#…..they might also be horrible people but they can be horrible together- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gloomskulls · 2 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚LIMERENCE [tasm!peter parker]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 2

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ For Peter Parker, the deepest secret is not being Spider-Man. It's that he likes you, no he loves you, wants you in any imaginable way possible. After years of quietly admiring you from a distance, everything changes after a biology project that partners you two together. Peter sees a glimpse of chance to get nearer to you, but the line of affection and obsession begins to blur

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNINGS ୨୧ obessive peter, creep peter, stalking, masturbation, panty sniffing, dirty thoughts, breaking in, just peter being hopelessly in love. If any of this finds you uncomfortable, please click out do yourself (and me also) a favor. lemme know if I missed any! MINORS DO NOT READ

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: my first ever fic posted on Tumblr, yippee! This is also my first ever smut so it probs be equivalent to horse poo but anyways, this also takes place in tasm 2. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else i'm gonna turn you into Vicky from Terrifier/srs

Peter didn't understand what was so special about you, you were just a crush. Or that's what he convinced himself. Every single place you were in, Peter would carefully trail behind you, like there was a magnet strapped onto you, and Peter was the metal, he would always find himself drawing next to you. Peter Parker was no stranger to keeping secrets. It was, after all, the epitome of his double life. A mask, a costume, a name that wasn't his at all. There was one secret, however, that even the Spider-Man's mask couldn't cover—his growing infatuation towards you.

It started out really simple. You decided to give back the nerdy boy's pencil in sophomore year and defended him from Flash Thompson in his junior year, it was all simple really, something a person with decency and was taught with proper manners would do. But Peter took it as more than that.

Candid photos here and there, purposefully falling of his skateboard so you would help him, cryptic notes in your locker, sometimes a random flower if Peter was lucky to find any.

Limerence, as some might say

The first people who would ever notice Peter's strange behavior where the people who raised him. Uncle Ben would notice this girl in the screen of his nephew's computer, so did Aunt May when she saw many polaroid photos of the same face underneath Peter's bed. Peter shrugged it off, saying the same exact words to the both of them.

'she's just a crush'

Peter Parker was very good at being hidden in the open. Sure, he didn't want to be invisible, but it is what it is. One of the self-working "losers" with horrible punchlines and pretty much the face screaming "nerd". Well, it didn't bother Peter much. He had many other more important things to think about. You

It's been years now. It was already the last year of senior year, graduation was already nearing, still, he hasn't mustered up the courage to do speak to you, afraid that you won't reciprocate the same feelings he has. His been watching you from a distance, stealing glances in class and making mental notes on all the little things you did, like doodling on the corners of your notebooks or, how you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were concentrating. He knew that it was weird, creepy even, but Peter couldn't stop himself.

So, when Mr. Warren announced a paired project for biology, Peter's internal monologue kicked into overdrive.

"Pair work begins today," Mr. Warren said, his smile a gruff overture that still Peter thought unnecessary. "Choose your partners wisely, just choose somebody you will along with. You can really screw up over this project if you don't!"

The room broke out into a low buzz as students shuffled their chairs and moved toward their friends. Peter didn't move. He never did. Choosing a partner was like finding a needle in a haystack type of task for him

Alright, Pete, it is not such a big deal. You are not going to end up with her or anything. Just relax, find someone cool, and—

"Peter!"

Your voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to see you in front of his desk, clutching a notebook to your chest

"By any chance do you have a partner? My friends kind of made their own pairs" you asked, your lips curving into an easy smile.

Peter blinked. His brain short-circuited.

"N-nope. I'm totally solo. Flying solo. A lone wolf. A…"

"Awesome! Then let's team up."

Peter turned to you, his mind racing, he blinked, trying to absorb this. You were choosing him? He nodded frantically; his heart was hammering at a top speed that he was convinced you could hear it

You smiled at him, you fucking smiled at him

For the rest of the class Mr. Warren instructed everyone to plan for the project for the rest of the class. You kept bouncing ideas back and forth, and Peter felt a strange, thrilling sensation of in his heart. You were funny, clever, and surprisingly very easy to communicate with. Every time you laughed at one of his jokes, he felt like he was soaring.

When the bell rang, you packed your things and turned to him. "We should work on this at my place. Tomorrow after school?"

Peter nearly dropped his notebook. "Uh, yeah. Totally. I mean, yes. That works. Perfect. So super normal."

You laughed again. "Cool. Here's my address."

And with that, you scribbled it on a scrap of paper and handed it to him before walking away, leaving Peter frozen in his seat.

That night, Peter was sitting in his room staring at the address. To most people, that was just a little detail, probably not even worth a second thought. But to Peter, it was an invitation, or perhaps a key, even just for a second to get into your life. To know every little thing about you

Unfortunately, though, that's not enough.

He felt his hands shaking as he opened the drawer in his desk to reveal a small trove of hidden treasures; poorly taken pictures of you from a distance, bits of paper that you had thrown away during math class, and a small stash of hair strands that he meticulously collected from your hair comb when you weren't looking

This was love, wasn't it? The desperate consuming desire to be around her, to know everything about you.

And tomorrow, he shall get his chance.

You invited him, but Peter just knew it was really more than what you would ever willingly give.

His love was a web, and you were stepping into it, one delicate thread at a time.

Peter stood outside your house with a crumpled piece of paper clutched in his rather sweaty hand. The address on it was correct, but doubt clouded him. What if she had forgotten about this meeting? What if this was simply a joke? No, she would never do that, he tried to convince himself

Peter Parker was standing at your porch. Each thump of his heart sounded like one of the drums in the music club. He raised his hand to knock, hesitating for a moment. Maybe it was a terrible idea to come here after all; he could fake being sick, sending her an apology while rescheduling. Just then, the door swung open before he even had the chance to run.

"Hey, you found my house, I actually thought you would get lost cause I wrote the wrong color of the rooftop on the note" you said while stepping aside to let him enter.

"I was actually hesitant to knock, because it didn't look like the description" He quietly said. You actually got everything right, I was just being a huge pussy so I didn't come immediately, he thought to himself.

"Come in. I have started working on the diagram."

Peter plasted a grin and forced his legs down inside. "Well, look at you. Overachieving already. I guess I'll just sit back and let you do all the hard work."

You rolled your eyes and laughed, your voice making him feel that the world wasn't so bad after all. "Nice try, Parker. Grab a marker. You're on label duty."

"Come on, we can work in the dining area," you said, leading him across the house.

The dining table was already loaded with supplies, with textbooks scattered everywhere, colored pencils, sheets of poster paper, you name it. You positioned herself and gestured to him to join you.

You fell into a rhythm, your hand sketching the parts of the circulatory system while Peter scrawled out the labels in his neatest handwriting. He cracked jokes every few minutes, drawing out your laughter like a lifeline. It would be so easy to lose himself in the moment, pretend that you both were just two friends hanging out and not a guy hopelessly infatuated with someone who didn't even know half the truth about him.

Both of you had a relatively smooth first hour of working, few questions were asked here and there on the project. Peter kept his answers short, being extra cautious with what to share, but it seemed you did not mind. You sketched diagrams, jotting down notes with an ease that made Peter's hands tremble every time he made an attempt to help.

"So Peter," you suddenly announced after the silence, "why is it that you don't talk very much? At school I mean"

The question staggered him, rendering him blank while the colored pencil just hovered above the page.

Peter jerked up his head and looked surprised. "What do you mean? Talking is what I do. I mean, there's even people begging me to stop."

You smirked but didn't let it down. "I mean really, you're funny but I know nothing about you. What's your thing, Peter Parker?"

He didn't answer immediately but fiddled with the marker. "I'm just… some guy. Pretty boring, honestly. Not much to tell."

Your expression softened, "I don't buy that. You're not boring".

Your words made Peter's chest tighter. He wanted to believe you, yet the voice at the back of his mind reminded how wrong youwere. If you only knew the real him, the guy who had spent countless nights staring at your window, memorizing your every move, you wouldn't be smiling and sitting here before him.

"Hey, don't overthink it. You're cool. Let's just finish this masterpiece, okay?" you said, flicking his arm before he could answer.

Peter smiled forcedly

And when they finished the day's work, you walk him to the door once more, your smile as warm as ever.

"Thanks for coming over," you said. "You're actually a pretty decent partner, Parker."

"Decent?!" Peter gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Wow. Don't hold back; tell me how you really feel."

And you laughed, shaking your head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Peter waved. You waved back at him, as he strolled down the street, but he did not go very far. Instead, he found himself across the street in the same place, hidden under the shadow of the oak tree.

you were in your living room again, curled around a blanket and a pillow as you watched whatever was on your screen, your face glowing softly from the light of the television. Peter leaned against the tree with both hands shoved in his jacket pockets and simply watched.

How long he'd been there, he couldn't tell, but he didn't want to leave. This was the closest he ever felt with you, even if you didn't know he was here.

