head appearing.

With swiftness, she side stepped a hand that had tried to take hold of the back of her neck. Turning around, she found herself eyeing three men, all having sinister smiles on their faces.

Just what exactly was her luck today?

"Come on boys, don't you think three of you is a bit much for a single woman like me?" She questioned, a nervous chuckle leaving her lips.

Every step back she had taken, they had taken two steps forward. They had glanced amongst each other, snickers leaving their mouths.

"Not with a lady as pretty as you." One of them commented.

Slowly, they had backed her into a closed off alleyway, all three of them laughing once her back had hit the brick wall.

Her eyes darted around, checking every crevice, every shadow, trying to see if any of Gotham's vigilantes will swoop down to rescue her, and save her the trouble of having to take care of these men herself.

But there was no one, not even the slightest of movements, not a glint of lenses shining in the dim lighting. Welp, looks like she's on her own for tonight.

"You guys, really don't want to do this." She warned them, but they only laughed more. They always laugh. Who wouldn't though? A helpless woman who you've backed into a corner telling you they're gonna regret what they're gonna do?

Good thing she wasn't just any ordinary woman though.

"We're gonna have so much fun with you pretty lady." One of them cackled.

"Ugh, how gross..." She muttered.

Glancing around one last time, this time, making sure there would be no bystanders to witness as to what was going to happen.

Pulling up the hood to her winter coat, she let out a sigh, raising one of her arms, pointing it towards one of the men.

"You asked for it."

In the blink of an eye, her webs shot out from her wrist, a long string going straight for the one in the middle, before he was heaved straight towards the woman before making a harsh impact with a trash can lid.

"Ooh, you'll be feeling that tomorrow." She winced.

Grunts of surprise came from the other two men, but no matter how odd it was for webs to shoot out from a woman's hand, they proceeded to run at the female. With ease, she dodged their attempted charged attacks.

Her hands, opposite of the two men, shot out webs and took hold of the back of their heads before she pulled at the connected webs, causing the two men to bash their skulls together.

"You'll definitely feel that tomorrow." She chuckled.

Taking a few steps back, she hesitated for a moment and stared at them before quickly rearranging the positions of their bodies.

"Just in case..." She muttered. With their backs all facing each others', she bundled them up in her webs, a precaution if they ended up gaining back consciousness before the morning

Dusting off her hands, she let out a satisfied hum before securing her hood once more before quickly jogging off, not wanting to be found at the scene of the crime. That would only cause herself more trouble.

"Lets just call it a night, I'm freezing my ass off here." She muttered to herself, trying to bring her coat as close to her body as possible, not wanting to lose what bit of warmth her body was keeping.

Unknowingly to the spider though, a mysterious figure with their infamous red helmet had stumbled upon her small clean up, the two barely missing each other.

He stared at the scene in front of him, his helmet quickly getting to work in scanning the mysterious webs. With his boots softly kicking at the small puddles on the ground, he crouched down, taking a closer look at the webs.

His helmet broke down the composition of the webs, seeing how it was made with a few chemicals. Reaching out his hand, he began to touch the webs a bit, trying to rip at it for a sample.

It clung to his leather glove, and it took a bit of force until it got unstuck, it almost took his glove with it with how hard he was pulling.

"The hell..?" He muttered to himself.

He rubbed his fingers together, some of stickiness staying on his gloved fingers. He took out his knife from one of his secret pockets instead and cut a bit of the web off, making it cling to his blade.

"This shit better come off..." He grumbled before putting his knife away.

Standing up, he took out his grapple from his utility belt before disappearing into the night.

---

The spider quickly shot up from her bed, her breathing irregular and covered in her sweat again, tortured once again by that never ending nightmare. Her eyes darting around her bedroom once more, she takes slow deep breaths before covering her eyes with her hands, the palm of her hands pressing into her eyelids.

Letting out a deep sigh, she got out of her bed, doing her morning routine once more. Scrolling through her phone, she looks at the news of Gotham City, most of them mainly about the many crimes of the city, some of politicians, and others of Bruce Wayne.

Before putting her phone down though, a message popped from the top of her screen, it was from her new boss.

"I better have those photos by the end of this week!!!!" It had read.

The woman only rolled her eyes, turning off her phone so she could dump her face in water.

Leaving her bathroom, she rubbed her moisturizer onto her face while making her way to her living room that also shared her kitchen. Starting up her coffee machine, she made herself a quick PB&J in the meantime.

Leaning against the counter as she slowly ate her sandwich, the smell of coffee beginning to waft in the air, the vacationing vigilante took a good look at her small apartment.

It was..

A bit bland to put it nicely.

Guess she was going shopping today. Quickly downing her coffee without trying to burn her tongue, she quickly got dressed and headed out to do a bit of shopping, to make her apartment just a bit more welcoming for the time that she was staying in Gotham.

Though she had a bit of a tight budget, she managed to buy a few things well within it that there was a little left over that she could buy herself dinner.

By the time she was done shopping though, the sun was beginning to set, meaning that it was nearly time for the criminals of Gotham to come crawling out of their hiding spots to cause some trouble.

"Shit..." She muttered under her breath, holding onto her plastic bags tightly, her shoes tapping against the cement as she quickly tries to make it back to her apartment before she got mugged.

Her senses have heightened a bit as a sense of panic and wariness began to settle in her stomach. Her eyes flitted about, cautious of every corner, every shadow, every alley, the last light sunset disappearing over the horizon.

Cursing under her breath, her steps quickened, and then there she saw it. A blur of bright red, green, and yellow flying in the air; it was Robin.

Her boss's text from this morning came back to her, which only made her curse more. Of course she didn't bring her camera. The handles of the bags hanging from one of her arms, she quickly fishes out her phone from her back pocket, turning the flash on to take a quick picture of Robin before he disappeared off into the night.

She cursed at his nimbleness, taking a small step back as he flies above her, but just as she was about to take the picture, she had bumped into something sturdy.

Blinking, she slowly turned around, only to come face to face with someone's chest, Batman's symbol on a black shirt, but instead it was in red.

Slowly, she looked up, only to find herself face to face with the Red Hood.

Click!

The flash to her phone went off as she took a picture of him.

next chapter ->

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eksvaized · 1 month

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Part Seventeen [ Previous 〡 Next ] taglist: @kingsprettyangel, @simonsslvt, @herwristsarehercanvas, @the-faceless-bride if you want to be added - let me know!

As you gaze at Johnny, your eyes widen in a mix of shock and curiosity. Not too long ago, you mustered the courage to ask him about Simon’s ex-girlfriend. You were uncertain about what kind of response you were anticipating. But you had painted numerous scenarios in your mind. Perhaps she was smart. Smarter than you, and so she ended the relationship after discovering the depths of Simon’s insanity. Alternatively, it could have been a situation where she had just moved on, found someone else, someone who was better, and not crazy. Yet, despite all these possibilities, the harsh sting of reality is something you are not prepared for. The shocking revelation that she is no longer alive is the last thing you expected to hear. It is a blow, a punch to the gut that leaves you reeling, your mind struggling to comprehend it all.

