#it just gives major immortal x mortal pairings ya know

[soup-scope]

But you know I'd stand on the corner

Embarrassed with a picket sign

If it meant I would see you

When I die

gavin and freelancer

avior and starlight

sam and darlin

[andromedasstarship]

are you free tomorrow?

pairing - spencer reid x gn!reader

warnings - nothing! just a sweet & cliche ‘first meeting’ story  :)

summary - midterms are coming up and all the good cafes on campus are filled, maybe the sweet looking curly haired guy in the back will share his table with you?

a/n - for my valentines day oneshot series! 'every table is full, but i really need to study, is there any way we could share?'

-------

Stressed, was a simple way to explain the current state you were in. The semester had snuck up on you, moving faster than you had ever expected. As the fifth week was coming to a close, you were getting dangerously close to the storm of midterms you had waiting for you in the sixth week. And you desperately needed to study. The only thing stopping you- surprisingly not your own procrastination-, was that it seemed as if the rest of campus was also in the same predicament as you. 

This was the third cafe on campus that you had entered that was absolutely filled. 

Your eyes scanned around the room, hoping to catch someone in the middle of packing their things. Nope. You considered circling back through the other two cafes you’d just been in or maybe even just going off campus. Except you couldn’t justify wasting more time by circling the same few cafes over and over, nor could your college student budget justify paying for coffee when you could just use your allotted campus cash. 

Just as you were about to give up and leave- begrudgingly deciding that studying in your room would have to be good enough-, you spotted a man sitting alone towards the back of the cafe. He sat at a large table with plenty of space; even though he had one of the largest stacks of papers you’d ever seen one individual possess. 

You weighed your options, internally debating if it’d be worth potentially hurting your pride by asking him to share the table and getting rejected. Seeing as the other option was definitely hurting your pride by hovering the same cafes like a hungry park bird, you tightened your grip on your tote bag and started walking towards him.  

Whatever he was reading must’ve been exciting, as his focus didn’t stray even for a moment nor did he notice you at all until you were right up against the chair across from him. You awkwardly cleared your throat to catch his attention, giving him a tiny wave when he looked up at you. 

“Hi!” 

“Hello?” 

“I’m really sorry to bother you, just every table is full and I really need to study and I know it’s not the best, but could I share this table with you?” You asked anxiously, holding your breath as you waited for his answer. 

As he opened his mouth to respond, you quickly added. “I swear it’ll be like I’m not even here!”  

He gave you a ‘please calm down’ look and you felt some of the weight dissolve from your shoulders as he nodded his head. “Take a seat, no worry at all.” He told you, adding a kind smile as he looked back down at his stack of papers and pulled them closer; giving you more room at the table. 

You let your bag fall off your shoulder and hit the ground with a thunk, relieved to no longer be carrying the physical weight around. You clasped the top of the chair in front of you, leaning towards him just so. “Thank you,” you said, giving your best gracious smile, “let me get you a coffee or something?” 

He looked almost shocked- or was he flustered? you weren’t sure-, quickly shaking his head in response. “No! You don’t need to do that at all.” He assured you, but you weren’t so quick to back down. 

“It’s the least I can do, please?” You pressed, giving him a very exaggerated pleaaaase look, “with all those papers you must need some serious caffeine.” 

You thought he was going to continue this little back-and-forth with you, but you watched as his body relaxed ever so slightly, signs of what you hoped was him conceding. “Just a black coffee.” 

"Just black?" You countered, raising your eyebrow, leaving it unsaid that he was just choosing the cheapest drink they had.

"Room for cream? I'll fix it up myself." He replied.

----

From the line, you had your first opportunity to really give this guy a look. The papers in front of him had sucked him back in as soon as you stepped away from the table; meaning you weren’t too worried about him catching you in your little…, creeping moment. The student population was large, but it was still small enough that you found yourself repeatedly seeing the same strangers. Yet, you’d never seen this man before. And you were sure you would’ve remembered this man, had you seen him before. What? He was undeniably attractive. There was something about the way his hair just perfectly curled around his face that made you just want to reach out and ruff- that’s weird. Even his little sweater-tie-button up outfit was doing it for you. Maybe today won’t be so bad. 

The line moved quickly and you found yourself carrying the two drinks back over to the table in under five minutes. You set his cup by him, taking care to put it away from the massive stack of papers. You set your cup down next, sliding in the chair diagonal from him. 

