let me start by saying, I'm okay to agree to disagree on this, and I respect you greatly as my queer elder. I hesitate to even send this because I don't think this cause is worth dogpiling (and not even the fun way) on anyone against and , like , I will continue to follow and admire you as a mutual who has been through a lot of the hell that I'm going through right now and got to a place I want to someday be. (for context, I am currently housing & food insecure and am trying to live in a queer-accepting city)
Posting will never be praxis, you are my brother in arms no matter what you call trump or cops or whatever. There are some fat liberation blogs that take issue with calling cops "pigs" for a lot of the reasons I bristle at calling Trump a fatass, and like, if someone is actively fighting cops who can and will actively hurt me and my found family, I don't care what names they shout while doing it. So I see where you are coming from and I'm glad you fight for me. I fight for us too, in what little ways I can while I keep me and my found family afloat. I do better work in the community just by existing around people as a living breathing transgender than I could do in a million posts on this website.
I do think that this is a valuable conversation to have, though, even though you are completely right that this is a trivial thing and not at all the bigger, more real issue at hand. I think it's still important, on online platforms such as this, to talk about how we refer to the other people on this planet.
Think about why you didn't call Trump a "retard". You certainly could have, it doesn't *not* apply to some of his behavior. I know people of our generations once used that word a lot, and we don't anymore. Why and when did we change that? I honestly don't remember. For me, my aunt was medically classified as "retarded" and she was the best person I'd ever met, so I decided that word shouldn't mean bad things. The first time I ever hit someone was over them using that word in a derogative way. it wasn't about "mental illness positivity" it was about humanizing the people that word has been used against - people who have been stigmatized and oppressed with that word.
Right now, hopefully, the same thing is happening to the word "obese". Fat people are less likely to be hired, granted loans or secure housing. they can be kicked out of airplanes and fired from their jobs because of their body size. There have been laws proposed to take fat children away from their parents and "treatments" proposed to wire children's jaws shut and starve them to make them thinner. They are often medically mistreated and misdiagnosed. I once went to a doctor with an ear infection and instead of antibiotics, he prescribed me *bariatric surgery.* I have been refused transgender top-surgery because of my BMI, which keeps me at a passively higher risk for self-injury and worse.
I do not care about body positivity. Honestly, between being fat, trans, and poor, I'm at a point where I've given up on ever feeling good about my body again. All I care about is getting jobs and meds and keeping a roof over my family's head and food on our table. Normalizing the idea that fat is a bad thing that anyone can change continues that stigma. When you use Fat as an insult, you are saying fat=bad. Fat is a neutral thing that some bodies can be, like short or tall or lean. The revolution needs to be intersectional, and body size is another axis of oppression that needs to be acknowledged, just like sexuality, gender, race, class, disability, etc.
If you've gotten this far, thank you for hearing me out. I'm sorry that others are just performatively parroting the same things over and over. Civility is bullshit, and if you still want to use body shaming as one of the ways you fight against bigotry, it doesn't really matter to me. Just as long as you acknowledge anti-fat bias as part of that bigotry too.
Thank you for writing and sharing your life experiences with me, and for your solidarity as well. You're striving to make your way as part of a despised minority in a world that's turned unspeakably harsh toward you in an aggressively mean way seemingly overnight, and I admire you for the life you have lived, for your courage and perseverance during this difficult time where resources are scant and your housing and food security is uncertain at best.
(FWIW, after I was bombed out of my Lower Manhattan home on September 11th, my income went from six figures down to nothing overnight, and I was homeless and destitute for years. Twenty years ago, I was where you are now, and I can tell you that what you're enduring today will not last forever, that there is light and hope and blessing in your future, that you're not as alone as you might think, that you must never give up.)
What more can I do to make the point that "fat" has nothing to do with this? As I've said, I grew up obese, and it wasn't until I enlisted in the Army at age 17 that I was able to free myself from my violent and abusive family and unlock the potential of the body that had been hidden under layers of fat and shame all my life. I know that my path is not for everybody, that many others are not so fortunate, and I ceased long ago to think that fat equals bad or lack of character or any other pejorative attitude that society has attached to it for generations. I hope I've made that clear and that you take my word as truth.
I am not saying "let's fat-shame Donald Trump to make him feel bad." I am saying that I'm deeply troubled by the LGBTQ+ community prioritizing hurt feelings over the very real damage that's being done to us right now all over the country by Trump, his minions, his proxies, and his cult of bloodthirsty followers and worshippers.