A cold shiver trickles down your spine, as if a ghostly hand has traced a chilling path along the curve of your back. The sensation is enough to make you shudder, your skin prickling with goosebumps. You can feel a question forming. It lingers on the very tip of your tongue, wrestling with your thoughts, but you find yourself hesitating.

The hesitation comes because there’s a part of you that is unsure, unsure if you really want to delve deeper, if you are truly prepared to face what might be an uncomfortable, perhaps even terrifying, truth. There’s a foreboding feeling, a sense of impending doom that has settled within you about this, about the entire situation, this heavy and loaded conversation. It’s an ominous sensation that sends an unsettling wave of apprehension coursing through your veins, making your heart race and pound against your ribcage.

Yet, amidst all this, you understand something crucial - if you choose to remain silent now, if you let this opportunity slip through your fingers, the not knowing, the uncertainty will continue to plague your thoughts. It will persistently haunt you, like a specter lurking in the dark night, until you uncover the truth. So, with a deep, steadying breath, you dare to open your mouth.

“How did it happen?” You ask. Before you are even aware of it, you instinctively lean closer to Johnny. As he turns his head to face you, you notice a flicker of something undefinable in his eyes.

“We never really broached the subject of exes—” You continue, realizing midway how much of a blatant lie that statement is. In truth, you did have a discussion about past relationships. However, it was a one-sided conversation where only you were cornered into spilling the beans, revealing your entire dating history to Simon. “He is always so secretive about his past relationships, never really wanting to say more than necessary—” You pause for a moment, a calculated break in your train of thought, hoping it will lend your lie a smidgen more believability. “Now, I at least know why.”

You thought that lying would be harder, but to your surprise, it comes quite easily; you had also assumed that lying to Johnny would make you feel guilty, especially considering he doesn’t appear to be as bad as Simon, but you quickly realize that if you want to unearth any truth, you can’t be straightforward about it. You need to tread cautiously, subtly, maneuvering the conversation in a way that makes Johnny think speaking about it all was his idea from the start.'

Johnny breaks the silence that had settled over the room. “It was an accident,” he says, his voice hesitant. “Simon never really got into any specifics, but based on the details I could gather, his old place—he had some property you see, but he had to sell it after the funeral. He couldn’t bear the thought of going back there—the house had burned down. He was out when it all happened, and when he returned, it was too late. Everything had been turned to nothing more than a pile of ashes.”

You nod in response, biting the inside of your cheek hard to keep yourself from interrupting him.

“The funeral—it was a closed casket service. There wasn’t much left of her body after the fire,” Johnny’s voice shakes, but he coughs, trying to hide his stutter.

You take a sharp intake of breath, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat. You already have another question looming. “Why did the house burn down? What caused the fire?”

Before Johnny has the chance to answer, a sudden noise startles the both of you. A car pulls up in the driveway, its tires crunching against the gravel. The sound makes you both freeze in place, the air around you growing thick with tension. Johnny is the first to rise. His movements are quick and agile, and you follow suit. But your muscles are coiled tight, like a spring ready to snap, your nervousness evident in every twitch and tremble.

You find yourself having to forcefully drag yourself after Johnny towards the front door. It’s as if your feet have developed a mind of their own, refusing to cooperate and move as they should; each step feels heavy.

When the front door swings open, Simon steps in. He’s holding a handful of bags, his face barely visible over the mountain of stuff he’s carrying. Johnny immediately rushes over to lighten his load, but you remain stationary, rooted to the spot, until you get passed a few light bags that barely weigh anything.

While the guys busy themselves with unloading the groceries and stowing everything away in the cupboards, you stand idly by the counter. Your fingers tracing the polished, smooth surface. Occasionally, you catch Simon’s gaze resting on you. His eyes narrow in scrutiny as if he’s trying to decipher your thoughts—you avert your gaze, turning your attention back to your idle hands, unable to hold his probing stare.

“What did you do?” Simon asks after popping open the can of soda, his question directed at you. He leans against the counter, letting Johnny to unpack the remaining items from the shopping bags and stash them away.

Your eyes dart to Johnny. You know that Simon probably expects a confession, an admission of any foolish actions or words spoken out of turn. However, when Johnny sees you, wide-eyed, lips parted, cheeks flushed, looking like you are struggling to draw in a breath—because he feels bad about confronting you about your ‘disorder’—he speaks up.

“Not much, really—basically had to haul her out of the room and force her to watch some TV. Got bored on my own,” Johnny says, shrugging off Simon’s question with a nonchalance that seems a tad forced.

Simon isn’t entirely convinced by Johnny’s answer, so his gaze lingers on you, his eyes scrutinizing your every movement as if trying to glean the truth of the matter. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he gives a firm nod, his suspicion momentarily placated. He then takes a big gulp from the can of soda, the silence that follows ringing louder than any words could.

You spend the rest of the evening with the two of them. The odd part, which is rather unsettling, is that at some point during it, you realize you are at ease. It’s as though you are simply spending time with your friends; your participation in the conversation is somewhat limited, not because of a lack of desire to engage, but rather because you grapple to find just the right words to express your thoughts. The rapid pace of the conversation and your own hesitations make it difficult for you to interject, even when you have a point you’d like to add.

Johnny and Simon banter a lot, their words flowing between them as easily and naturally as a river flows downstream. Their talks are filled with laughter and good-natured ribbing, and at times, it even appears as if you have completely slipped out of Simon’s mind—he barely pays attention to you.

The bond between them is palpable, and it’s quite evident that they are best friends. After observing their interactions and picking up on a few subtle hints dropped here and there, you deduce that they not only share a friendship, but also a professional relationship. They work together, but the exact nature of their work remains a mystery to you. This is mainly because whenever Johnny, in his exuberance, slips up or is on the brink of launching into a detailed rant about something related to their work, Simon quickly intervenes. With a warning glare and a subtle shake of his head, he signals to Johnny to stop, reminding him to keep their professional life under wraps.

For a while, Johnny heeds Simon’s warnings and keeps his mouth shut. But as soon as you excuse yourself to use the bathroom, he seizes the opportunity to speak. His voice is low and rushed, probably wanting to get the words out before you return, “I know you feel trapped, like you can’t… but you have to understand—Captain knows it wasn’t your fault, and Gaz—he keeps asking about you—”.

You hold your breath, your ears straining to catch every fragment, every syllable of the ongoing conversation. Your back stiffens, your feet feeling as if they’ve been rooted to the spot, cemented to the floor. You press yourself against the cool wall, daring to peek through the narrow sliver of the slightly ajar door.

“That guy was at fault for breaking his own neck, not you.” The tension hangs heavily in the air as Johnny sighs and pauses, the gravity of the situation sinking in. His voice is filled with both regret and reassurance, “You were just at the wrong place, at the wrong time—we… I want you to come back.”