“You know,” you started, hefting your bag up into the chair next to you, “I never got your name?”

“Thank you,” he quickly got out, holding up his coffee as he did so. “I’m Spencer, uh…, Spencer Reid.” He told you, a faint red creeping up from under his collar. 

You gave him your name in return, a bit distracted as you pulled more of your things from your bag. From the corner of your eye, you saw him hold his coffee up again, nodding his head towards the cream and sugar station before walking off to fix his drink up properly. 

In his absence, you pulled out the rest of your books, debating which subject you should tackle first. You were glad you were finally towards the end of your college career, meaning the majority of your classes were specific to your interests rather than a four hundred student gen-ed; not that it made you any more excited to study for this exam. 

When Spencer came back he set his coffee down with a slightly shaky hand. “Did you know coffee is actually classified as a fruit?” He asked, as he slid back into his seat against the wall. 

“I didn’t know that.” You replied, shaking your head. 

“The coffee bean itself grows on a bush and they’re actually the pit of a berry, which is what makes them a fruit. They come in two main varieties, green and red.” He rambled, as if reciting from some magic book stored in his brain. As soon as he was done he clamped his mouth shut, remembering how most people reacted to his ramblings. 

You raised an eyebrow at him, but your face didn’t show any signs of annoyance. “Big coffee fan Spencer?” 

“Big fan of facts.” He corrected, giving you a sheepish smile.

“Oh yeah? Well you seem pretty smart then, which class should I study for first?” You asked, holding up two of your textbooks.

He looked at both books curiously, trying to take a guess at what your major might’ve been. He pointed at the one in your left hand. God’s, Monsters and Mortals. 

“Are you an…, English major?” He guessed, wondering if the book was some supplement for a unit on the Iliad. Not to mention the other book you held up was quite literally called ‘Literature Through The Ages’. 

You shook your head, putting the book he chose down on the table while you returned the other one to your bag. “Close! Classics,” you said, giving him a sheepish grin, “I know, it’s a bit niche, kinda ridiculous, but there’s something about how we immortalized memories of ancient times through literature that are just fascinating. There’s something about the lessons of the past that I think a lot of people are ignoring today, ya know?” You replied, quickly closing your mouth before you’d go on some incredibly long tangent about your interests and studies. Didn’t you say it’d be like you weren’t even here?  

“No, no!” He hurriedly said, shaking his head. “Understanding the lessons and patterns of the past and how they’ve morphed humanity today? That’s cool!” He assured you. 

“Well what about you, Spencer Reid? What’s your major, you must have some horrible professors, if that stack of papers is the norm.” You joked, liking the way the corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. 

“I’m uh…, a professor here.” He responded, his face cringing ever so slightly as he watched your mouth drop open simultaneously as your eyes nearly fell out of your head. 

“You’re a…, professor?” You repeated, extremely confused as to how someone who looked only a few years older than you was somehow employed to such a degree. 

“Just a visiting one!” He clarified, clearing his throat. “I’m on a sort of, uh, sabbatical from work.” 

“Isn’t a sabbatical when someone gets away from academia?” You countered, smiling to show you meant no actual aggression. 

“Big fan of facts, remember?” He repeated plainly, but you caught the joke in it and you smiled wider at that. 

“No offense Professor, but you look a bit young to ya know, be one.” You said, hoping he’d give his age in response. 

“I’m 29.” Ah, only four years older than you. 

“29 and already a professor at a university like this? What, do you have like 20 Phds. or something?” You asked jokingly, laughing a bit as you said so. 

“Three actually.” He replied, a mix of shyness and pride across his face.

Your mouth dropped back open again, trying to wrap your mind around the man in front of you. “What are you? A genius then?” 

“By some standards, yes.”  

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that. Him paying special attention to each paper he graded- you wished all your professors cared about student work the way he seemed to-, while you were busy deciding which parts of the taught units were the most important. 

After what you imagined was nothing short of four hours you felt your head begin to throb and your eyes were starting to go fuzzy. In that time, the two of you had downed at least five coffees each, going back and forth over who paid for them. You had managed to create an individual study guide for nearly all your upcoming exams and a quick glance told you that Spencer still had a few papers left. Unbeknownst to you he could have finished those papers hours ago, even with the in depth comments he entered into the computer for each one; there was just something about you that drew him in.  