Trump's accomplices in Congress and state legislatures and Moms For Liberty are taking over school boards all over the country, banning books and emptying library shelves and harassing teachers and librarians to the point where they're being run out of town, where the State of Missouri has defunded its entire public library system rather than follow a court order to restore books banned just for featuring LGBTQ+ characters.
DeSantis and Abbott have put in place policies that are unspeakably brutal, that are forcing trans people in Florida to slowly and brutally revert to their pre-transition state, that have given health care providers in Florida the right to deny treatment to you and me and all LGBTQ+ people because we are gay, lesbian, non-binary, trans... but God forbid we should call Trump mean names!
We've seen what happens when we buy into the "when they go low, we go high" fantasy pipe dream. This is not the way the world works, it has never been, and we need to put this loser idea in the trash bin where it belongs once and for all.
We're being attacked and harmed in unspeakable ways that are happening now. This is not theoretical or hypothetical. It's happening to us, to those we love, this minute and every minute of every day. And worse is in the pipeline - they're writing laws that will place us under virtual house arrest, that will regulate where we're allowed to go in our own cities and towns, when we're allowed to be seen in public, when and where we can shop, how we're allowed to dress, even what we're allowed to say and SING, for Christ's sake!
And I'm supposed to be concerned about some minuscule hypothetical percentage of my own people being OFFENDED because I'm somehow being insensitive and violating some trivial picayune social justice warrior philosophy, because there's a possibility of some fragile flower taking it personally, and that I should shut my mouth and let the MAGA nutjobs run roughshod over us? Oh, come let Daddy kiss it! while our brothers and sisters are suffering in real time. Sickening.
Anyone who has a problem with my stance doesn't have to follow me or emulate my proven effective tactics as an activist with 37 years of successfully defending our rights under my belt if they're so dainty and delicate and easily bruised. Everyone else that sees this for the strawman bullshit it is, get ready to hit the streets with bullhorns and whistles once again. We've got work to do.
Your arguments are strong and well-reasoned, and I accept and acknowledge everything you're saying. We can disagree on this, certainly, and still work together to turn back the progress that the MAGAs are making, restore our rights, and protect ourselves and each other. But that will require the snowflake contingent among us to get their collective head out of their collective ass, stop whining, and get with the damn program. Calling me names and telling me I'm being a bad gay activist is a waste of time and energy that should be spent fighting the fascists and the haters who are out to kill us.
And to you, my friend and fellow traveler with a radiantly beautiful soul and spirit, I urge you to hang in there, to keep the faith, to keep caring about life, to work with me to secure our own future and the future of our kind. I send to you my very best wishes, energy, and prayers that you will find your way to a place of health, security, stability, and love for yourself and for this precious community to whom we've both dedicated our lives, who mean the world to us.
Yours In Service,
Animal J. Smith
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Web of Secrets - Miguel O'Hara
Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader
words: 3.7K
warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut
Part I Part II Part III Part IV
In your universe, you are known as the Sun Spider. It all started on a school field trip to a solar energy research center, where you were accidentally exposed to a spider that had been subjected to intense solar radiation. You woke up with a white-hot surge of power, and your life changed forever. You donned a suit of pure white, taking the name that reflected both your newfound abilities and the brightness you brought into the world: Spider-Sun.
Your ability to harness solar energy and transform it into powerful blasts or create protective shields made you a formidable superhero in your home city, Nea Yorkey. Your ability to bring light to even the darkest corners of your city earned you the love of its citizens.
However, everything changed when you were suddenly pulled into the Spider-Verse.
Upon arriving, you were greeted by the gruff leader of this interdimensional team of Spider-People, Miguel O'Hara. His reputation preceded him - the genius intellect, the imposing figure, the gruff demeanor. Everyone respected him, and some even feared him. You, on the other hand, were drawn to him. There was something about that guarded demeanor that called to your own sunny nature.
You became an integral part of the team, fighting off anomalies and working hard to maintain the balance in the Spider-Verse. And despite Miguel's stern exterior, you felt yourself falling for him.
One mission was particularly rough, and you found yourself alone with Miguel in a safe house, nursing your wounds. His usually stern face softened as he tended to your injuries. The distance that he usually maintained was nowhere to be seen.
"Thank you, Miguel," you whispered.