He knew this was crossing the line, but he couldn't help himself. He found himself sneaking into your house. Now he really felt like a robber trying to intrude a home, expect he wasn't really going to steal anything, or so he thought.

It was late at night, you and your family were already asleep at this point

Peter knew that the right thing to do was to head home. He knew for sure that this crossed a line even he wasn't sure he could come back from. But before he could stop himself, he was moving, slipping across the street and into the shadows of your yard.

His palms were slick with sweat as he scanned the side of the house. The metal trellis leading up to your window wasn't very solid, but it would hold him if he was careful.

He carefully climbed the trellis, not putting too much weight on it. And his heart was pounding as he got to your window, his fingers brushing against the cool glass.

It wasn't locked.

At that moment, his body froze. The rational part of him screamed to stop, to climb back down and pretend this never happened. But then his hand was on the window. And that soft sound of it sliding open seemed to be deafeningly loud in the stillness of the night.

He slipped into his feet and landed silently on the carpeted floor. Your room smelled of lavender and something warm and sweet like vanilla. A little bit of moonlight filtered through the curtains and brightened the room in pale silver.

There she was

You laid curled up in your bed, the blankets pulled up to your shoulders, your face peaceful in sleep. Peter’s breath caught in his throat. You looked so serene, so utterly perfect, that it made his chest ache.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity, just watching you. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to feel—satisfaction, maybe, or relief. But all he felt was a strange mix of awe and guilt.

This was wrong.

He knew it.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

He looked around your room, it was full of polaroids of either you or your friends.

He started walking around your room quietly, careful to not wake you up in your slumber, because God knows what will happen if you saw him in your room with all its glory, he couldn't even imagine the disgust on your face.

But one thing caught his eye

Your bathroom was open, and in your bathroom was a basket with what he assumed inside were dirty laundry.

He knew it was disgusting, heck, over the top creep award would probably go to him, but he found himself walking towards the bathroom. It was wrong, but he still did it, he needs to get help, he thought to himself.

One second ago he was walking towards your bathroom, next thing you knew he was rummaging through your dirty laundry, occasionally smelling some of your shirts. He cherished the way your scent overwhelmed his nose, he was in Cloud 9.

While he was rummaging, a little piece of clothing caught his eye. With shaky hands he picked up the piece of clothing, it was your pink underwear with little cherries scattered everywhere as design.

He brought it near to his nose. He suddenly sat down in the neat cold tiles of the bathroom floor, he smelt it as if it was his oxygen.

He let out a small moan. He didn't know if it was an invisible force making him do such things, but he found his hands unbuttoning his pants

Peter Parker sat in the rest room; hand clasped tight around the lacy edge of the pink panty. He took out his hardened length of his boxers. The scent of dirty panties wafted his nose.

He imagined you wrapped around his throbbing cock, he thought of the feeling of your tight little pussy riding his cock, he wanted the sweet nectar from your lips, while having a feast on your quivering hole. His cock throbbed in his palms, his hands were much faster now, stroking his hardened cock. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from moaning

Why was he doing this? You were literally there, outside the bathroom, sleeping. And Peter was here, out in the open, jerking off to the smell of your used panties

He was drenched in sweat as his hairs stuck to his wet forehead. He fantasized about your perky tits; perfect little nipples erect in anticipation. Pumping the shaft rapidly, imagining you on all fours begging for more, the bounce of your tits while riding him moaning his name like a mantra, Peter, fuck Peter, Peter, oh my God!

Peter was breathing heavily, his release was near, he profusely pumped his manhood, his hands and cock covered in his sticky pre-cum.

He wanted to feel you inside him, want you to quiver in pleasure as he fucks you over and over again.

He felt a sudden wave of pleasure hitting him, before he knew it, he released a flooded torrent of jizz into sticky cum as it scattered all over the floor. He slumped against the wall, heaving as he tried to steady his racing heart. He looked outside the door, finding you in the same spot as you were. You were sleeping oh so peacefully

He gazed at you, his heart full of unfulfilled yearning. He desperately wanted to be part of your world, to be someone you chose to let in. Yet no matter how many jokes he made or how close you seemed; he knew deep in his heart that he was not enough.

A soft sound broke the silence.

Peter's eyes snap to the bed, and his stomach lurch at the realization that you were stirring. Your brows knitted, your breathing started shifting, just as if you were going to wake up.

He immediately threw your panties back into the basket as he stood up and fixed his underwear and pants

He felt panic surging him, he immediately sprinted near the window. It made a loud a thud, now he was fucked

He moved quickly and quietly without thinking as he quietly ran towards the window. Just as you were about to opene your eyes, he slipped stealthily past the fluttering of curtains.

He tried scrambling down the trellis and found the ground, shivering and shaking as he did so.

He was hidden in a shadow corner, looking up towards your window. You were sitting up now, rubbing your eyes and looking around your room with a sleepy confusion.

Peter's chest tightened.

What's the matter with him?

He hurried as he turned away, his footsteps quiet against the pavement

The cool night air wrapped around Peter Parker like a cold, suffocating blanket as he walked back toward his house. Each step seemed to slant further and further as if his sneakers were scuffing wet against the cracked pavement in a slow and deliberate rhythm.

It was as if the world had gone still—entirely quiet. No cars were heard, no distant chatter, no hum of the city. Just Peter, the quiet whistle of wind through leaves, and the pounding thuds of his thoughts.

With that, he shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, his fingers curling into tight fists. Replaying the scene, he heard the soft sound of your breathing, the warmth of your room, and the way you stirred in your bed as if you had felt him there.

What the heck are you doing, Parker? He hadn't intended to climb into your room. He hadn't intended for it to get this far. Watching from the shadows was one thing, but tonight… tonight he had crossed a line.

He stopped moving and leaned against the lamppost, his breath escaping him in short, sharp gasps. Above him, the light flickered, shining unevenly across his shadow on the ground.

"This isn't me," he whispered to himself, the voice trembling.

But wasn't it?

Hadn't he been staring at you for years, taking notes while you weren't looking, memorizing all of your movements, laughter, and smiles? He had told himself that it was just harmless admiration from a distance, but now it was clear.

What would you think if you knew?

He sighed, Peter threw back his head and gazed up at the sky. Above him the stars, though cold and distant, seemed on to him— judging him in silence.

With the words of Uncle Ben echoing in his mind, With great power comes great responsibility, Peter winced.

Peter's jaw clamped down. Not great power; not yet. But wasn't all this part of it? Taking responsibility for his actions, owning up to his mistakes before they spiraled uncontrollably out of hand?

It hit him like a gut punch.

He wouldn't ever be able to take it back. Nor would he ever be able to wipe away the fact that he'd violated your space, your privacy, in a way you might never forgive. But he could stop it from going any further. He could ensure that you never found out.

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

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foldingfittedsheets · 11 days ago

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I don’t think most people can really be trusted with home wax kits if I’m honest. That’s a job best left to professionals. I think this because of the one time Brendan and I tried to wax ourselves with disastrous results.

I’ve always hated pubic hair and Brendan was like a satyr of a man so we decided a fun together activity would be waxing each other. We picked up a home kit and sequestered ourselves in the bathroom.

My first sign that things were about to go horribly wrong was that the first thing we saw in the kit were warnings about how to not horrifically burn yourself. But I had not yet developed a healthy sense of fear. We were going to have an adventure.

Brendan and I stripped and crowded around the heating wax, excited and silly, looking forward to our future hairless states. We debated what to wax first and since I loathed having crotch hair I volunteered my pubes to begin.

The first hurdle proved to be getting the wax where we wanted it. The sticky mess resisted the wooden slathering sticks with all its might and adhered to anything else. Arms, countertop, sink, walls, until finally I smeared some where we were trying to go.

I slapped paper onto the malleable wax and waited for it to set. I asked Brendan if he’d pull it but his eyes welled up with sadness and he protested he couldn’t possibly hurt me until I sighed and tried to rip out my own pubes.

I have seldom experienced worse pain than that moment. It was excruciating and I fully screamed and fell off the edge of the tub where I’d been sitting as a fiery relentless burning agony settled into my crotch. The only saving grace was I’d started off to one side rather than going down the landing strip.

Both Brendan and I were horrified to see that every hair follicle I’d ripped up was now welling with blood. I staunched the bleeding and turned watery eyes on him. “Your turn.”

Brendan was not a coward. He would not let me suffer alone. But he also didn’t want a crotch full of blood, so he smeared a bit up the thicket of his leg hair and ripped. He threw his whole body into a painful silent scream, pounding his fist on the counter as all the cells in the bare patch of his leg lodged a formal protest.

We stewed in silence after that, pain throbbing along our bodies with each heartbeat, balefully regarding the wax on the counter. We didn’t want to give up but the pain register of this task was well beyond our capability to bear. We looked at each other. I said, “Maybe it will hurt less on my leg.”