Every word Johnny utters sends your thoughts spiraling into a chaotic whirlwind, each idea tripping over the last in a frenetic race. Suddenly, you feel a turbulent wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm you, as if your gut instinct is sounding an internal alarm, urging you to proceed with trepidation. You find yourself loathing the uncanny correlation that seems to exist between Simon and the death.

First, you stumbled upon the grim reality of his ex-girlfriend’s fate, a tragedy that left you reeling with shock. And now, you’re faced with another chilling discovery: Simon, once again embroiled in a circumstance most dire, was found in a highly suspicious and incriminating position, ominously close to yet another lifeless body.

Eventually, when Johnny runs out of words to say because Simon refuses to contribute to the conversation, you come back into the room. The atmosphere is tense, and you can sense the discomfort in the air.

As the night drew to a close, following an uncomfortable and somewhat strained exchange of goodnights with Johnny, Simon ushers you into the bedroom. The wooden door shuts with a soft click behind him, encapsulating the two of you within the four walls. This experience is entirely unfamiliar to you, stirring a sense of unease that prickles at the edges of your consciousness.

The last time you were preparing for bed, Simon was not present. So now, you stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, attentively watching as Simon undresses, his clothes landing haphazardly on the floor.

Simon’s demeanor is hard to decipher. His movements suggest a simmering frustration, perhaps even a hint of anger. But then again, could it be a veil for an underlying sadness? The inscrutable expression on his face makes it hard to tell. You make a conscious decision—it’s best not to pry, to dig too deep—you don’t want to ask, you don’t want to know.

Once he has settled into the bed, you walk over to the wardrobe. You retrieve the shirt you had slept in the previous night. In addition, you grab a pair of cozy leggings. Unlike Simon, who had changed in front of you, you retreat into the bathroom.

As you close the door behind you, the privacy of the bathroom provides a temporary sanctuary. You lean against the door, taking a deep breath as you take in the tranquillity of the moment. Intent on prolonging the inevitable, you take your time undressing, folding your clothes neatly and setting them to one side. Then, you meticulously brush your teeth, scrubbing with your toothbrush, moving it in small circles over each tooth until your arm begins to tire from the repetitive motion.

Afterwards, with the minty taste of toothpaste still fresh in your mouth, you move on to your hair. Carefully, you run a brush through the strands, smoothing out any knots or tangles. You proceed to braid it, all the while dreading the moment when you’ll have to join Simon in the bed. The thought of lying next to him sends a ripple of anxiety through you.

When you exit the bathroom, you find that the previously lit bedroom is now shrouded in darkness, leaving you to navigate through the shadows towards the bed. Each step is measured, taken with a heightened sense of awareness of your surroundings.

You are cautious not to let your hands stray into places they shouldn’t be, especially in the dark, as you lower your body onto the mattress. The act of slipping under the covers turns into a struggle. However, you manage to wriggle your way in without making any unwanted physical contact with Simon.

Once you’re under the covers, you can feel the heat radiating off Simon’s body. His warmth seeps into your cold skin, instantly making you shiver with the sudden change. You feel his gaze lingering on you, adding weight to the silence. His attention becomes even more palpable when he shifts his position to face you.

You can hear the sheets rustling as he shifts, the sound amplified by the stillness of the room. Something compels you to look at him, to meet his gaze, and so you do. You steal a brief, fleeting glance at him, but that’s all you permit yourself before turning onto your side, facing away from him. You tightly shut your eyes, desperately hoping for sleep to take hold of you. However, as if to spite you, sleep remains elusive.

Despite the weariness weighing down your limbs, you’re not actually tired. Your mind is abuzz with thoughts, whirling and twirling around in your head, and you can’t seem to switch it off. It keeps tricking you, playing cruel tricks on your senses: you think you feel Simon’s fingers brushing against your skin, light as a feather, even though you’re fairly certain he’s keeping his hands to himself.

Simon’s voice breaks the stillness that had fallen between you. “Did you enjoy spending time with Soa—Johnny?” He asks.

“He’s nice,” is all you say.

Simon doesn’t respond immediately.

“What did you do while I was gone?” he asks another question.

You shrug, your gaze fixed on a dark spot on the floor. “Not much. Just watched some TV.”

The silence, once again, wraps itself around you like a blanket. Inside your head, it’s a cacophony of thoughts that are far too loud for you to silence. Despite your best efforts, you find yourself replaying everything that happened today, every single conversation you had with Johnny. It plays like a movie in your mind; the scenes unfolding one after another. Simon’s ex-girlfriend crosses your thoughts far more times than you can count, and you can’t help but ponder about their past relationship. What was he like when he was with her? Was he as controlling and demanding as he is now with you? Or was that a trait developed later, after his mind had been scrambled into mush?

You theorize that perhaps his obsessive and protective nature can be attributed to the traumatic end of his last relationship — his house was reduced to ashes, and his love was extinguished with it. So, it shouldn’t be a surprise to you that he keeps such a close eye on you.

As these thoughts occupy your mind, you are struck with a sudden realization. You’ve been thinking about Simon as if he were your boyfriend. It takes a moment for the reality to sink in. You aren’t actually dating. An icy shiver runs down your spine as you come to terms with this, and you pull the blanket tighter over your shoulders.

You can’t believe that a mere two days, two almost normal days, were all it took for you to forget, even for a moment, the reality of your situation. You are not only dreaming about nightmares but living them. The line between fantasy and reality has blurred, and it’s a cruel reminder of the surreal situation you are trapped in.

The world around you seems to come to a complete halt when you feel a hand rest on your waist. Simon scoots closer, pressing his body against yours. As his fingers begin to trace an uncharted path along the soft fabric of your leggings, you notice a distinct change in his breathing. A scoff, so subtle you almost missed it, escapes from under his breath—you are absolutely certain that you can hear his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

In this moment, you can feel every fiber of your muscles, already taut with tension, coil even tighter as you feel him tug at your leggings. His palm deliberately slides under the fabric of your clothing, bypassing the thin layer of your underwear, and comes to rest on the jut of your hipbones. As a reflexive response, you squeeze your thighs together tightly.

You’re trying to weigh your options, attempting to navigate the labyrinth of potential outcomes. You’re aware there’s very little you could say that would convince him to back away, yet the prospect of not even trying to resist is daunting. Recalling the last time in the bathroom when you completely submitted to him, you understand that if you don’t exert some form of resistance now, you will be left awash with a pervasive sense of regret again.

“I-I’m tired,” you stammer out, your voice trembling and far from convincing or portraying any semblance of weariness.

His fingers, cool and firm, dig lightly into your flesh, eliciting a shiver that travels down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “You have been good today,” he murmurs in a gentle whisper that seems to echo. His hand continues its journey, traveling lower, coming to rest now on the curve of your thigh. He begins kneading the soft flesh in a slow, rhythmic motion that is both comforting and slightly unnerving.

“I didn’t want to break my promise,” you reply, and he nods.