He looked at you, his usually hard eyes soft. "You fought well, mi sol."
There was a moment of silence, a strange tension hanging in the air. Then, Miguel leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was filled with unexpected passion.
In that moment, you were not the Sun Spider, and he was not the Spider-Man 2099. You were just two people, seeking solace in each other.
Afterwards, as you laid side by side, Miguel turned to you, a serious look on his face. "This...this can't be more than what it is. Just...you know, stress relief," he muttered, his voice just above a whisper.
His words wounded you. Naturally, they did. He had reduced your relationship to mere stress relief, as if you were some object devoid of feelings. Yet, in spite of it all, you fell for him. Perhaps you were naive, even foolish, but you didn't care. You yearned for him and were ready to accept any fraction of affection he was willing to offer, no matter how small.
During the day, as you fought alongside him against the anomalies threatening the Spider-Verse, his attention toward you was sparse. He mostly shared only necessary information, barely making eye contact. Sometimes he didn't speak at all, and you and the rest of the team would receive mission orders and briefings from Lyla, his AI assistant.
But at night, when the two of you were alone, he became a different person. He'd whisper praises into your ear, telling you how exceptionally you fought, how much he desired you. He showed you his hidden vulnerability under the cover of darkness, the sheets their only witness. He'd gently stroke your hair and peppered your jaw and temple with kisses until you fell asleep, only for you to wake up the next morning to an empty, cold spot where he once lay.
This cycle - his coldness by day, and the fervor by night - repeated itself relentlessly for months.
And so, this is how you find yourself: disoriented, frenzied, and on the verge of tears, seated on the couch of your best friend, Peter B. Parker, in Earth-616. Cradled in your arms is his sweet daughter, Mayday, who, with her innocent touch, tries to console you. Yet her wide eyes dart anxiously to her father, reflecting her own alarm at your distress.
Peter rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe we should wait until MJ gets home?" he suggests, then, with a furrowed brow, he asks, “Have you tried talking to Jess about this?”
You shake your head vigorously. "No, I haven't told anyone. I have no idea what to do," you confess, your voice breaking.
Peter, ever the caring friend, gently takes Mayday from your arms and sets her down. He turns back to face you with a sympathetic gaze. “Do you..eh.. know who the father is?” he inquires softly.
You shake your head again, even though deep down, you know the truth. “The father is out of the picture. He doesn’t know, and he never will because he doesn’t want kids,” you whisper, fighting back tears.
As you and Peter sit down on the couch in his cozy living room, you find a sense of comfort being around him. His experience as both a superhero and a parent seems like it could be a beacon in this storm you're facing. The room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.
“You know, Peter,” you begin, your voice almost a whisper. “I’m terrified. What if the baby has powers? How am I going to protect them, especially if...if I can’t stop fighting anomalies?”
Peter looks thoughtful. “That’s a valid concern. First, you should know that you don’t have to do this alone. There’s a whole community of us, and we stick together. If the child does have powers, she or he will be badass like Mayday, right?”
You nod slowly but then anxieties pile on top of each other in your mind. “But... how can I hide this? Nobody and I mean nobody is supposed to know that I’m pregnant. Especially not...” You trail off, not finishing the sentence.
Peter rubs his chin, deep in thought. “We could look into modifying your suit, maybe talk to some tech geniuses in the Spider-Verse about creating something that can shield or conceal the pregnancy.”
You roll your eyes. “That kinda defies the ‘nobody is allowed to know ‘ordeal, Peter. You have to promise me that this stays between us.”
“I promise,” Peter says sincerely.
Silence fills the room again, and then you voice another fear. “Peter, what if...what if I’m not a good mother? What if I mess this up?”
Peter smiles warmly. “You know, I had those same fears when Mayday was born. I think it’s normal for any parent. But, take it from me, the fact that you’re worried about being a good parent means you’re already on the right track. You’ve got a good heart. Trust it.”
You look down at your hands, fingers interlaced. “Thank you, Peter. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“You’ll never have to find out,” he says with a reassuring smile. “We’re family, in this weird, Spider-Verse kind of way. But maybe… and I am sayig this as a father myself… reconsider telling the father. I can’t imagine any guy wanting to give up this.” He says, pointing to his precious daughter playing with a napkin she found on the floor.