He looked at me dubiously but we both knew my leg hair wasn’t as dense. The last wax that would ever touch me was slathered on a modest patch of shin hair. I stared at it for a long time, steeling myself against the coming fury of my follicles. I ripped. I managed not to scream but I clenched every muscle in my body against the fresh wash of unpleasantness.

My leg didn’t bleed but I tapped out. It was too much, we couldn’t do it. We tidied the bathroom as best we could we kept finding new wax patches where we’d made a mess for weeks afterward. It took a few hours before we could laugh about the misadventure. My two bald spot were stark for the next few weeks, matching Brendan’s single missing strip of leg hair.

We would go on to try to shave Brendan with disposable razors, a Sisyphean task that blunted three disposable razors and resulted in innumerable cuts and ingrown hairs. Eventually we just accepted defeat and Brendan continued on as hairy as he began.

#ramblies #funny #ffs foibles #writing #story #Brendan #waxing

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mymoshangthoughts · 2 months ago

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okay, okay, okay, bear with me

mobei jun already knows about shang qinghua as airplane

oki ive decided to take advantage of the fact that WE NEVER GET A MOBEI JUN POV AND I'LL BE FORVER SALTY ABOUT THAT SHIT

but like, shen yuan figured airplane out REAL fast, right? they barely spent time together before the immortal alliance and then it takes one surprise before airplane is saying stupid shit, right?

and i cant help but think, mobei jun aint dumb and he's been spending How Many Years crashing at shang qinghua's leisure house whenever the fuck he feels like it?

he also finds shang qinghua to be Hella Sus because come on, ofc he does. a human just declares their undying loyalty to you after one fucking meeting??? even if he believes shang qinghua is being sincere in the moment, the fact that he was so quick to betray his sect doesnt speak of a loyal servant

so why wouldnt he snoop? why wouldnt he pay extra close attention when shang qinghua says shit that doesnt make sense? why wouldnt he notice when shang qinghua speaks or writes in a language that he doesnt recognize? airplane canonically isnt fluent in english so if he used a bit of it, especially chinglish, wouldnt mobei jun be able to learn some of the meanings of the words just by context clues? especially when he has YEARS to decode it? like if airplane was fluent, maybe he could hide the meaning, but a limited vocabulary adapted to another language isnt actually super hard to decode. it's the same reason that you can generally understand what slang means before you look up the definition. you might not know what 'rizz' means, but you can pick up the meaning from context clues.

anyway im over explaining the linguistic aspects ALL IM SAYING IS what if airplane kinda depends heavily on chinglish to be his Secret Language that Theres No Way That Anyone Here Can Get. and sure, for most people, it does seem like gibberish. but again, mobei jun has YEARS at his side and reasons to nitpick at it and decode it.

like what if airplane had a habit of writing out pidw plot points in chinglish bc look he is Going to forget shit no matter what, he wrote that novel a lifetime ago, but theres some info thats pretty important for him to Not Forget. so mobei jun is just left with a huge stash of Impossible Information that shang qinghua writes about

everything ranging from future events to obscure demon world facts that theres just no justifiable reason for shang qinghua to know about and just everything in between.

but also what if shang qinghua wrote his feelings? his thoughts? his issues? like cmon, he literally has NO ONE to consult with about the insanity of his life before cucumber-bro, and his life is really crazy, and he used to be the person who wrote out his feelings via novel but look dude he's not about to tempt fate by writing out another novel rn so a diary makes sense. or at least like, random venting

and again, this isnt even mentioning airplane having some potential verbal fuckups that mobei jun can add to his ever growing file of "shang qinghua has something fucking going on"

and like, maybe mobei jun hasnt actually figured out the exact truth but he has some eerily close guesses. or maybe airplane wrote a lengthy journal explaining literally his entire fucked up life and mobei jun knows Everything.

look im just a little bit obsessed with mobei jun casually being aware for YEARS that shang qinghua is from another world and might have once had god-like powers over this world. i think this is very funny and i think it could work in a canon compliant way. cuz i also like to think that some of mobei jun's aggro at shang qinghua was a mixture of

you literally wont tell me who you really are. you claim to be my loyal subject but you wont even tell me your real name and Yes I'm Upset About That

you fucking fucker, you literally PLANNED that horrible event to happen???? you suck so bad omfg. THAT WAS TRAUMATIZING FOR ME YOU JERK NO I DONT CARE IF YOU FEEL BAD ABOUT IT NOW

your handwriting sucks and im mad that i didnt just have to decode your weird other language, i also had to decode your fucking horrendous handwriting and i dont know if i can ever forgive you for that

you barely ever show your real personality in front of me and i have to learn how you really feel by reading this fucking notes and YES IM UPSET ABOUT THAT

i also just love the idea of Something Happening to do with the multiverse and basically mobei jun is the only one who isnt remotely surprised lmfao. binghe is in crisis mode, cucumber thinks he's gonna die, airplane is freaked out, and mobei jun is just like "yeah, figured some dumb shit like this might happen. you didnt know binghe? dont you pay any attention to your husband :/ dude, they're not even good at hiding it, i thought you were supposed to be smart"

also the simultaneous heartattacks that cucumber and airplane would have that mobei jun just KNOWS like thats hilarious. imagine they need to talk about something secretly in public and its super urgent and mobei jun just starts using chinglish or webspeak or something perfectly and cumplane are FREAKING THE FUCK OUT

mobei jun: that mofo is hella sus, but keep it on the dl. ttyl i need to do a vibe check

cumplane: ?!?!?!?!?!?

#moshang #shang qinghua #mobei jun

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flippinpancakes64 · 7 months ago

Note

Could you write the Cullen's accidentally hurting their SO and how they would react?? (I alr know Jasper's is about to be so angsty lol)

The Cullens accidentally hurting their S/O

I've literally been rubbing my hands together like an evil villain waiting to do this request. I saw it in my inbox and had to hold myself back lol. And yes, I cannot resist the temptation to make Jasper suffer, so be prepared

Edit I got so carried away. If I had a word count on these it might be like 10k lol sorry not sorry

And thank you for this request! This was so much fun to write lol I hope you enjoy it!

Also quick note I might have channeled a bit too much inspiration from Saw or something cause I ended up getting a bit too into my descriptions of the injuries so

TW for graphic depictions of violence

Edward:

You really wanted to go to this concert

Edward knew that, so as a birthday gift he bought you two tickets

One for you and one for him of course

He drove you to the stadium, studying the songs he was going to be hearing later that night

He bought everything that you looked at

You basically had your own merch table

The night was going great

You both found your seats, you were happily eating some overpriced stadium food, and the show was about to start

When a guy stood directly in front of you

The bad part about floor seats is that there aren't seats

The guy was easily 6'6, towering above you even if you are taller

Reading your thoughts, Edward tapped the guy on the shoulder, asking him if he would kindly move or crouch or something

He just looked, rolled his eyes, and stared forward again

"Dude, my partner can't see the show. Please just move a little"

"Don't care. Not my problem."

Edward's getting pissed, and the guy can tell

"What, you wanna fucking fight? Square up rich boy."

"No I don't want to fight I just want you to move a little"

"Okay, then maybe your partner here will fight instead"

And the next thing you know, you see the guy's huge fist heading straight for your head

Before it can land, Edward's hand pushes on your chest, sending you back into the people behind you and ending with you flat on the ground

Your back aches from the impact, your neck torqued from where your head whipped, and your cheek stinging from landing on the side of your face

You feel Edward's chill hands on the sides of your face, and faintly you hear him ask something frantically

You groan in pain as you feel him pick you up, and finally succumb to sleep

You wake up in Carlisle's clinic, staring at the white ceiling

A cold hand is wrapped around yours, and when you turn your head, you're greeted with bright gold eyes

No words are exchanged for a moment before you clear your throat

"So... did you at least rock that guy's shit?"

He laughs and kisses you

Alice:

Alice was having a terrible week

She had been getting vision after vision, and none of them were true

Everything from a huge motor accident to what color shoes someone at school was going to wear

It was constant

She was running in circles, going somewhere, seeing a vision, turning around to go somewhere else, seeing a vision, turning again, and on and on

She was currently driving

Or more like swerving

All you needed were some damn glue sticks for a project you needed to do

But every time Alice decided on a new destination, a vision of a horrible catastrophe would enter her mind, and she would change her course

You had enough

"Alice! Enough of this! Just pull over and let me drive!"

"No! I need to know the safest route... ugh! Everywhere is dangerous!"

"Name one vision you've had in the past week that actually came true."

"Well I don't know if they would have come true or not because I didn't go to those places. And look! We are perfectly fine! Everyone is fine!"

"But I don't have all night, Alice! Just choose a fucking store and go there!"

"Fine."