You can feel the gentle brush of his breath against your skin as he leans in closer, the sound of his soft exhale in your ear. The warmth from his body envelops you, mingling with the scent of his cologne, creating an intoxicating blend. His lips press against your right shoulder, leaving a lingering tingle that spreads through your body. Moving upwards, he plants another tender kiss on the back of your head, his warm breath stirring your hair.

That night, he doesn’t touch you any further, but his hand remains, softly rubbing your skin in soothing circles until you fall asleep, safe and secure in his embrace.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x reader #call of duty #cod #writing #ghost cod #task force 141 #soap x reader #cod x reader #fem!reader #cod ghost #ghost call of duty

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hopefulromances · 10 months

Note

maybe prompt 43 “You always come here when you’re upset.” with jamie? like him and reader have known each other for a long time and she follows him throughout his career and he goes to one of their favorite places maybe either after jamie has his encounter with his dad or something that happened to the reader and she goes that somewhere instead? (and my pronouns are she/her) also i love your writing so much it’s amazing

Thank you so much <3. I think I know what you're asking for! I hope you enjoy!

Also I cannot stop myself from putting Taylor Swift references into everything I write I'm sorry.

43. “You always come here when you’re upset.”

You kicked the grass in the open field, aluminated by the tall stadium lights in the corners of the field. It'd been a while and you weren't sure if Jamie would show up. It had been a few years since you'd seem him last.

You grew up in Manchester, just down the street from Jamie's house. You'd been there for him everytime his parent's fought or his dad came home drunk. At one point, you'd even convinced him that his house was haunted, and that was why his dad was always mad. The two of you would hide in the closet and pretend to fly away to India or some other country that seemed so far away when you were young.

As you grew up, you remained close and soon found a place outside of the house to run to when something happened. An old abandoned pitch just a few miles from town. It hadn't been used in at least a decade but the lights still turned on every night for the ghosts of football games that came to life under the stars.

But Jamie was different recently. He had been since he'd been picked up at Manchester City. He'd gotten arrogant and rude. He was acting just like his father. And you'd told him as such two years ago. That was the last time he'd talked to you. But you'd read the news. He was being sent back to Manchester from Richmond, where he'd been playing on loan for a while.

Ted Lasso. Who knew someone so different could make such an impact on a team. But he was the first person to bench Jamie since... well maybe ever. Something had to have shifted in him. But being sent back to Manchester. Back to his father. It had to have hurt him. If your intution was right, and you hoped it was, he would make his way back here tonight.

It was getting late, and you were chilly. You were about to give up when you saw the headlights you'd been waiting for all night. Jamie got out of the car and leaned against it.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You shrugged, approaching him slowly. "You always come here when you're upset"

He scoffed at you. "You think you know me?"

"I think I do," You shot back. "I think you're afraid to go back to Manchester. Cause your dad is going to be sitting there waiting for you."

He snapped his head over towards you. He was angry. Angry at you, angry at his dad, angry at the world.

"Oh, fuck off," he spat, pushing himself off the car and turning on you. "I'm pissed off, cause I played Lasso's stupid game, burnt my mum's boots, and actually felt like I was making a difference at Richmond and what the fuck did it do?" I didn't really know what he was talking about but I didn't care, at least he was talking. "It did fuck all. He still sent me away. Just like everyone else in my life."

You let the statement hang in the air for a second. Waiting to see if he would continue or say anything else.

"I didn't send you away," you said quietly. "You left me... if you'll remember."

"Yeah, fucked that up too, didn't I?" he muttered.

Against your own will, you felt your feet moving you forward, lurching in Jamie's direction. When you reached him, you took his face in your hands.

"You didn't fuck that up? Okay," You shook his head gently, making your point. "You didn't fuck that up. I'm here, Jamie." He grabbed onto you, wrapping himself around you tightly. "You didn't fuck that up." You kept repeating that, over and over, as he held onto you like a lifeline. "I'm here, Jamie... I'm here."

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso show #jamie tartt fanfiction #drabble night #drabble

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fandom-imagines-stories · 10 months

Text

Interventions Part One

Season Two Episode Six

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader (Aaron Hotchner’s Sister)

Words: 6275

Series Masterlist

Summary: Y/N spirals out of control. Spencer and Aaron recruit the whole team to help.

Notes: This one is going to be crazy long, but I’m really excited to dive into each relationship the reader has with everyone on the team. I was really planning on making this one part to keep the season nine episodes, but I thought, fuck it. There’s so much to go over in this. I was going to do more with JJ, but since she wouldn’t actually be there, I shortened it, but I think it still conveys the importance of their friendship. Obviously, both of these parts are going to jump scenes a lot, but I hope it’s still clear.

Warnings: Alcoholism, suicidal thoughts/actions, depression, PTSD, etc. (both of these are going to be pretty intense, so ye have been warned)

He carried it with him. The envelope, though thin, it weighed in his pocket every day like a stone pressed against his heart. It was too painfully familiar, the sweeping letters of his name. The note left by Jason Gideon haunted yours, the sting of abandonment fogging Spencer’s mind with more emotions than he knew how to handle.

It’d been three days since everyone got back from Los Vegas. Three days since he saw you, or even heard from you. The worry was making it hard to work. He had no idea where you were or if you were okay. He didn’t even have it in him to be angry. He just wanted you to come home.

Of course, the team noticed the youngest member’s change in behavior, but everyone assumed he was still recovering from the case with his father. Only Hotch suspected something else was wrong.

He hadn’t heard from you either.

The whole morning, everyone worked in a tense silence, like they were all waiting for a bomb to go off, but they didn’t know when. Emily darted back and forth between her desk and Hotch’s. She feigned a series of questions about cases, but really she was just checking to make sure he was okay. She’d noticed he’d seemed more stressed than usual lately and figured it was because of worrying about you. Of course, everyone was worried about you. Morgan had asked about you more than usual and Emily hadn’t quite figured out why.

It was around one, right after everyone got back from lunch- whoever decided to leave- that the said bomb hit.

“Guys,” Prentiss said, eyes glued to the news playing on the television.

“Pine River Psychiatric Hospital outside Oregon City, Oregon has released a statement today announcing the death of mass murderer, Lydia Y/L/N, the woman responsible for what the press called ‘The Birthday Cake Killings,’” the anchor announced.

The room went silent. Reid was frozen in his chair and his hands started to shake. Hotch came out of his office and watched with them.

“Lydia Y/L/N killed six teenage girls at her daughter’s birthday party in the spring of 1998. She pleaded insanity and was sentenced to life in psychiatric care. Y/L/N leaves behind her daughter, the only victim to have survived the murders-”

Hotch muted the television.

“Oh my god,” Prentiss exclaimed. “Does Y/N know?”

Hotch nodded. “They would have called her first. She’s Lydia’s only next of kin.” He turned to Reid who hadn’t stopped staring at the TV. “Reid, did you see her this morning? Did she seem-”

“She left me,” Reid said, almost to himself, but loud enough for Morgan to hear.