"Maybe you should reconsider telling the father," Peter's words are echoing in your mind like a haunting melody. A part of you yearns for that possibility. Perhaps you're not alone in this. Maybe, just maybe, Miguel wants this as much as you do.With newfound resolve, you set off for the Spider-Verse headquarters, expecting to find Miguel tucked away in his office, immersed in maintaining the spider verse or as he calls it "arachno- something-multiverse-thingy” or something similar to that.
Upon reaching his office door, you pound on it sharply. No response. Frowning, you knock again, a little harder this time. When silence continues to greet you, you slowly turn the doorknob and peek inside. There he is, hunched over his desk, lost in a world of numbers and codes.
"Miguel, I-" you start, but his sharp voice cuts you off.
"No," he interrupts, his tone cold. "Did I say you can come in? Dios mio, why are you always so damn clingy?"
His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, taken aback by his blatant disregard for your feelings. You can feel the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but you will them away.
He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it like that. This mantra plays over and over in your head, like a broken record. You take a deep breath, forcing down the hurt his words cause.
"Look, Miguel," you begin, struggling to keep your voice steady. "There’s something we need to talk about, and I think it's important for you to listen to me."
“Fucking hell, woman! What exactly don’t you understand. I’m busy. I don’t care about your little problems, right now.” he barks, not even looking up.
“Miguel,” you speak up, forcing the words out through clenched teeth, “ I’ve never asked anything from you. Not once have did I ask you to stay, to feel the same I feel, to fucking talk to me when people are around. Please all I am asking you is to just ... listen to me, fpr once.” Your voice grows stronger as you speak, a determined fire igniting within you.
Miguel finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he seems taken aback by the resolve he saw there.
He rubs his temples. “Can we do this later?”
“No!” you shout. “It’s always later with you. You’re like...like a ghost. Just a figure in the hallway. I don’t need a figure, I need a person! I need someone who listens when...”
He glares at you, his eyes narrowing. “Okay, okay I will listen just not now. Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“No, it can’t,” you retort, your voice shaking a bit. “Why is it that every time I try to talk to you, you just brush me off? Am I that insignificant to you?”
He stands up abruptly, the chair skidding behind him. “This? This is what you want to talk about?” he says with a tone of annoyance. “Look, I have a million things to deal with and-”
“And what? And I’m not one of them? Just five minutes, Miguel! That’s all I ask!”
The room is tense. Your heart is racing. His eyes are fiery. It's a standoff.
“And what is so important that you have to disrupt everything right now?” he challenges.
Your breath catches in your throat. This is it. You're about to say it.
“I...” you stammer. “I need to tell you that...”
Suddenly, the door to the office swings open and Jess storms in.
“Miguel, we have a major issue in Sector 12! The anomalies...” she starts, then catches sight of your tear-streaked face. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”
Miguel seems to shake off the tension and slips back into commander mode. “No nothing important. What’s happening in Sector 12?”
You can't believe it. Just like that, he turns away. It feels like your heart is being squeezed.
Jess starts rattling off data and scenarios. The two of them are talking, but you don’t hear it anymore. All you can think of is how you almost told him. How you just wanted five minutes.
Your hands shake and you quietly step out of the room. The door closes behind you, and it feels like a chapter that you can’t read has been sealed away.
The next day you are on Earth-8311, an anthropomorphic animal-dominated universe. It's the home of Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham, and you can't help but find it amusing.
The mission: to transport an anomaly, which resembles an enormous floating jellyfish, back to its home universe. It's been pure chaos here, and you are determined to set things right.
The team: Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker. You're all in your suits, eyes sharp, and webs at the ready.
"Alright, Spiders. Let's round this jelly up and send it home," Peter B. Parker takes charge, shooting a web towards a nearby building.
You swing alongside him, your thoughts a whirlwind. The world around you blurs - the animal citizens, the bustling cityscape, the strange yet familiar surroundings.
The anomaly appears before you, thrashing and pulsating as it floats through the sky. It releases blasts of energy that ripple through the air.
"Watch out, Sunny!" Gwen calls out as she dodges a blast.
You, however, are a split second too late. Your reflexes are off, your movements sluggish. The blast sends you spiraling towards the ground.
Hobie swings in and catches you mid-air, his guitar strapped on his back. “Get it together, Sun!” he shouts over the noise, his punk-styled hair waving wildly.
You shake off your daze and look up to see Peter B. Parker shooting webs to pull the anomaly back down, while Gwen is deploying a device to open a portal back to its home universe.