And so she did. She chose the small supermarket right outside of town

She looked nervous as soon as she placed the car in park

But you ignored it and walked in

You walked through the aisles, looking for the one thing you came here for, when you hear Alice gasp behind you

In her mind, she sees you tripping and falling into a display of DVDs, cutting your arm on one of the metal frames holding them in place

And straight in your path is the DVD case

So naturally she tries to grab you

Only she doesn't grab you, she accidentally pushes

You don't fall in her vision, just like how you didn't fall in real life

She was the one who hurt you, pushed you

That was the problem

The reason why there was a horrible disaster everywhere she tried to go was because she was going to cause something one way or another

Only this is worse, because now it involves you

The DVDs scatter, and she hears your cry of pain as the sharp, crooked metal frame pierces the skin of your arm

She is by your side in a moment, scooping you up and not even bothering with the mess you both left behind

On the way home, you are trying to convince her that it's not that bad, but she is beside herself

After Carlisle's inspection, you get a couple of stitches in your right bicep, but other than that you're perfectly fine

And Alice doesn't leave your side

She is constantly fussing

Asking if you're okay, if you need anything, if you're mad at her, if you want to leave her, if you blame her

But after you go to sleep and she watches over your peaceful form, she convinces herself that you're alright

Jasper:

It was spring break and the Cullens decided to go to one of Carlisle's many tropical properties

It was the third day of the trip, everybody went to do their own things

Alice, Esme, and Rosalie went into town to go souvenir shopping

They dragged Emmett along to be their personal bag carrier

Edward and Bella were down at the private beach that came with the property, enjoying the sun and relaxing

That left you, Jasper, and Carlisle

The three of you were at the attached pool on the house

Carlisle was marinating in the hot tub, sunglasses on and a book in his hands

You and Jasper were in the pool doing anything and everything

Diving, jumping, swimming, racing (he always won), and messing with the pool toys

You had just climbed up the stairs to get out of the pool again, intending on showing Jasper your graceful canonball

But he noticed you were walking a bit too fast

He saw you trip, and like slow motion he sprang out of the water to save you

Only he didn't

His arms wrapped around your middle, saving you from a possible twisted ankle or scraped knee or bruised butt

But that didn't stop the back of your head from smacking onto the concrete

White hot pain erupted behind your eyes and knocked you out instantly

Your blood began to seep onto the wet floor beneath you, and he couldn't help himself

Carlisle heard everything and got up immediately

But he didn't get there in time to stop Jasper from wrapping his mouth around your throat and biting down

In a flash Carlisle threw Jasper up and off of you, rocketing him into the water, and scooped you up to run inside

You awoke some hours later, a throbbing in your head and a dull pain in your neck

The beep of a heart monitor was all you heard

Looking around, you were in the room you shared with Jasper, where just the night before you wrapped around his cold body and drifted to sleep

Only he was nowhere to be seen

Carlisle came to check on you, and he told you what happened

"Where is he? Where's Jasper?"

"... He... left."

"What do you mean he left?"

"He almost killed you. He would have killed you if I wasn't there. He feels terrible- no. Terrible isn't strong enough of a word."

It takes Emmett and Edward tracking him down and dragging him home for you to see him again

And even then he insists on Edward and Emmett holding his arms in case he were to try anything

He looks so broken

Muted red eyes, golden blonde hair shooting in every direction, the same swim trunks he had been wearing that day were covered in dirt and blood- presumably yours

And his face

He looked on the verge of tears, he would have been crying if he could

If the dry heaves coming from deep in his chest were any indication

He flinches when you take his face in your hands, trying to get away, not wanting to hurt you more

But when he kisses you, he remembers why he tries so hard to be good in the first place

Rosalie:

You had been asking Rosalie for WEEKS if she would pleeeeeeease take you hunting with her

And she had been turning you down for weeks

It's a very gross, animalistic process that she, quite frankly, doesn't want you to see

But she loves you

And she is only so strong

So after so many begs, pleads, and puppy dog eyes, she caves

She decides to make it a cute little weekend trip

Taking you to one of Carlisle's properties farther north into the snowy mountain region

You settle in to the spacious cabin and Rosalie makes sure you're all bundled up in luxurious furs and warm scarves before you both venture into the wilderness

She explains what she's doing step-by-step while she sniffs the air, searching for her prey

A wolf because she's part of the "Fuck Jacob" team

She sits you in a clearing and tells you to stay in place while she finds her wolf

You do, finding a snowy log and brushing it off to sit on

She ventures into the forest, eventually finding a suitable wolf and beginning her hunt

Chasing the wolf, being chased by the wolf, until she eventually leads it to your clearing

She knows you'll love the theatrics of seeing her kill it in live action

She chases the beast all the way until it's about to clear the tree line before she pounces

She can imagine herself from your point of view

Bright, shiny skin, flowing hair, posed in midair, and finally coming down gracefully upon her prize

Except she doesn't

The wolf takes a quick turn at the last moment, sending her flying straight into you

There's not much she can do while suspended in flight, and it happens too fast for you to recognize

In an instant her whole body slams into you at full force, knocking both of you onto the powdery ground below

The grunt of pain you let out is excruciating

She rolls off of you quickly, holding onto you, asking if you're okay, if you're hurt

You try to put on a brave face, but when you move your left arm in an attempt to prop yourself up, you find you can't move it

Broken. Completely snapped. And you scream

She paces in Carlisle's home clinic while he puts your cast on, worried out of her mind

But when Carlisle opens the door and she sees you sitting on the table with a goofy grin and a bright red cast, she can't help but relax

"You said red was your favorite color, right?"

And she just kisses you

Emmett:

You'd been dating Emmett for a while now, and had decided it was time for him to meet your family

And what better time and place for a first meeting than your nephew's fourth birthday party?

It was the middle of August, and the sun was hot

The icing was melting off of the cake as it sat on the food table

All of the adults were drinking margaritas and the kids had decided to play with the water balloons to cool off

Your uncle and Emmett were filling up the balloons as all of the kids at the party talked excitedly

You laughed as your nephew came up to you and asked you to be on his team for the fight

Of course you couldn't say no

And of course, to even the playing field, the other team got to have your human tank of a boyfriend

Very even

Emmett just smirked at you as your uncle assumed his place as the referee and commenced the battle

Pink, blue, green, yellow, and red balloons were flying like crazy

Small party hats were knocked off of even smaller heads

The giggles of 20 little kids rang loud in the air as water spurted all over the grassy lawn

And you took your chance to pelt your boyfriend as hard as you could

His light blue shirt was soaked, and his khaki shorts had a huge wet spot on the front

You were doubled over in laughter at the sight of your scary boyfriend covered in little pieces of rubber, with one particularly large piece hanging off of his ear

But he hadn't thrown any at you yet

"Come on, big guy! Don't be a wussy!"

"Oh you asked for it now!"

You saw him grab a little pink water balloon, it looking even smaller in his hand, and he threw it straight at your head

You briefly wonder if he filled his balloon with cement

The next thing you know you're laying in bed, an ice pack perched on your forehead

"Oh my god, you're awake. I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to, you know how I get out of control sometimes. Not that that's an excuse! I'm just trying to explain-"

You cut him off with a finger to his lips

"Shush... .'m tired"

And so he just lets you sleep the rest of the night, his hand in yours the whole time

Esme:

Frankly, she doesn't know why you asked for her help

The Cullens had just moved into their newest house, and everything was set for the "kids" to join the local highschool the next day

You wanted a new look

"New place, new people, new me" you had said

She understood that much

But when you approached her one night with a box of hair bleach and a pleading look on your face, she was lost

Why her? Why not Alice or Rosalie? Or- and hear me out- a professional? They had the money

But you wanted to do it yourself. But not actually yourself For some reason you wanted Esme to do it

And even though she didn't understand, she still agreed

So that's how she found herself closely studying the instructions on the back of the little box telling her what to mix and where

"What's taking so long?"

"Hold on... ugh! This thing doesn't make any sense!"

"It's okay I'm sure it's super simple. I mean they give you all of the stuff. Just mix it all together and slap it on my head!"