He wasn’t sure whether it was the funny unfiltered comments you’d make sporadically while you worked or the way you actually seemed to be interested in every little tangent he had gone on whenever one of his students brought up a particularly good or amusing point in their papers’. His therapist had recently recommended that he engage in conversations with those not already well acquainted with him and it seemed like the world had lined up perfectly to put you in front of him so soon after. 

You loudly slammed your textbook shut with a groan and let your head fall against the table. “Why does academia have to be so boring?” You asked rhetorically, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Is it some requirement to get published? Your work needs to put college kids to sleep?”  

“The works that you’re reading are quite literally ancient, in their defense. The term ‘academia’ itself comes from the school of thought taught by Plato himself in ancient Athens.” Spencer explained, putting down the paper he had been grading. 

“And now, all these years later I have to suffer because Plato was such a bore.” You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes. 

“You said you were studying the downfall of Icarus weren’t you?” He asked, once again unbeknownst to you, he remembered everything you had said today. “It’s one of my favorites of ancient Greek mythology. The power of the mind of man, yet how quickly that very power could be taken away if man oversteps. Really makes us wonder if we’ve overstepped as humans yet, if we use Icarus’s fall, quite literally from grace, as a lens for other devastations we’ve seen across history then-” 

“Spencer, are you free tomorrow?” You asked, effectively cutting him off. 

He looked a bit like a fish, the way you had stopped him mid sentence and his mouth hadn’t yet closed. His eyebrows turned up, head tilting with them. “Tomorrow? The 14th?” 

“Yeah, are you free tomorrow?” You repeated, holding back your nerves. 

“Oh.” He said, eyes going wide as you assumed he finally connected the dots, “Oh!” 

You were about to speak again, retract your question completely before he could reject you, suddenly wondering why you decided to go out on whim like that at all. But he beat you to it. 

“Yes, yes I am.” 

------

happy valentines day (almost) i love yall!!

tagging a few people who asked + a few mutuals i think might like this (no pressure!!) - @hqtchner @ssahoodrathotchner @kylorendrip @feverdreamreid @homoose 

permanent taglist - @sunflowersandotherthings

[occasionalfics]

worth my while // prologue

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi | p. 1 

Summary: After being banished from his home, Thor Odinson has stopped at nothing to prove himself worthy of his throne, title, and power. 

After losing the love of your life, you turned to a power you didn’t understand.

You know you shouldn’t get involved. But how could you not?

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Hercules au...kind of...)

A/N: Alright! First fic in...like 5 months! Awesome! I’ve been working really hard on this for a while, and there are some things you’ll need to know before you dive in!

1. This is SUPER vaguely based on Disney’s Hercules. That means that the villain is super cartoonish and kind of typical. Honestly I just really love the relationship between Hercules and Meg and wanted to work with that dynamic, so this is what came out of that need.

2. I’ve played A LOT with MCU timelines. Basically, instead of going home after defeating the Destroyer (in Thor 2011), Thor is left on Earth, but he’s given his power and proved his worthiness to wield Mjölnir. He gets into what happens to him personally after that, but what you need to know is that he’s present for every Avengers event after that. This ends before Ragnarok would take place, but the idea is that, very soon after all of this, Ragnarok would take place. If anything is confusing, you can definitely send me a message and I’ll try to clear things up!

3. I am not going to include a taglist from here on out. It’s a lot of work to keep up. Maybe I can be convinced to do a story taglist, but I won’t be keeping up with a global/permanent list.

I’m excited about this one! It’s a little nerdy and a little fun, maybe not quite as personal as Sugar was for me, but definitely one I’m happy with. Let me know what you think!

Warnings: Violence, lots of angst, borderline abuse and definite manipulation, eventual smut, way too many feels, major character death (eventually).

Words: 2,027

Long ago in the far-away land of Ancient Scandinavia, there was a golden age of powerful gods and extraordinary heroes. The greatest and strongest of all of these was the Mighty Thor…

The famed God of Thunder lived a luxurious life as Prince of Asgard. He was headstrong, indestructible, powerful beyond compare, and set to inherit the nine realms to rule. But he was stubborn, selfish, and fierce in battle, unwilling to spare the lives of innocents in the name of asserting dominance.

That is, until he made one nearly fatal mistake: almost sparking a war with the Frost Giants of Jötunheimr. His father, King Odin, managed to broker a shaky truce with Laufey, King of the Jötuns, on one condition only: that Thor be stripped of his power, his immortality, and his title until he proved himself worthy of such responsibilities.