Your heart races as you focus on the task at hand. You need to get this right, not just for yourself, but for the life you’re now carrying. Your suit seems to glow even brighter in the chaos.
With a final combined effort, you manage to lasso the anomaly and push it through the portal. The anomaly disappears, and the portal closes behind it.
The team regroups on a rooftop. Gwen is catching her breath, Hobie is tuning his guitar, and Peter B. Parker gives you a concerned look.
“Are you okay?” Gwen asks, her voice laced with worry. “You weren’t yourself up there.”
The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels unbearable. But you're not ready to share it.
“Promise me you won’t tell Miguel about this,” you say, your voice barely audible.
Gwen raises an eyebrow, while Hobie crosses his arms. Peter B. Parker simply nods.
“Nah, Bossman doesn’t need to know about this,” Hobie says, and there’s a firmness in his voice that is strangely comforting.
Back in the HQ, your head spins, and your stomach feels like it's doing somersaults. You mumble a quick excuse about feeling nauseous and practically sprint to the nearest restroom.
Meanwhile, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker head to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.
As they sit down at a table with their trays, Gwen breaks the silence. “Is it okay if I say that this mission was kind of easy? Like, I’ve seen Sunny take down Doc Ock from Earth-818, and she did that without any problem. So what was that today?” Gwen’s concern is apparent.
Hobie, munching on a sandwich, nods in agreement. "Yeah, it's like her spidey senses were jammed or somethin'. Never seen her like that before."
Peter B. Parker looks thoughtfully at his sandwich, then glances up at Gwen and Hobie. He’s torn, having promised you to keep your secret but also wanting your friends to understand why you were off your game.
"You guys remember when she fought Morlun on Earth-001? She was a totally smashin’ it, and today, she nearly got turned into spider-paste by a floating jellyfish. That ain’t right," Hobie adds.
Gwen’s eyes suddenly widen. "Oh my God! Do you think she’s in trouble? Like, something from her universe? Or maybe she's having an identity crisis! Should we stage an intervention?"
Peter B. Parker clears his throat. “Maybe she’s just having an off day.”
Gwen’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Peter. “You know something, don’t you?”
Peter scratches the back of his head, obviously uncomfortable. “Nope, no idea.”
Hobie puts down his sandwich and leans in. "Oi, mate. Spill your guts. There's something dodgy going on. She's always been our burst of sunshine, lifting the mood. But now she's... dimmed. What's going on with our Sunny, Parker?"
Before Peter B. Parker could answer Gwen’s barrage of questions, Jess - Spider-Woman - appears, her belly showing. She takes a seat at the table and, oblivious to the serious conversation that was taking place, asks them about their latest mission.
"So, how did your mission go?" Jessica asks, while munching on her Burger.
"Nothing to report, Jess," Gwen answers, a little too quickly, her face all sunshine and false smiles. Peter simply nod in agreement.
“Yah, all good!” Hobie chimes in, flashing a grin that seems a little too bright.
“How about you? How are you holding up?” Peter asks Jess, trying to steer the conversation away from the mission.
Jessica shrugs, not overly concerned, and bites into her burger. "'M good. You know, I'm so glad I can finally eat a burger again. At the beginning of my pregnancy, practically every food made me nauseous, especially after swinging around on missions.”
Suddenly, there's a moment of collective realization among Gwen, Hobie. It’s as if their spider senses are tingling in unison. They exchange knowing looks, all of them silently putting the pieces together.
Gwen’s eyes are wide, Hobie’s eyebrows are raised, and they both turn to look at Peter, who simply nods.
Jess, noticing the silent exchange, squints at them. “What is up with you guys? You’re acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.”
“Uh, nothin’!” Hobie says, a little too quickly.
“Yeah, just tired from the mission,” Gwen adds, trying to play it cool.
Jess rolls her eyes and stands up. “Alright, weirdos. I’m gonna go find some normal people to talk to,” she says jokingly and walks away.
After she leaves, the trio leans in.
“Sunny’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Gwen whispers.
Hobie's eyes are as wide as saucers. “That would explain everything!”
Peter B. Parker nods. “We need to be there for her, but remember, it’s her news to share when she’s ready.”
They make a pact to support you without pushing you to reveal anything before you're ready.