Bad idea

She mixes everything together just like you asked, and plops a big lump of it onto the crown of your head

Instantly your hair starts smoking

You scream, asking her to take it off

And she tries, but it's not working

Carlisle to the rescue once more

She is so apologetic

She feels so bad that she hurt you so much

And at least you did get that new look you wanted

Shaved-to-the-skin bald

Carlisle:

He was feeling a bit cooped up

He loves his family, and he loves his life in the Americas, but sometimes he misses traveling and his old friends

So he decided to take you with him to Europe to see some old pals

Not the Volturi obviously

But some other acquaintances he hadn't seen for a while

You were a month into the three-month trip Carlisle had planned

You'd visited Italy, Greece, Spain, France, Britain, and were on your way to Germany

This next friend you were on your way to visit was a man named Friedrich Hans

Carlisle spoke passively about him, nothing positive or negative

He was one of the ones he hadn't been able to contact beforehand about visiting

He wasn't even sure if Friedrich was still alive, or if he even lived in Germany

He wasn't betting on either, but he still figured he would try a visit

The taxi pulled up in front of an unassuming house on a busy street in Berlin, painted a light grey with black paneling around the windows and doors

Carlisle opened your door for you, extending a hand to help you out

He walked with you to the door, rapping his knuckles against the solid wood

Instantly it creaked open and a voice inside whispered "Perfect" before a pale, veiny hand reached out and grabbed your arm

You yelled for it to let you go, begging Carlisle for some help

He grabbed you around the waist with one arm, using the other to try to pry the man's hand from your wrist

The opposing forces splintered on your bones and a sickening crack ran through your arm

Your hand fell limp and Carlisle was finally able to pry you away from the force in the house

"Ah... Carlisle... old friend"

"Old friend? You just tried to kill my S/O!"

"S/O... you always were a weird one Mr. Cullen... sincerest apologies... come in for chat?"

"No thank you, I believe we will be taking our leave now."

And with that he rushed you to the nearest hospital

He didn't have his medical equipment, so he just pretended to not know German so they wouldn't ask questions about how you broke your wrist

He cuts the trip short then and there

He sends letters to all of his friends that he wasn't able to visit, explaining that something urgent came up

He is so apologetic for the weeks afterward

He is convinced it was his fault even though it wasn't

He doesn't relax until your cast is off btw

Vampire! Bella:

Since she's so new to the vampire life, she doesn't know her own limits yet

She has hurt you a lot in the past

All accidents of course

Hugging you too hard, punching you playfully on the shoulder, telling you to catch something and literally lobbing it as hard as she can

She always feels terrible afterwards

But the worst was the time you took her bowling

It was 10 am on a Tuesday and there was no one at the bowling alley

Not even the competitive grandmas and grandpas in their bowling leagues

The only other person in the building was the bored looking cashier who wasn't even trying to hide that he was on his phone behind the counter

You both took your time to pick your balls, trying out all of the ones on the rack to see your best fits

You laced up your ugly shoes, input your names on the scoreboard screen and off you went

It was fun for the first couple of turns

Until the ball return does that stupid thing where it doesn't actually return your ball

It's your turn, and you're standing at the ball return tapping your foot restlessly waiting for it to show up

"You know, you can just use mine"

Bella stands up and grabs the ball she chose

The resin was a beautiful mix of black, purple, and pink with some reflective glitter sprinkled throughout

It's so gorgeous that you don't even check the weight

You hold out your hands to take it and it just drops straight through

And directly onto your foot

You let out a loud scream and try to move, but the ball won't roll off of your foot

Bella starts panicking, asking what she should do, scrambling around until eventually she picks up the ball and throws it onto the ground behind her

Maybe she forgot that the cashier was there, or maybe she didn't care, but she picked you up and started sprinting at full speed back to the Cullen house

She even left the car at the alley smh

On the verge of inconsolable

She is so frustrated that she can't learn to control herself

Doesn't leave your side tho

Note: Just for shits and gigs I timed how long this took me

Started at 12:01 am

Jasper done at 12:21 am

Edward done at 12:40 am

Alice done at 12:56 am

Rosalie done at 1:19 am

Emmett done at 1:33 am

Esme done at 1:44 am

Carlisle done at 2:03 am

Bella done at 2:16 am

Total time 2 hrs 15 mins

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stevieschrodinger · 7 months ago

Text

I do not have time to write this, but I really need to write it down.

All the events of Stranger things happen as normal - one crucial difference, Eddie gets involved, but not in the same way. He's an innocent by stander who never made friends with the kids. He's a vague background character to the action. He's an extra on set, effectively, and when he drops out of school and leaves town abruptly, someone might notice, but no one really questions it.

Years later, the only thing that feels real about the whole thing are the scars Steve still carries on his body. Sometimes, sometimes, he has to call Robin, just to check it was all real. That he hasn't lost his mind. He still flinches when a light flickers, to this day his ears ring for hours after a loud noise. He has headaches.

The only people he can talk to about it are Robin and the kids; but he feels bad. The kids aren't kids anymore, and they all seem to have just...gotten on with their lives. Seemed to have grown and evolved past it all, even though Steve regularly still wakes in the night, sweating and fighting with his bed covers. He doesn't put that on them, he sounds happy on the phone, and he is, loves hearing about their lives, their relationships, their plans and their own kids.

Robin has a girlfriend, she's happy and settled. Steve's the only one who seems...stuck. Like he cant move past it. He bums around. Stays with Nancy for a while, then Robin. Visits Argyle, makes loose acquaintances and sofa surfs. Drifts, aimlessly, through life.

It's about time in his cycle to visit Robin, but the relationship is serious this time and she nags him to find his own place to stay near by - loosing patience with him when he fails to be motivated and finding it for him herself. It's tiny, the kind of place where the bed is also the couch and the TV rests on a short run of kitchen counter because there's no where else. Feels okay though.

Steve gets a job. Spends a day on foot, door to door, walking through town; lands in a record shop of all places, even though CD's have now well and truly taken hold and vinyl isn't much of a thing. It's dark inside, the walls painted black, the bare brick red. A couple of people browse through, but Steve heads right for the counter.

There's some screamo rock stuff playing that Steve doesn't recognize, but it's quiet, so it's okay.

Behind the counter, someone Steve half recognizes from another life. Eddie Munson, Freak of Hawkins High. What are the odds.

Eddie isn't who Steve remembers. He's angry now. Bitter. Has a horrible scar that creeps up his neck and onto his face, pulling the corner of his lip down. Steve does his best to ignore it. Begs for work.

Eddie employs him, but only because he thinks it's fucking funny how far the king has fallen. Now the king works for the jester.

Steve does his best at the shop. Cleans a lot. Gets on well with the customers, charms plenty of sales.

Eddie walks with a cane and seems to hate everyone and everything; but nothing so much as a cold morning. Seems to be in more pain than usual.

Steve wants to ask, Eddie tells him it was an animal attack. In 86.

Steve's seen some of the scars by now, caught glimpses of how bad Eddie was hurt; helped Eddie even when Eddie was spitting angry about accepting any help.

What the fuck kind of animal could do that much damage in Hawkins?

You wouldn't believe me if I told you.

And Steve puts it together then, instantly and viscerally realizes in his bones what must have happened. No one ever believed Eddie. Why would they? How could anyone think that monsters coming out of the walls, out of the floors, out of glowing red portals could be the truth?

And Steve says, did it's face peel apart like a flower?

And then he tells Eddie. He tells Eddie everything. He shows Eddie his own scars. Tells him about every monster they ever come across. It was one of the demo dogs. Like Dart. Steve knew it must have been, but Eddie confirms with a description.

And then Eddie cries, because he finally has a explanation. He's not crazy. For the first time in his life, someone believes him.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #eventual steddie #ficlet #ao3 writer #ao3 author #my writing #fic idea

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save-the-villainous-cat · 5 months ago

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"Are you sure you're okay?"

The hero couldn't only hear the villain's heartbeat increase, they could also feel it. Sense it.

Most of the time, the hero managed perfectly to incorporate this (very unfortunate) condition of theirs into their normal life. It wasn't much of a burden and immortality, although they hadn't had it for long, turned out to be quite interesting.

"Yup," the hero said. But the hunger was probably the worst part about it.

The first few weeks, the hero had taken rather embarrassing measures and slaughtered farm animals outside of the city. Although it was enough blood to satisfy them, it turned out that being a vampire wasn't primarily about the blood.

It was about the power. When their prey struggled, the hero's mood improved considerably and not only that, they also didn't need to feed on something alive for quite a while after a pleasing kill. It was about the struggle, about the fight.

About sinking their fangs into soft, warm flesh. It was about survival.

"You are drooling all over my wrist." The villain did not act like it but the hero knew they were scared. Their heart was raging and their pupils were blown up, almost like they feared the hero would attack them any second now.

But, of course not. The hero could control themselves perfectly. After all, they were supposed to serve the people of the city.

The hero was a specialist when it came to figuring out how to change. When the farm animals had started to become unappetizing, the hero switched to blood donations - which was surprisingly even worse - and suffered ever since.

But they prevailed.

It was part of the deal, they supposed. Vampires suffered just like people did and they couldn't betray the trust the people had put in them.

"A little greedy, aren't ya?" the villain asked and when the hero looked at them, they realized their lips were already on the villain's wrist. Their own fingers dug into the villain's forearm and they had, in fact, slavered all over their enemy's wrist.

Slowly, they parted from the villain's arm and ultimately, let go of it. It wasn't even embarrassing. The hero had accepted that they weren't quite "normal" anymore and that was fine.