“What?” Morgan boomed. “What do you mean, she left you?”

Reid spoke quietly like a broken man trying to find the pieces. “The night we got back from…” he took a deep breath and finally turned around to find everyone’s anxious gazes burning into him. “From Las Vegas, I found this on her desk.” He pulled the note out of his jacket pocket, looking down at his name in your beautiful handwriting.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Morgan asked.

“I didn’t think I needed to announce the condition of my love life, and frankly, I wasn’t ready to talk about it,” he fired back. “I figured she would’ve told you,” he added, looking up at Hotch.

“She didn’t,” Hotch said. A thick, heavy feeling of dread filled his chest like molten metal.

“Damnit!” Morgan yelled, kicking his chair back. It hit the floor with a deafening crash.

Rossi came out of his office. “What’s going on?”

“Y/N’s mom died,” Prentiss answered, still shocked by her partner’s outburst.

“Is Y/N okay? Does she know?” He asked.

“You don’t understand,” Morgan sighed. He took a moment to calm himself down and let his gaze dart between Hotch and Reid. “Y/N’s drinking again.”

A tense heaviness sank into everyone in the room. In a blink, Reid had crossed to Morgan, his hands gripping the other agent’s shirt.

“How long have you known and not told anyone?” Reid snapped.

Morgan was taken aback. He’d never seen the kid like this before. Reid had never been violent with someone else on the team before, but the fierce anger on his face told Morgan just how serious he was.

He put his hands on his shoulders slowly, trying to urge his hands away from him. “I only found out when I called her to come to Vegas, okay? I was trying to give her the chance to tell you herself, but I think it’s been going on for a while.”

“Do you have any idea what this means for her?” Reid said, the anger cracking to reveal his panic. “Do you know how much pain she must be in? And now, her mom is…”

“Reid,” Hotch said sharply.

Reid let go, but Morgan kept his hands on his arms.

“We’ll find her.”

The two men looked at each other, a shared guilt between them. Morgan knew, if he’d just told Hotch and Reid about you, they could have stopped you from leaving.

Spencer berated himself for not noticing the signs. He should have seen it. He should have helped you.

And now you were gone.

It was like Fairfax all over again, except now, the only villain they would be facing was the one inside of your head. The demons you’d never shared.

You didn’t know why you answered the phone. You’d been ignoring calls all day and almost turned it off altogether, but the name that came up stopped you. Maybe you thought it was somehow poetic.

“Hey JJ.”

“Y/N, hi. I-um-I just heard and I want to see how you’re doing.”

“You know, I didn’t think Aaron would stoop as low as to use the new mother to babysit.” Your words swam in your head as much as they stumbled out of your mouth.

“I’m not calling for your brother. I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

“Oh, I’m doing great. I’m curled up, watching stupid Christmas movies about stupid families with stupid mothers who make stupid dinners for their perfectly stupid kids. I’m having a great morning. You?”

She paused. “Sweetie, how much have you had to drink?”

“I don’t know why you guys are making a big deal about this,” you huffed. “It’s not like you were there the first time. You don’t know. Maybe I’ve changed. I’m not the woman you met and trusted into your family. Killing someone does that.” You didn’t mean for the last part to slip out, but the liquor loosened your lips.

“You’re right. We weren’t there,” she said. “But we’re here now. You have people who care about you, Y/N. We just want to help you.”

You stared at the tv, absentmindedly watching a mother and daughter decorate Christmas cookies. You imagined them licking the frosting off of the spoons and collapsing in a seizing, gasping heap. Just like you and your mom used to.

“I need you to do something for me, JJ.” You finally said.

“Of course. Anything.”

“You’re the front man. Hell, you’re the first person I met that day. You were so sweet and smiley and wonderful.”

Your words held no bitterness, but a kind of melancholy. Like you were mourning for a life lost. The life where the two of you were friends, where Spencer smiled at being made godfather of her son, and you could look on with something other than total despair in your chest. You could resume pretending that you were a part of their family.

“You’re the one that looks through everything and decides what cases to present, right?”

Her tone tinted with confusion. “Yeah.”

“Tell them I’m not one of your cases.”

“Y/N, wait-”

You hung up the phone.

“Okay. Thanks JJ,” Reid sighed. He leaned his head back against the hallway wall, taking a break from his pacing. He tried calling you again, but no answer.

JJ said you didn’t sound good. He felt bad for bringing her into this- she should be relaxing at home with Henry and Will, but he knew that she would have driven to the BAU and yelled at him for not keeping her in the loop.

He knew JJ saw you as more of a sister than just a friend. She was worried. Everybody was.

“Was that JJ?” Prentiss asked. “What’d she say?”

“That Y/N is drinking and she’s afraid it’s going to get worse,” he said. “Y/N told her that she’s changed. She doesn’t think she deserves to be a part of us anymore.” He paused and ran his hand down his face. “Because she killed Sarah Cunningham.”

“She thinks she’s becoming her mother,” Prentiss nodded mournfully. “And now, she’ll never get the closure of coming to terms with it because her mother died.”

“Morgan should have said something,” Reid snapped. “He knew. He could have- I don’t know- maybe if we’d known we could have stopped her from leaving.”

Prentiss crossed her arms. “Come on, Reid. You aren’t really mad at him and you know it. This is about something else.”

He stared at her for a moment, shoulders sinking, and started pacing again. “I should have seen it. I knew something was off, but I didn’t do anything and now-”

“Woah woah woah,” she said, holding a hand out to stop him. “This is not your fault, okay? Y/N would have been careful. She understands behavior just as well as we do. She would know exactly what to hide from you, from Hotch, from everybody.”

“But I should have seen through it,” he shook his head, voice cracking from the pressure building in his chest. “I didn’t even go after her. She left me that letter and I assumed it was because of Vegas. I thought I’d become too much for her and she left just like-”

He stopped himself. He didn’t even know who he meant at this point. So many people had left him already. The thought of losing you… it piled on with the rest until he couldn’t see anything else anymore.

Prenitss’ face softened. “Spencer…”

“I don’t know what to do,” he cried. “When I almost lost her before, we had a villain, something to go after. Now,” His hands floundered helplessly at his sides. He needed to do something. “She doesn’t want to be found.”

Emily took the younger agent in her arms and hid her own heartbroken expression in his shoulder. It felt like the team had lost one of their own and, in a way, she thought maybe they had. But she refused to accept that.

Emily Prentiss, of all people, knew what it was like to protect the people you love from your past. And as her mind started running with the connections, she let Reid go, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re going to find her,” she said. “She’s going to be okay. Y/N’s one tough woman, even if she doesn’t see that right now. We have to help her find herself.”

He nodded and returned to his pacing while Prentiss formed a plan.

Dave- Six years ago

Your arm hung limply in the sling across your chest and the soreness of every motion only made the red tint of embarrassment on your cheeks grow.