As you walk back into the cafeteria, you find your friends huddled together. They break apart when they see you and welcome you back with smiles and light conversation, but something in their demeanor is different but you can’t put your finger on it. They are being more attentive, considerate, and frankly, a little too curious about your well-being.
"Are you sure you're okay, Sunny?" Gwen asks for the third time since you sat down. Her concern is genuine, but her intensity is slightly off-putting.
"Yeah, do you need anything?" Hobie offers, his eyes gleaming with unspoken curiosity. "Food, drink, or maybe... pickles?" Pickles? Thats oddly specific.
There's a burst of laughter from Gwen, and even Peter is suppressing a chuckle.
"What's up with the pickles?" You ask, looking at them suspiciously.
"Oh, nothing!" Gwen says, a little too quickly, trying to hold back her laughter.
"Hmm, pickles and ice cream, a weird combo, innit?" Hobie wonders aloud, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
Again, there's suppressed laughter, and you look at each of them, a realization slowly dawning on you. You turn to Peter, your gaze steady and serious. "You told them, didn't you?" Peter looks shocked, but quickly composes himself. "I didn't exactly tell them, per se," he confesses, "I might've confirmed their suspicions when they asked, but they figured it out on their own. Spider senses and all that jazz.”
Before you could respond, Gwen and Hobie jump in, both talking over each other in an attempt to apologize.
"We're sorry, Sunny," Gwen says sincerely. "We didn't mean to invade your privacy, it's just that... we're worried about you. Please don’t be mad."
Hobie nods, adding, "And we're right behind ya, whatever comes our way. We've got your back, no doubt about it."
You are happy, while the situation isn't ideal, but at least you're not alone. You have friends who care about you and, despite their unconventional way of showing it, they are there for you. You smile, comforted by their concern, and grateful for their support.
"Yeah," you finally say, "I guess we’re gonna need a lot more pickles and ice cream around here, huh?"
“Sooo...who’s the dad? Is he hot?” Gwen, leaning on the table with her elbows, asks shyly after a while.
You let out a long sigh, “He’s very hot... but also a colossal jerk.”
Peter raises an eyebrow. “You took my advice and talked to him then?”
You shake your head, your eyes starting to well up. “No, I tried. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He was busy, and I guess I wasn’t important enough. So, the baby won’t be either,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Hobie's eyes narrow, and his face is flushed with anger. "Who's this bloke, eh? I swear on me nan's grave, I'll give him a right proper earful! No one treats our Sunny like a tosser and gets away with it!"
Gwen jumps in, her eyes wide with speculation, “Wait, is he a Spider? Is it Peter? Or the other Peter? Or—”
“Guys, guys!” you cut them off, your voice cracking. “Please, it doesn’t matter. He made it clear where I stand, and it’s not with him.”
There’s a silence that settles over the table as your friends look at each other and then back to you. Their faces are a mix of concern, sadness, and frustration.
Peter B. is the first to break the silence. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You’ve got us. If the dad doesn’t want to step up, then he’s missing out on something amazing.”
Gwen nods, her eyes firm with resolve. “Yeah, we’re family. We’ve got your back, no matter what.”
Hobie, still fuming, finally calms down enough to say, "All you gotta do is whistle, love, and we'll be there in a blink. Even if it means thumping some manners into this mystery idiot."
You can't help but crack a small smile, despite the tears. You’re overwhelmed by the love and support your friends are giving you.
“Thanks, guys. You don't know how much this means to me.”
They all reach out and there’s a group hug right in the middle of the cafeteria. You didn’t know how much you needed this until it happened.
Part 2 “Webs of Fate”
a/n: Thank you guys for all your love on this fic so far.I really appreciate each like, comment, reblog <3. I still can’t reply to your comments so please if you want to tagged (and are not already) comment on part 2 and I’ll do my best and add you.Also I am open to requests, critic and wishes. Have a wonderful day. xx
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yes! i do!! you have jj’s role and an unsub is shot dead infront of you and his blood literally soaks you and you’re shaking and speechless and aaron’s focus is to get to you and keep you safe and bring you back to earth 🥲🥲
stay with me
cw; fem liasion!reader, protective!aaron, multiple blood descriptions, panic attack descriptions, no established relationship but aaron and reader are close, there's also one small mention of aaron's shirt being big on reader, fluff <3 wc; 1k
your ears are ringing. whether it's from the gunshot or the blatant shock, you have no idea.
you're frozen in place; everything's fuzzy, your body is buzzing and your lips, hands, everything is numb.
you're not used to this. this isn't what your job usually entails. you look at pictures like this, you don't live or experience it.
in the haze, someone's approached you. someone's talking to you. someone's embraced you. there's a hand on your back, an arm attempting to shield you away. but your feet don't move. internally, you're screaming at them to move.
why won't they move?