Supposedly, their thoughts had carried them away. In general, the hero tried to minimize contact with people but the villain was kind of...unavoidable. And with the hunger? With the villain always being this close? What was the hero supposed to do?

"You didn't listen to me in the slightest, huh?"

The hero stared at them, almost dumbfounded. They couldn't tell when their brain had shut off, all they knew was that they had been injured pretty badly. The villain had found them. They had passed out. And now, they were in the villain's apartment.

Without hesitation, the hero looked down their body and lifted their shirt. Instead of the open and bleeding wound, there was a fresh scar on their abdomen, quite painful but not as bad as before.

That probably explained the hero's demonic hunger - they needed energy. Lots of it.

"Not really."

"I suggested..." The villain stared at their wrist full of saliva and rubbed it on the hero's shirt dry. Before the hero could say anything, the villain put a hand on their thigh and squeezed gently. They leaned over. "...that you might be in better hands if you joined me."

"Pff." The villain's heart was going crazy by now and the hero was impressed they were hiding it so well. Fear was a horrible feeling but ultimately, that was exactly what the hero found so satisfactory. "What's this? Seducing me to the dark side? What a pathetic attempt."

The hero raised their index finger, as if to lecture the villain.

"I have sworn to protect-"

"-every citizen of this city with all the power and mightiness I can offer, blah blah blah. I know," the villain said. "But have you considered that we might be..." The villain's hand crawled up the hero's thigh and the hero's eyes widened. "...more powerful together?"

"I am not interested in power," the hero said.

"Hm," the villain answered. They touched the hero's cheek gently and it became quite impossible to ignore the villain's heartbeat. Especially when their wrist was this close to their head. The villain smirked. "Is there nothing I can offer you?"

The hero stared into the villain's eyes and didn't dare to look away, not even when the villain shifted their hand so their wrist brushed the hero's lips.

"There is absolutely nothing...?" The hero could feel the blood pumping through the villain's veins against their lips. Images of the villain begging and moaning shot into the hero's head. Them turning, them somehow enjoying it when the hero let their kisses turn into bites.

Salvation came in many ways and the hero supposed they had been wrong.

It wasn't about fear. It wasn't about seeing someone or something struggle. It was about deliverance.

Deliverance from life. Deliverance from…other things.

It was torture either way and it slowly dawned on the hero that for the second time, they had been wrong. The villain was probably not afraid of them.

Christ, the hero wanted to bite. They wanted to break skin and taste blood.

They could have been gentle. They could have been really gentle for the villain.

"Well..." The villain pulled away their wrist and tilted their head, leaving the hero with a black hole in their stomach and a tendency for extreme violence they tried to hold back. "You know where to find me, in case you change your mind."

They smiled a sweet smile but the hero considered them to be a special kind of demon at the moment. Straight from hell, straight to torture them.

The hero gave back a pained smile, clearly moments away from snapping. But not even that hindered the villain from kicking them out of their apartment promptly.

#oh my fucking god these characters are pathetic do not talk to me #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #suggestive #vampire hero #human x vampire #vampire x human

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evilminji · 1 year ago

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Okay... so it COULD be because, as a writer, I'm an ASSHOLE to my Characters...

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT'D BE FUNNY?

Danny, innocent, gets YEETED into DC. As ya do. And he's a bit messed up. But! He's a Baby Ancient in the making. Gonna be master of Spaaaaaace(~~~☆!) one day. Very exciting, only slightly relevant.

See, Ectoplasm? Dumb. That's why we need Cores and Brains etc. Never let Ectoplasm decide things. It WILL chose the "technically correct but now the buildings on fire" option EVERY SINGLE TIME. And you are running out of fire extinguishers.

Because it is dumb.

Very, VERY No Brain, Just Goo, Dumb.

And THIS Goo has a life to save. A Halfa too maintain in Peak Performance(tm). Because THIS Goo is VERY smart Goo(according only to itself) and TOTALLY knows what it's doing! Damaged meat bits? Oh that's EASY! You just FIX that! Replace with meat bits! See? It's BRILLIANT Goo. 10 out of 10 stars, me!

Small problem.

The instructions have been damaged.

PANIC.

Wait! No! We got this! We are Very Smart Goo(tm). And have Space Powers. This is FINE. We'll... we'll just FIX the instructions! Hand me a hammer! If we smash enough bits together, it'll sort? Of look right? Close ENOUGH? Yeeeeeah. We're GENIUS Goo~

Use THAT!

But where did they GET their ill begotten DNA? Well OBVIOUSLY the place all the OTHER DNA they had was stored, DUH? Keep up, says the Goo with literally no braincells making horrifying choices for an unconscious man. It's Earth.

As in... the planet.

It's not even HIS planet. It's AN Earth. A Planet CALLED "Earth" that dwells in the DC universe, not his, and is covered with ZERO(0) Fentons but plenty of superhumans and aliens. THAT planet.

The Goo grabbed the Very BESTEST Meat Instructions it could FIND! The Goo is also a collective and did not AGREE on what the "Best" WAS. But it's... okay, no, I can't lie to you, it is NOT fine.

But thankfully it IS stable.

Because Ectoplasm may be dumb and indiscriminate as super-bacteria with a flamethrower, but it is a MASTER at the jigsaw of Life. It can reanimate ANYTHING.

Including the now SINGLE MOST CHIMERAD MAN you've ever SEEN. Who is he related too? YES. His left knee is Kryptonian, the fingers on his right hand are Tameranian, his skin tone has shifted to the most ambiguously multi-ethnic tone imaginable (think that future of humanity mock up, where they combine every ethnicity on the premise that inter-racial marriage will becoming increasingly common up to the point where we all just kinda look averaged out thanks to the ease of travel) because it's trying to do all of them at once and none of them are willing to back down, because all of them got the instructions "Be Skin". He might have Slade Wilson's cheek bones and hair.

Danny wakes up and basicly is half Ectoplasmic Goo, half the extended Super Community.

AND CANT GET BACK HOME TO FIX IT.

Because of course this IS fixable. It's just medical shape-shifting. But without HIS template, undamaged. His body is REFUSING to change from what is OBVIOUSLY the CORRECT form. And he keeps getting clocked as "probably related to me".

With the Fenton Luck kicking in? The parts of him people manage to swab and/or get DNA from? Keep MATCHING them. Danny doesn't know WHO is behind this but-! *spots a giggle child with a cat* !!!!!!

You.

Klarion you little SHIT!

So now he's wearing a face that's BARELY his, running from very determined superhumans who want to parent him, trying to steal enough technology to build a portal. AND vowing to kick the witch boy's ASS.

This ISNT FUNNY, KLARION.

His body is Frankenstein's FEVER DREAM! Every time he gets hurt, it tries to "FIX" itself! He lost a chunk of his should back there and HIS ENTIRE BODY CHANGED SKIN TONES. He's pretty sure if he SITS funny, his teeth might fall out and regrow POINTY! He's handing you over to WALKER you horrible little gremlin child!

Just? Take the "Danny is related to X" and "Danny is sick" and turn them uuuuup. Make EVERYBODY concerned except Danny. This is just another fucked up adventure in a long string of fucked up adventures. Give him his DNA back. If he has to suffer the Fenton Luck then he should AT LEAST get to keep the Fenton "built like a tank"!

*gets hit again*

*is GREEN now for some reason* The fuck?

Garfield, aka Beast Boy: I HAVE A CLONE SON!?

Danny: Zone DAMN IT not another one!

@ailithnight @hdgnj @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

#tw body horror #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #never let the Goo drive #chimera au #Danny looks A BIT like everyone #just enough to be suspicious #chaos happens and klarion laughs

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searchingforserendipity25 · 20 days ago

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exorcising my list of unwritten conclave concepts from a few weeks ago i haven't written much since, in case the list is all there ends up coming out of it or anyone wants to welcome any of them into a good home:

cardinal lawrence and sister agnes won each other’s respect and trust during ratzinger’s papacy (liberals who leak church scandals to the justice system and the press stick together). everyone lowkey thinks they are having an affair. they are not, but they do keep sneaking into corners to gossip during the conclave. leaning fully into the reading of sister agnes as the late pope’s intelligence expert. incredibly jaded vatican spy. aldo is not jealous. benitez finds lawrence with the yellow canary eating from his hand and going back to his side after short flights, and has a number of franciscan emotions about it. the whole thing would ideally be about their friendship, different views and thoughts on power, what it looks like, what it ought to look like. responsibility, and doubt. also: how horrible it is the only non smokers in an european workplace.