The man sat across from you in a chair in the corner. He flipped absently through a magazine, gazing up every once in a while.

“I remember you, you know,” you finally said after the silence became unbearable. “You were at my high school graduation reception. You only stayed, like, two minutes, but I saw you there. You’re David Rossi. I’ve read your books.”

“I would hope you remembered me,” he scoffed, putting the magazine aside. “Who do you think that generous gift came from?” The man smirked and crossed his arms, eyeing you in a way that reminded you of your brother every time you snuck out. “So… wanna talk about how you got here?”

“Where’s Aaron?” You asked, avoiding his question.

“Being processed.”

You nodded, only snippets of the past few hours recovered in your memory. “Right.” You shifted back against the hospital bed pillow and winced. Hangovers and broken bones definitely didn’t mix. You blew out a breath. “That was stupid.”

“I’ll say,” Former Agent Rossi said.

You rolled your eyes. “I meant Aaron. He could get fired for something like that, right?”

“I doubt he will be. Professor Douche isn’t pressing charges so he can keep this all under wraps. Besides, most people in the bureau would have done the same thing,” he glowered. “I know I would have.”

“Brian isn’t a bad man. He’s brilliant and he’s helped me through-”

“He’s writing a book, Y/N,” Dave blurted.

You looked away, the reason you drank pouring back into your memory. You’d found the pages on his desk and downed a few glasses of wine, finished a bottle of vodka, and half a bottle of absinthe, by the time he came back to his house. You screamed at him until you fell down a flight of stairs.

Dave’s face softened with sympathy. “He was using you for content, sweetheart.”

“That’s not…” You still couldn’t lift your gaze. “That’s not why I did it.”

He took a seat on the edge of the bed and for some reason, you welcomed his presence. In your years of building up distrust for everyone, this man- basically a stranger- already felt so familiar.

“I know,” he said.

“My uncle drowned himself in a bottle of Jack. I haven’t seen him since I graduated, but it’s still, I don’t know. When you don’t have much family, every member counts, right?” You finally looked up at him and found he was listening intently. “That’s why I went over to Brian- Dr. Calvin’s house. I have a key so I let myself in and found the manuscript on his desk.” You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. Maybe you knew, if Aaron trusted him, then you could too.

He didn’t say anything for a while, only nodded in understanding. After a while, he finally spoke. “You know, I’ve been through a lot with your brother in the years we worked together.” He paused, making sure you understood the importance of what he was about to say. “When he called me tonight, I'd never heard him so scared. Believe me. The broken nose was deserved.”

You laughed humorlessly, hating the fact that he was right. When you were loaded into the ambulance, you remembered Brian worrying about how he’d look. He screamed at you for bringing him into your problems. He wasn’t anything like the person you’d fallen in love with. Your brother had just seen that all along.

“You’re a legend in profiling, right?” You said.

He raised a brow. “I don’t know if ‘legend’ is the word I would use.” He chuckled. “Why?”

You turned your head to the window. Your lip quivered as the pieces and fractures of memory kept coming back to you.

“Why do I do it?” When you looked back at him, tears filled your vision. “I mean, I saw what it did to Uncle Robbie. I’ve seen it since I was a kid and I let it happen to me anyway. I welcomed it. Why?”

“There’s a lot of reasons people turn to alcohol and drugs, especially after going through something like you did,” he said. “It makes sense that maybe you saw a kind of relief your uncle got from it so you tried to find it for yourself.”

“Is there something wrong with me, Mr. Rossi?” You cried. “For the past four years, I’ve been trying to figure it out. I tried to drink it away, but it just made things worse. I don’t know what to do.”

He put a hand on top of yours. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/N. You survived something nobody should ever have to go through. Your entire life changed. Hell, you found out there was another half to your family you didn’t even know about. And you still graduated top of your class. You’ve pushed yourself so hard to prove to yourself that you aren’t that girl anymore that you split yourself in two.”

You closed your eyes, the tears finally spilling out. You never realized it before. All this time, you’ve spent studying to figure out why your mom did what she did that you never thought to turn what you’d learned on yourself. You were overcompensating in one side of your life and crashing in the other.

Dave held your hand a little tighter. “It’s time to become whole again.”

Although he didn’t show it, Aaron felt sick. The panic had knotted his insides and clouded his head with images of his little sister lying on a motel floor somewhere, choking on your own bile or with a gun in your hand.

He hated himself for not realizing sooner. He knew the signs. He’d spent two years with you getting through your addiction. The overcompensating and avoidance made sense now. You knew, of all of the people in this office, he’d see through it and he failed.

“She’ll be okay,” Rossi said from his seat in the corner. “She was before. She’ll find a way back.”

Hotch shook his head. “This time is different. When Robbie died, she lost a connection to her past self. She mourned the person she used to be, but she came out of it. Now, she lost any amount of closure she could have gotten,” he sighed. “She never went and saw her, you know. Not since the trial. She said she always meant to, to understand, but she could never bring herself to do it. Now, she can’t.”

“And with what happened in Fairfax…” Rossi blew out a breath. “She thinks there’s nothing now to stop her from becoming like Lydia.”

“Without her mother as a tether, she thinks there’s nothing stopping her from losing herself entirely. It’s why she left Reid, why she’s been avoiding me,” Hotch said, a tone of helplessness making his voice darken. “She’s protecting us from what she thinks she’s inevitably becoming.”

Rossi nodded and stood. He walked to the Unit Chief’s desk and put a hand on the edge. “It’s up to us to remind her that’s not what she is. And then we’ll bring her home.”

A quiet knock at the door interrupted their thoughts. Morgan stood, tension evident in the stiff way he held his shoulders. Like the springs inside of him were waiting to break. Hotch dismissed Rossi with a nod.

The older agent left and closed the door behind him.

Morgan shifted uncomfortably. “Garcia tried tracking Y/N’s phone, but she’s got it blocked off somehow.”

“I helped her do that,” Hotch sighed, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t want her to have to worry about fans or copycats trying to get to her. You know what the press was like.”

“Arnold Owens was a real piece of work,” Morgan nodded. “I can’t imagine what that was like for her.”

“It wasn’t easy, but she was always a tough kid.” The other agent made for the door, but Hotch stopped him. “Have a seat.”

Morgan clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, and took the chair across from Hotch, the deep sense of dread now mixing with his guilt.

Hotch centered his gaze on Morgan, the seriousness of his expression softened by the sincerity in his eyes.

“I don’t blame you for what happened in Fairfax,” Hotch said.

Of the things Derek was expecting, that was not on the list. He just sat there, blinking for a moment. “I didn’t think that you…” There wasn’t any point in lying, so his voice trailed off.

“I don’t blame you, Morgan. Owens was the more pressing threat. You couldn't have known the Cunninghams were waiting for her. It wasn’t your fault. Nobody thinks that, including Y/N. I know how you’ve carried it with you. I know you think that’s the reason I’ve been so hard on you and I need you to know, now, that it isn’t.”