Odin was forced to cast out his son - his golden child and heir - to another of the nine realms.

Midgard.

After sending Thor through the Bifrost to the mortal-ridden planet, Odin gripped Thor’s hammer, Mjölnir, tightly and chanted to it, “Whoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.”

Then he sent the hammer, too.

--

“No!” you yelled.

But it was too late. Rick had stepped out into the street at exactly the wrong time.

Later, you would think that the worst part of the accident wasn’t that the driver was drunk. It wasn’t that they ran a red light and killed Rick on impact.

It was that nothing went in slow motion. You didn’t get a chance to call his name, to make him turn around and look at you one last time. You weren’t given the time to keep Rick alive. That was worse than sitting through court hearing after court hearing, testifying time and time again.

The fact that Rick had died because you were angry over something so...trivial. The fact that you hadn’t gotten the chance to make things better, to apologize for blowing up, to save him. That would come to eat at you more than anything else.

But in the moment, it happened so quickly, there was no stopping it. Time did not slow down, and neither did that driver.

Well, they did, eventually. After Rick was already dead.

--

A year later, you were sitting in a pew, staring at the empty pulpit as if it might bring some answer to you this time. But it never did.

Rick’s church had become a source of peace for you - not necessarily for religion, but community. Everyone here, when there were people here, loved Rick. He was handsome, charming, warm. He was infuriating, too, but really only you knew that.

Even in your worst moments, you loved him.

That was why it was so hard to move on, even a year later.

You fell forward, forehead slumping against your knuckles that rested on the pew in front of you. Tears fell, like they always did, while you sat around in the church Rick had sometimes mentioned marrying you in.

There was a ring in his sock drawer. Two months ago, you’d returned it. The jeweler didn’t want to take it back, stating that it was out of the return period, but the moment you told him that Rick had died, he took it without question.

You’d found a pamphlet for the local botanical gardens with some of the wedding booking information underlined and circled.

Because, like always, Rick had a plan.

And now you had nothing except an empty cage where your heart used to beat whenever he smiled at you. Whenever he woke you up on Sunday mornings, offered to take you to church with him, and either kissed your forehead and went off alone or smiled even wider when you agreed. He’d never forced his religion on you, but occasionally, you went to support his choices.

Now he had no choices. He was dead.

“Why did you take him?” you whisper, eyes straining to stay open between the building headache and the tears. You force yourself to look up at the pulpit again, see the symbols and the prophet and the artistry all around.

But it feels hollow now.

“Why?!” you yelled, voice catching as your throat threatened to close. “I needed him! Why?!”

You felt a presence behind you, but ignored it.

A hiccup resounded around the room as your shoulders shook.

“I love him! I need him!”

Rick’s sunshine-y smile filled your thoughts, brought on even more tears and snot and pain, as if you hadn’t already felt enough over the past year. Footsteps clicked along the aisle behind you, but still, you ignored them.

“I’d do...give...anything...to have him back.”

Two black-clad legs stopped beside you. The person never bent down, never even looked at you. Kept his hands in his pockets as he stared ahead.

“Anything?”

--

You thought him a Necromancer at first, but that wasn’t right. He’d corrected you almost as quickly as your own brain had.

“Name’s Hades,” he said when you’d met him outside of the church. “Lord of the Dead. How ya doin’?”

Eyes like glaciers stared at you, but a smirk as dangerous as venom offset the chill. Only a bit, but enough for you step forward and ignore his outstretched hand.

“Lord...of the…” You scowled. “You’re crazy.”

You sidestepped him, attempting to get around and walk back to your car, but he was quick. Too quick. Like fog, he disappeared, then reappeared directly in your path.

“Says the girl crying, alone, in a church she doesn’t belong in.”

You paused. Rick’s denomination wasn’t the one you were raised with. But how could this stranger know that?

He cocked an eyebrow at you, smirk still gleaming in the dim, foggy morning. “The girl who’d do and-or give anything to see her would-be fiance.”

The ice around your heart spread to your fingers. To your toes.

“He misses you, you know,” the man said. Hades. He tilted his head, and even in the overcast day, his hair seemed to shine dark blue. “Drives the other souls nuts with how much he talks about you.”

“Stop it,” you muttered, trying again to get to your car. You didn’t want to hear that. It was impossible for him to know, impossible to have happened at all. Rick was dead. That was that.