(does this change anything materially? possibly the adeyemi and trembley situation is revealed much sooner with lawrence and sister agnes working together earlier and sharing intel, which in its turn makes him seem more competent and aggressive in taking down competitors, ergo more votes, ergo more influence? maybe bellini supports him more overtly earlier idk.)

cardinal lawrence is dead. as a matter of fact, cardinal lawrence has been dead for a few days after the pope dies; unlike the pope, he keeps coming back to do his job. the curia covers up his death, because the dean of the college of cardinals is a ghost who apparently hated his job enough that is it his very literal purgatory is both hard to explain, and bad for the press. the fate of his unliving soul is very much at risk when steering the conclave, which is, uh, fun. cardinal tedesco's vape smoke now strongly smells of sulfur to him, which is probably not satanic in origin but then again might be. people keep voting on him and their belief in him corresponds directly to how much he can interact with the world, which is a very straightforward way to test one’s moral limits and otherwise a great torment. the one silver lining is that he can walk through walls and scoop out corrupt dealing easily, and no one can really tell he is dead. well, barely anyone. cardinal benítez and his ability to walk easily between the liminal spaces and certainties of the world is an outlier, and should not be counted.

dean lawrence keeps getting kidnapped, poisoned, blackmailed and otherwise threatened. this is an unfortunate if occasional part of being the vatican’s manager of two increasingly liberal and unorthodox papacies. it is considerably less fine and unfortunately far too normal for innocent xiv, who has a non-zero number of experiences with friends being kidnapped, poisoned, blackmailed and otherwise threatened.

bellini/lawrence full on established relationship nonsense. as in, they have been together for thirty years and counting. conclave rewrite??

innocent xiv’s phone messages get leaked. innocent xiv’s phone messages consist of selfies with turtles sent to various friends and family, a good deal of memes in the santa marta groupchat, and daily jokes, complaints and affectionate messages to dean lawrence. the media has thoughts. aldo bellini, newly in charge of the papal media strategy, also has thoughts. and prayers.

a glimpse at all the people that Did vote for benítez from the start, and how much his work is or is not known outside the hermetic sphere of the vatican. he's kind of famous in religious activist circle probably! he has fans! he has a wide network of people he regularly approaches for information, resources, mutual aid and donations to his clinics and dioceses! he keeps dropping insane facts about horrifying personal experiences with unnerving serenity!

vincent benítez soft doms cardinal lawrence into taking a rest during the conclave. this incidents turns into a habit and gains new dimensions, as per the forthcoming changes in job status

pope john has an ongoing crisis of faith and also a gigantic imposter's syndrome. unrelatedly, pope john would really really really rather vincent benítez did not die in kabul and/or cause a diplomatic disaster. how convenient, then, that he is now a benevolent religious dictator who can arrange (read: wholesale invent) a number of postings and duties only benítez can accomplish. if anyone ask, this is a long-delayed move on part o the church to develop a deeper connection to on-the-ground aid organization. this can’t possibly last forever, though, can it?

friar lawrence has shed all politics and chosen an abbey who keeps a vow of silence. friar lawrence is genuinely having a lovely time of things in his little abbey post canon. for like, uh, two months? friar lawrence keeps accidentally gaining more and more influence. manager-guy who cannot not manage. six months in he’s in charge of shelters and social associations. one year on, and he’d be archbishop again, if he were not aggressively trying to clamber down the church hierarchical rung. his friend, innocent xiv, who went from being a non-entity to one of the most famous men in the world, is sympathetic but also thinks this is very very funny. epistolary fic?? email epistolary? there is a little cat in a friar's habit and this is the most important part.

possibly related: cardinal lawrence comes back from his enforced sabbatical in a peaceful retreat freckled, healthier and smiling. people have thoughts on this, and emotions also.

turtle pov of benitez/lawrence. literally: turtle pov. is the turtle an angel?? unclear if the turtle is an angel.

cardinal tedesco must die au.

#thomas lawrence #vincent benitez #conclave spoilers #conclave #a post on lawrence being dead and in purgatory flickered on my dash before disappearing and i NEED to find it #whoever wrote it is living in my brain namely my brain two weeks ago when i tried to draft it. i am so thrilled that i'm not the only one #who thinks his haunted vibes and alma penada swag is so suited to a purgatory concept #also i desperately need more sister agnes #aldo bellini #sister agnes #conclave au #lawrence x benitez #lawrenitez

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avis-writeshq · 1 year ago

Text

02 — haunted

summary: “something’s gone terribly wrong, you’re all i wanted.”/“you’re not gone, you can’t be gone.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst warnings: rated 16+ for alcohol, religious talk (inaccurate portrayal of Christianity), vomit, INCREDIBLY CANON COMPLIANT ‼️IF YOU WERE TRIGGERED BY S2 EP15 REVELATIONS IN CRIMINAL MINDS, DO NOT READ THIS‼️ wc: 10.1k a/n: another special mention to @astrophileous for beta reading and hyping me up!! love you loads zahra 🤎 (she's also doing an AMAZING derek morgan series that i have the honour in beta-in so if you have time please do check it out!! it is an absolute work of art) SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

There is never a dull day when working at the BAU. After weeks of cases and paperwork, a night out was exactly what everyone needed. A place to get drunk, have fun and unwind– and O'Keefe's was the exact place to do just that.

“You know, you can at least try to look like you’re having fun,” Emily muses, nudging your shoulder.

Emily joined the team soon after Elle had resigned, and as much as you missed your friend, you enjoyed Emily’s company. She’s too observant for her own good; grinning at you from across the room whenever you have the slightest interaction with certain people. She’s a brilliant addition to the team, much to your chagrin, but you know it’s all in good fun. Well, all in good fun for her.

You shoot her a playful glare, sipping on your drink. “I am having fun!”

“Liar,” Emily says instantly, grinning at you. “C’mon, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you deny, “I’m just tired. Things have been… busy to say the least. I’m just glad that the team is getting some R&R. Well deserved, might I add. How are you? You know, with joining the team and all that.”

She smiles in your direction before downing a shot and shrugging. “It’s been good! Yeah, everyone is so… welcoming. It’s nice.”

“Different to a desk job?” You ask with a teasing lilt in your voice.

Emily laughs softly. “Yeah, totally.”

Your gaze shifts to where Spencer is sitting, for once enjoying himself in such a crowded area. He’s talking to two strangers at a table, his hands gesticulating as he explains something and the two people seem thoroughly amused.

“So… Spencer, huh?”

You frown. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Emily laughs, “You’re staring at him with heart eyes. Anyone can tell. Except for him, apparently.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“For a profiler, you’re a horrible liar.”

You let out something that sounds akin to a dying cow, turning your attention back to your drink. Your attention wavers and it shifts back to Spencer who is enthusiastically talking about something to the two amused guests. He grins at them as they drink, his own cup still full. Derek is thoroughly enjoying himself as he dances with a group of girls, and you can see Aaron and Haley dancing together on the floor as well. It’s wholesome, seeing everyone in their casual wear and just having fun.

“You should talk to him,” Emily tries again, nudging you. “I’ll buy you a drink if you do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re bribing me to talk to my best friend?”

“I’m bribing you to give me entertainment,” she corrects, laughing.

“You’re horrible,” you tell her, smiling, as you walk past her in Spencer’s direction. “I expect that drink to be delivered to me.”

“Deal!” She calls after you, downing a shot as she watches you.

Spencer smiles when he sees you make your way over to him, shuffling his chair to the side to give you more room.

“Hi,” he murmurs, pulling your seat closer to him. “Having fun?”

“I should be asking that to you,” you respond, smiling. The two people he was once talking to take their leave, giggling about something you couldn’t quite make out. “I didn’t mean to scare away your company.”

He immediately shakes his head at your words. “I’d rather talk to you anyway.”

You can’t help the silly grin that spreads across your face or the way your cheeks heat up and you cough. “Well, I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

Spencer laughs, his hand gravitating to your knee and he squeezes good-naturedly. “You exceed them.”

You think he’s trying to kill you and you swear you stop breathing as you choke out, “I’m glad.”

It isn’t long before Emily makes good on her promise, and a waiter appears on your left. He presents a drink to your table, the glass adorned with a lemon rind and a raspberry, and you eagerly take a gulp.

Spencer frowns a little as he watches you drink. “Aren’t you going to question who it’s from?”

“I know who it’s from,” you respond cheerfully, letting out a contented sigh. You offer the drink to him, moving the straw so that it’s pointing in his direction. “Want some?”

He eyes the pink drink suspiciously. “What is it?”

“It’s a Pink Bikini!” You chirp, sipping the drink again. “Like… coconut rum, raspberries, and lemonade. It’s good, Spence, you can barely taste the alcohol.”

His nose scrunches at the idea of coconut rum. “I dunno.”

“You’re not gonna get drunk from one sip,” you protest happily, a little tipsy. “It’s good! Besides, how do you know you’re not going to like it if you never try it?”

“You’re literally drunk right now!” He points out, laughing a little and moving the drink out of your reach. “Give it to me.”

“That’s only because I had a couple drinks earlier,” you argue, lunging for the glass. You’re quick but Spencer is quicker (and taller), and he chugs the drink before slamming it back onto the table. “Spencer!”