Morgan looked at his hands, clasped in his lap. “I know I should have said something about her drinking, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“She asked you not to and you trusted that she would make the decision on her own to seek help. And she might have, had her mother not passed away. That isn’t your fault either.” Hotch leaned forward on his desk.

The average person may not have noticed the change in his face, the slight hint to just how worried he really was, but Morgan did.

“I’m telling you this because I need you to have a clear head for all of this,” Hotch said. “I’m afraid you and Prentiss are the only ones who can. You saw what it’s already doing to Reid and I…” He swallowed. “I’ve seen what she’s been through before and I’m afraid this time is only going to be worse. If we all close in on her, I don’t know what she’ll do.”

Morgan stood with new determination. “I’ll have Garcia work a new angle.”

“I’ll be right out,” Hotch said. “I need to call Haley in case Y/N said anything to her.”

“Wherever Y/N is, Hotch, I’m not gonna rest until I bring her back and get her help.” Morgan opened the door and stepped back out to the bullpen, finding Reid still pacing in the hall and Prentiss’ chair empty.

Emily

The Christmas movies continued as you downed another glass. You fell back on the bed, staring at the ceiling while your hand reached for underneath the pillow. You stopped halfway, rolling your head to the side and switching your focus to the fabric on the chair.

Somehow, your legs managed to bring you to the chair and your fingers latch onto the scarf. The soft, purple material made you feel more than you want it to. The guilt. The loneliness. The wish to have him here now like nothing happened. But that was selfish.

Your mind traveled back to what laid underneath your pillow.

A soft knock at the door brought you back.

You groaned quietly and sat back down on the bed, hoping they’d just go away. The manager had checked up on you a couple of times just to make sure you paid, so it was probably just him again, even though you’d paid out for the next few days.

“Y/N, it’s me.”

Emily?

“Crap,” you muttered, but the word itself hardly formed on your lips. Maybe if you were quiet enough, she’d go away.

“Come on, I know it’s you. Open the door,” Emily boomed. She knocked again, this time louder. It made your head pound.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” you winced. You made your way to the door, tripping slightly on the chair leg. You kept the chain locked and cracked the door open. “Hey Emily.”

She grimaced and put a hand down her nose. “God, you look like hell.”

“What’re you doing here?” You slurred through the words and swayed on your feet.

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t think that’s-” The turning in your stomach cut you off. You slammed the door shut and unlatched the chain.

“Okay, this is how we’re doing this,” Emily sighed, hurrying after you, hearing the sounds of you vomiting in the bathroom.

She sat beside you and held your hair as if you were college girls at a party. The hand on your back soothed your sickness until you were able to sit up again.

“I never had a big sister,” you muttered through your haze.

Emily didn’t say anything. It broke her heart to see the strong woman she’d come to know reduced to a scared girl on the floor of a sleazy motel bathroom. She could see in your eyes, behind the drunken trance, the despair you were trying to forget. Wrapped around your hand, a long purple scarf was carefully kept off of the floor and in your lap. Even intoxicated, you seemed to protect it.

“Isn’t it stupid?” You said, noticing her eyes on the scarf. “I stole it. His favorite scarf. I just wanted something I could hold, you know? He’s probably looking for it. Will you give it back to him?” You held it out to her with sad eyes and pouting lips.

She lifted you off the floor. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are going to give it to him yourself,” she said. “After we sober you up, so come on.”

“But I don’t want-”

She pushed you into the shower and turned on the stream of freezing water, ignoring your squeals of protest, only now taking the scarf from your hand. You stood in the spray of icy cold and could feel.

You got out of the shower and were sick again. After that, Emily decided you seemed conscious enough and took you back into the room, helping you change out of your soaked clothes and forcing a glass of water down your throat. The water was followed by coffee and you switched back and forth between the two. It must have been an hour of just that. No questions. No words. Just water and coffee.

“Why are you here?” You finally asked, pulling the blanket around your shoulders tighter.

“You’ve got a lot of worried people back home. You know that.” Emily thought back to Reid’s trance over the past few days, his terror as he paced. She handed you the scarf.

You sniffed. “He hates me now, doesn’t he?” You abandoned him with nothing more than a note- just like his dad, just like Gideon. You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye. At the time, you just hoped he’d never have to see you again.

“He misses you.”

You closed your eyes, rubbing the fabric back and forth in your hands, as if you could conjure his comfort. When you opened them again, you were still just in the motel room, sitting across from Emily’s pitying eyes.

You blew out a long breath. “How did you even know how to find me?”

Her expression darkened and she looked down for a moment before returning to your gaze. “Because I’d do the same thing.” This was the part she was afraid of, but she swallowed and kept a straight face. “Now… where is it?”

You froze, fingers tightening around the scarf. You could deny it. You could say you didn’t know what she meant. But what was the point?

Emily held out her hand. You leaned back, reached underneath the pillow, and pulled out the gun. She took it slowly, as if reaching too fast would scare you into shooting it. With one hand, she tucked it into her waistband behind her, and with the other she reached for yours.

“I need to know- I’m not going to be upset with you- but,” she sighed, “did you come here to use this?” Her voice was filled with such sincerity, such concern, you knew you couldn’t lie.

“I don’t know,” your words were surprisingly steady. “I just wanted to protect everyone.”

She nodded, understanding. “From you?”

You didn’t say anything. You just turned your head to the window. She continued.

“Y/N, I know what it’s like to be afraid of becoming just like your parents. Hell, half of the people in your life know what that’s like.”

You scoffed. “It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right, it isn’t,” she said. “But I also know what it’s like to be so terrified of a part of yourself that you’d do anything to keep it hidden. You’d do anything to protect the people you love from the ugly, brokenness you feel.” She squeezed your hand a little tighter. “But all you’re going to do is hurt them.”

Her words sunk into you like teeth, but the wall around your heart wouldn’t let them completely in. There was still that fear, the sense of inevitability that even her honest eyes couldn’t chase away. But it did make you realize something. You may not have had the strength, but you still needed a failsafe. Just in case she was wrong.

You wiped the corner of your lip with the back of your hand.

“I need you to call someone for me.”

The office was buzzing with effort in trying to locate you. Everyone was working even harder since Prentiss just up and disappeared.

“We know she must have gone to Fairfax,” Reid exclaimed. “Why can’t we just go find her?”

“This is all about protecting us from who she thinks she has become,” Hotch sighed. “If we charge after her, I’m afraid what measures she’d take to keep from ‘hurting’ us.”

Reid stopped his furious scribbling on the map of the city. He turned to Hotch, wide eyed and terrified. “You don’t think she’d…”

“I think, if she’s pushed herself this close to the edge, then she’ll do anything if she believes it means not dragging us down with her.”

Spencer let the marker fall to his side and leaned hopelessly back against the table. Statistics unmercifully filled his head. Connections between PTSD and suicide, alcholism and every other dark thought his stupid logical brain could conjure. He should have seen the signs if you had gotten this bad.