"hey," it's aaron. you don't hear him, or process that it's him, until he shakes you ever so gently and again, he says, "hey."
you don't want to be used to this.
"i..." you rigidly stand there, staring at the unsub laid in front of you, the pool of blood around him growing as the seconds pass. you think you're articulating words, but you're not sure.
aaron follows your eyes - he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. a swirl of emotions fill him - first and foremost, relief you're safe and unscathed, but also horror at what you just encountered - what you shouldn't have encountered.
"it's on me." you manage to choke out, feeling rather lightheaded as you view your shaky hands, and then your blouse, both spattered with red. it's on your neck, your face, and it's like you can feel every singular dot, singeing into your skin like it's bound to be permanent. a new fear fills you - will you ever be able to not feel it?
"don't look, just look at me." your head whips towards aaron, finding his gentle and concerned brown eyes. the sight allows your chest to loosen, finding the smallest bit of normalcy when it comes to breathing. you're remembering how to breathe.
aaron wants to bring the cuff of his sleeve to your skin, to wipe away the residue but he can't. he fears it would make it worse, and remind you again that it's littered on you - the last thing you needed. he wanted to calm you, not further panic you. "or better yet, just close them, sweetheart."
the term of endearment goes right past you, as you grip onto his vest, the sleeves of his shirt, anything your fingers can hold onto as he's guiding you out of the house. he's talking to the rest of the team, relaying instructions, but you only focus on keeping your eyes shut.
"it's okay, you're going to be just fine." aaron assures you, his voice low and even, soothing. "hear the leaves crunching under your feet? there's a cool breeze tonight, too. can you feel it?"
you nod gingerly. the sound is distant, but it's there. and just as he stated, you feel the cool air hit your cheeks, the wind also tousling your hair. it feels colder than cool, though, due to the stream of tears trailing downwards - have you been crying too? "i can hear it in the trees."
"that's good. how about smell, can you smell anything?"
copper.
aaron realizes his mistake the second the sentence leaves his mouth, your face paling as well as his.
"your aftershave." you blurt out, surprising yourself. despite the sheer panic, it was fairly easy to redirect your mind to him. your fingers clutched onto the fabric of his shirt more forcefully. "it smells spicy, sweet too. it smells like you. familiar. safe."
you resist the urge to tuck your face into him, but after a moment's thought, you do. you need it. you need him.
and to further secure you, aaron holds you to him, his large hand spanning the side of your head and keeping your face buried close to his chest.
your eyes open when you reach the suv; when the two of you come to a stop, when aaron's hold is suddenly absent, the sound of the door opening deeming it safe - far away from the scene.
but at the loss of his contact, involuntarily your eyes fall back to your blouse. it's stuck to your skin, soaked by the... blood.
"stay with me." aaron manages to grab your attention before you begin spiraling again, his hands lifting and hesitating. "may i?"
you nod, frantically and this time, you can feel the tears resurfacing. "please get it off me."
first, aaron unvelcros his vest, and then removes his tie, his dress shirt, leaving him in just his white tee. he drapes it over the passenger seat - at the ready.
aaron ushers you closer to the interior of the car so the open door fully covers you, blocking any view that isn't his. he unbuttons your blouse with gentle fingers, acting rather quickly as well. and respectfully, he averts his eyes - either looking strictly at his hands, the buttons on each shirt, or your face, checking in on you.
he helps you into his shirt, holding it open so you can slide your arms in. it envelopes you, and just as fast as he unbuttoned, he fastens it shut.
it feels as if a small weight is lifted off your shoulders, and aaron tosses your soiled shirt onto the ground in the backseat. he leads you to sit sideways in the passenger seat, facing him.
"i don't want to be alone." you don't know why that's the first thing to exit your mouth, but it is. your eyes lift to his, frightened and pleading.
aaron nods as he gets down on a knee, cupping your cheek with his hand. "you're sleeping in my room tonight."
"with you?"
with a stroke of his thumb, overtop those bloodstains he's desperate to wash and rid you from, he nods again. "with me."
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