“I can take you to him,” Hades offered. When that didn’t make you stop, his heels clicked along the pavement after you. “I can bring him back.”

The ice filled your entire body. Hot and cold at the same time, somehow.

--

The Underworld didn’t look anything like you thought it would.

You imagined a vast, empty space. Blackness all around, maybe a few blue lights to match the eyes of its ruler. Pits of souls here and there, guarded by the three-headed Cerberus, all confined within the Styx like a moat.

But Hades had upgraded over the last few thousand years. The entrance to the Underworld was a mansion, larger than any home you’d ever seen before. Three separated but identical Dobermans greeted Hades upon entry. One by one, they turned their attention to you to sniff and suss you out, but Hades kept them calm with endearing words of your plight.

He made it easy to trust that he was on your side. That he was doing you a favor, extending a hand first simply because it was the nice thing to do.

Later on, you would break a glass tabletop over how stupid you were to believe such a show.

He told you and Cerberus to stay in the living room, then disappeared into a room off the main entryway. His place was furnished well - every inch of space exuded luxury and wealth. Marble counters and floors lined the room, with a huge fireplace along one wall and a gigantic flat screen TV along another.

He had no pictures, though. No human artifacts. Geodes and gemstones, sure, but nothing that signified life.

One of the Dobermans rested beside you on the plush, velvet couch. It put its heavy head in your lap and expected pets, and you obliged.

This one must’ve sensed how nervous you were. The second you gave it your attention, you felt much, much better.

But only a few minutes later, Hades returned.

With Rick.

--

You kept him a secret. How could you tell his family, his friends, everyone that had come to the funeral, that he was alive again?

He agreed.

For two months, you and Rick resumed life as if nothing had happened. He was alive again, and you were so apologetic about what had happened that he simply ate up all of the attention. You cried every time you made love, because he was back. He was yours, and you’d given your very soul up for him.

But the thing about keeping him a secret meant that you couldn’t marry him. He was legally dead, after all. And you’d returned his ring.

That no longer mattered to you. It mattered to Rick, though.

Crawling into the third month, he became resentful. You’d returned his ring! You’d given up on him, and it was your fault he’d died in the first place!

He stopped making love with you. He’d go to sleep early, stay as far away from your side of the bed as he could, and wake up to shower before you did, locking the door to the bathroom so you couldn’t join him even if you wanted to.

One night, as he pushed his dinner around his plate, you called his name. He didn’t look up at you.

“Would you rather be dead?” you asked softly, afraid of his answer. The question had been rumbling around in your head for weeks, ever since he’d started taking your decision to return his ring personally. “Would you rather I have left you in the Underworld, Rick? Would you rather I’d not given you a second chance at life-”

“What does being alive matter if we can’t have what we wanted before I died?” he asked back, teeth gritted at you for the first time. Ever.

You sighed and put your fork down. “We’re together, Rick,” you said. “That’s what matters. That’s why I did it.”

“You sold your soul,” he seethed. “And we can’t even get married!”

“Who cares-”

His fist came down on the table, hard enough to break one of the legs. “I do! That’s who, (Y/N)! I care!”

Silence settled over dinner. It stayed, even as you cleared the dishes, cleaned the mess, ran the garbage disposal. Even as you went off to shower before bed. All night, all the next morning, and all the rest of that week.

Silence.

You’d sold your soul for silence.

--

You came home on the exact day of four months of Rick being back and found your home to be empty. Devoid of feeling, of warmth, of life.

Rick was gone. No note, no message left on the answering machine. No text from his new phone number - which you were paying for.

Nothing.

Because he wasn’t gone.

You crept along the house, wondering why it was so silent still. You made it to the master bedroom, turned the knob, and felt what was left of the icicle in your chest fall through your body, through the floor, and into the Underworld.

Rick was already asleep, his shaggy hair falling over his face in what should’ve been adorable curls. But the naked woman on top of him, also sound asleep, made everything about him look dark, dead, disgusting.

--

“I can bring him back,” Hades said again. Only this time, he meant he could bring Rick back to the Underworld.

You shook your head.

You’d brought Rick back to make you happy. It wasn’t fair to him in the first place.

But now he was happy. And you couldn’t bear the guilt of being responsible for his death twice. So, unless he asked to be taken back to the Land of the Dead, he would remain, according to you.

“In that case, we’ve got work to do.”

Thank you for reading! No tags for the moment, but please reply and reblog to let me know what you think!