“She’s spent her whole life learning how to mask herself, Reid,” Hotch said, as if reading his mind. The older agent was thinking the same thing. He should have known you were avoiding him for a reason.

“Guys,” Morgan rushed through the doorway, phone in his hand. “Prentiss found her.” He put the phone back to his ear and listened, expression contorting with confusion. “What are you talking about? Just bring her back.”

Reid opened his mouth, but Morgan held up a hand to stop him.

“Alright, alright. Text me the place and I’ll meet you there.”

The shift in his tone made Reid and Hotch stop breathing. Hotch was the first to speak.

“What’s wrong?”

Morgan’s head tilted, bewildered. “Prentiss found her. Sobered her up as best she could. But she wants me to pick her up.”

“What are we waiting for?” Reid exclaimed. “Let’s go.”

“Just me,” Morgan said. “Y/N said it’s important.” He shrugged and looked to Hotch for approval.

Hotch nodded. “Go.”

Reid whipped his head around. “We aren’t going with him?”

“If that’s what brings her back,” he sighed. “Yes.”

Derek

He spent the entire drive trying to wrap his head around it. Why him? Did you still think he was the only one who knew about the drinking? Why wouldn’t you want to see your brother? Or Reid, for that matter? Sure, there was a reason you left him, but of everyone in the BAU, why would you need him to come and get you.

Derek pulled into the parking lot of the motel Prentiss sent him and spotted both of your cars in front of the room. Prentiss stood outside the door with a duffle bag and a grave expression.

“Hey,” he greeted, getting out of his car. “What the hell is going on?”

Prentiss shrugged. “She told me she wanted you to take her back so she could talk to you about something. She wouldn’t tell me what.” She turned to the office where you were checking out. “I’m just relieved she agreed to come back at all.”

He blew out a long breath. “That bad, huh?”

“I counted four empty bottles in that room,” she nodded. “And I found this.” Prentiss glanced around before pulling the gun out from her waistband.

Derek looked down.

“Do you think she was going to do it?”

“Honestly…” She sighed. “I don’t think she’d see it as enough. She thinks she deserves this. Deserves being alone and miserable. She’s convinced herself that there isn’t a way out.”

“Then why did she agree to come back at all?” He mused.

You finished paying and walked back to where the two agents waited for you, Derek’s hard, worried face staring you down. You straightened your shoulders, determined. He was the only one that could do it.

“Are we ready?” You asked, picking your duffle bag off of the ground.

“I guess I’ll just meet you guys back in Quantico.” Emily said, gaze darting between the two of you.

“Quantico?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why would I be going to Quantico?”

“Because you called me to take you back and that’s where we’re going,” Derek said.

You made no further argument and got in the car.

The drive started in tense silence. You didn’t say a word, partially because every motion of the vehicle was making your head sway. You should have taken Emily up on her aspirin offer.

“So are we gonna spend the next forty minutes in silence, or what?” He chided.

“Why are you talking so loud?” You groaned, leaning your head against the cool window.

“God, you’re really out of it still, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sweetheart, you just spent the last four days on a bender, scaring the hell out of everyone, and breaking Reid’s heart in the process, so fine is not exactly the word I would choose.”

“This was a bad idea,” you muttered to yourself. Your head’s pounding increased.

“You wanted me, you’ve got me, but I’m not gonna just drive you back so you can disappear again.”

You put a hand to your forehead. “Please stop talking.”

“Why did you need me anyway? Do you have any idea what this has been doing to Reid-”

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over, damnit.” The ferocity of your tone was all he needed and he quickly got to the side of the road in time for you to be sick again.

Derek stopped the car and got out, walking around to the other side where you were crouched by the passenger door, hands on your knees to hold yourself up.

“Great,” he exhaled, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, well, alcohol poisoning’s a bitch, Derek. I would know.” You stood back up, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it. Here you were, standing on the side of the road in a puddle of sick, with Derek Morgan’s famous big-brother-protective, but frustrated, gaze locked on you.

The two of you stood there for a long time. It was just like the police station. His tough-love approach was familiar, almost comforting. It had to be him.

He seemed to understand the shift in your gaze. “Why did you call me, Y/N?” He stepped towards you.

“Because they love me too much,” you sighed, coming away from the car and the now soaked earth.

“What?”

“You’re the only one who will do it,” you said. “Because they love me too much.”

His eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what you meant. They widened again when he understood. “No.”

“You’re the only one-”

“You can’t actually be serious,” he scoffed.

“If I… change. If I do something to hurt them. I need you to-”

“That’s not how this works, Y/N. You know that. You’ve spent the last ten years studying it. You aren’t just going to wake up one day and turn into Lydia Y/L/N.”

“I killed, Derek,” you cried. “I’m a killer. I’m already her.”

“Your mother suffered a severe psychotic break due to undiagnosed PTSD from your father’s abuse,” he said slowly. “Why are you so convinced that that’s who you are?”

“Because everything I touch dies!”

Your hand hit his chest before you really knew what you were doing. You pushed again.

“Arrest me.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

You hit him again, this time harder. “Derek, arrest me. Stop me. Do something! Arrest me, damnit!”

“Y/N, stop.”

“I can’t go back. You have to end it. I can’t- please- I can’t do it alone. Derek, please.”

He caught you before you fell, holding you up against his chest as your arms fell defeated to your sides. Sobs muffled against him and tears stained his dark shirt. You kept muttering the same things over and over again until they didn’t make sense to you anymore. Derek lowered his voice to a persistent, caring whisper.

“Y/N, running away isn’t going to save us. You can’t protect anyone by destroying yourself,” he sighed, keeping his arms locked around your shaking frame. “Or asking me to.”

“You don’t- you don’t know that.”

“I know you. And I know how crazy Reid and your brother are going right now worrying about you,” he said, still holding on. “They aren’t afraid of you, sweetheart. They’re afraid of losing you.” He pulled back, tucking a finger under your chin to lift your head. “If I don’t bring you back, that kid is going to lose his mind, you hear me?” He smiled slightly. “I know the fight you’ve got in your head isn’t one that I can just pull you out of, even though I want to. But that’s the thing, Y/N. You have to keep fighting.”

You closed your eyes, more tears cascading down your cheeks. He kissed your forehead. “Let’s take you home, okay? I talked to Garcia and she said we can use her office and you can tell me everything. Or you can say nothing. It’ll be up to you.”

With a deep breath, you nodded, opened the car door and climbed inside.

(I know I forgot to post last week, I'm sorry!)

The In-Betweens series: @amywright; shesoperfectt; hereforsmutbcicantgetenough; violetbossler; hyper-half-blood; i-bitch-you-bitch; xcastawayherosx; preciousbabypeter; @jori21; @sol-48; @murdermornings ; @ staygoldsquatchling02; @ ara-a-bird

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #aaron hotchner #dr. spencer reid x reader #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #dr. spencer reid #mattew gray gubler #the in betweens #criminal minds imagine series

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