He grins at you, smacking his lips as he plays with the paper straw. “I’m protecting you, (Y/N). Who knows what you would’ve done if you drank any more.”

“You’re insufferable,” you chastise half-heartedly, “I was thirsty.”

“I have water,” he says, fishing a plastic bottle out of his satchel. He cracks the lid open, taking a sip himself before passing it to you. “Drinking even moderate amounts of alcohol can lead to dehydration. Drinking water slows down this effect, allowing the liver to metabolise the alcohol that was already consumed. This also means you won’t have as bad a hangover tomorrow morning.”

You beam at him, taking tentative sips from his water bottle. The fact that you’re drinking from the same bottle as him is not lost on you, nor the fact that he finished your drink by using your straw– your lipgloss stained straw– and he didn’t even bat an eye.

“What would I do without you?” You croon, handing his bottle back.

“Probably die of dehydration,” he responds, taking one last gulp of water, before returning the bottle back to his bag.

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” you laugh again, beaming at him. You’re not sure if it’s from the drinks, but you can feel your cheeks begin to flush. Did it get hotter in here?

“Hey, sorry to be the bearer of bad news but we have a case,” JJ pats your shoulder sympathetically, frowning. “Horrible timing, but it’s urgent.”

You all but whine. “But I’m tipsy.”

“I’ve got aspirin in my bag,” JJ says, “you’ll be fine.”

“Stupid serial killer,” you huff, getting up from your seat. “They owe me a day off.”

***

“You know it never fails. Just as I’m getting my groove thang going, bam! We’re back at the BAU,” Derek says, pouring himself a much needed cup of coffee and sitting at the roundtable.

Spencer shrugs. “You know, statistically, a case doesn’t come in with any more frequency if you’re at a party or gathering than if you aren’t. It’s a… trick of the mind. We merely remember the ones that came in that way more.”

“Besides, how long does it take for you to get your ‘groove thang’ going anyway?” You tease, sipping from your own cup of coffee, and Emily cackles from beside you.

“Only when he’s sleeping,” Gideon comments, walking into the conference room and taking off his coat.

Hotch’s brows raise in a mixture of surprise and concern. “Where were you tonight?”

“I told you, I went to the Smithsonian,” he grunts as he sits into his chair.

“You missed a good time,” Emily insists, smiling.

“I had a good time,” Gideon responds, his attention turning back to the screen where JJ was getting ready to present the latest case.

“Well, that’s definitely over,” she says, flicking the screen on. “Georgia. The Kyles– Dennis and Lacy– were murdered an hour ago in the suburban Atlanta home.”

Hotch’s brows raise in surprise. “An hour ago?”

JJ nods. “Police were on the scene unusually fast.”

“Why?” Derek asks, leaning over the table.

“One of the UnSubs called them and told them that the other was about to murder the victims.”

You huff out a laugh in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“From inside the house.” JJ purses her lips, gesturing to the transcript that was printed out in their files. “According to the dispatcher, the first male sounded terrified and begged them to get there before the other, who they both identified as Raphael, was about to kill the sinners that lived there.”

“‘Sinners’?” Hotch echoes.

JJ nods again, a grimace painted over her features. “The 911 centre is going to send Garcia the tape.”

“How fast was the police response time?” Spencer asks, glancing at the screen.

“Four minutes, twenty-six seconds. During which time Raphael was able to do…” JJ clicks a button on the remote and an array of gruesome crime scene photos popped up onto the screen. “This.”

“In four and a half minutes?” Emily asks incredulously, frowning.

Garcia immediately turns away from the screen, clutching her mug closer to her chest. You can’t help but cringe as well from the violence presented in the photos: blood everywhere, smeared across the walls and floors of the house, and the victims lifeless.

“Mr. Kyle is a dot-com millionaire. His company is one of the largest employers in the community. There’s going to be media coverage. Also, when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed.”

Another image appears on the screen, this time a page of the Bible placed into a plastic evidence bag with a certain section highlighted.

“Revelation, Chapter 6, Verse 8,” Hotch reads for the rest of the team.

Derek can’t help but scoff. “They’re killing sinners.”

“These guys are on a mission. And mission-based killers will not stop killing,” Spencer says with a wince.

“‘And I looked, and behold, a pale horse, and his name that sat upon him was Death,” Hotch begins, eyes trained on the Bible page.

Gideon continues, his voice quiet and grim, “And Hell followed with him.”

***

You sigh tiredly as you slump into the seat beside Spencer, playing with the cap of your water bottle. The sky outside is painted in oranges and purples as the sun begins to rise, and you try to hold back the frustrated groan when you see the blaring ‘4:22AM’ flash on your watch.

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks quietly, looking over at you.

You shake your head, running your fingers through your hair. “I just… I have a bad feeling about this case. There’s something… off about it.”

He hums in thought, “we’ve dealt with religious motives before, though.”

“I know but just–” you huff, leaning against the headrest. “It’s just weird. I mean, usually if one of the UnSubs were partnered with someone who was a liability, they’d eliminate them. But that’s just not happening here.”

“Don’t think about the case,” Spencer says gently, resting the palm of his hand flat against your knee. “It’ll be fine, trust me.”

When you don’t respond, he pokes your cheek gently shooting you a lopsided smile. “Hey. It’ll be okay.”

“I hope it will be,” you respond quietly, moving so that your cheek is pressed against his shoulder. “But you saw those images; what the UnSubs can do in less than five minutes. I know it’s nothing we haven’t seen before but–”

“(Y/N).” He squeezes your knee again and you flush as he continues to speak. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be back home before you know it. Trust me.”

You nod, although you can’t shake this feeling off. “Promise you’ll be safe?”

Spencer smiles at you. “Promise.”

***

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you mutter, turning away as the video of Mr. Kyle being murdered plays on repeat. Your stomach churns at the mere mental image that pops up in your mind, and a chill run downs your spine.

The case is a lot more gruesome than you expected it to be, especially when it came to the team’s attention that a video of the murder was circulating the internet. The video was currently being played on loop, with the voice of the UnSubs playing out of the computer. You thought you saw it all but this was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

That is, until Spencer stood from his seat.

“Agent Franks?” He whispers, looking towards the lead detective. “Does this building have wireless internet?”

Agent Franks nods. “Yeah. Why?”

Spencer swallows, gesturing to the computer. “That camera’s on right now. The computer has connected itself to the internet; it’s streaming a video feed somewhere.”

Hotch’s concern only deepens, along with the frown on his face. “Can we trace the stream to the destination?”

“If we keep it open, Garcia might be able to–” Spencer begins, only to be cut off by a beeping from the computer.

In bright red lettering, the words: ‘THE ARMIES OF SATAN SHALL NOT PREVAIL’ flash against the black screen before turning off.

“So, they’re controlling it remotely?” Hotch asks, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Is that even possible?” Emily asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, you can totally access someone’s computer remotely. It’s actually done a lot today when a mortal calls for tech support. Instead of giving you instructions the tech can work on your computer from wherever she is,” Garcia explains through the phone.

“And they maintain the access even after the work is done?” Hotch asks.

“They’re not supposed to, but I suppose you could install a Trojan horse.”

Spencer turns to Gideon. “Something left in the computer to be turned on later. It’s the same way that websites get pop-up ads onto your computer.”

“Garcia can you check the Kyles’ phone records and see if they called tech support in the last six months?” Hotch requests as he flips through the Kyle family’s folder.

“Right-o. Oh, and if you get me the laptop I can search the drive for anything implanted there.”

Hotch nods. “As fast as we can.”

“By the way, this video? It’s gone crazy viral.”

Gideon frowns. “What does that mean?”

“That means it’s the most downloaded video on the entire Internet. Worldwide. And judging by the responses people seem to think it’s pretty cool.”

“Call us if you find anything on the Kyles’ computer,” Hotch mutters, before the phone hangs up.

“Honestly, they probably don’t even realise that the video is real,” you say quietly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I mean, you see a video on the internet. The last thing you’d think is that it’s actual people being murdered.”

“They probably think that it’s marketing for a horror film or something,” JJ adds on, but the look on her face is just as disgusted.

“Well, the UnSubs were right about one thing,” Derek mutters, nodding grimly. “The world is pretty screwed up.”

***

After hours of going through files and trying to find a paper trail, you’re left with a mountain of paperwork in front of you and sore eyes. You press the pads of your fingers against the corner of your eyes, slumping over the table.

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice brings you out of your thoughts and you peek a look at him. “Hm?”

A takeaway cup of coffee is placed in front of you and you immediately perk up. He chuckles softly, patting your head. “You looked like you needed it.”

You spy the name written across the paper cup and frown. “It’s your coffee.”

“You need it more than me,” he says honestly, smiling. “Besides, I’m okay.”

You take a tentative sip of the drink, the sweetness of the sugar overwhelming the bitter taste of the coffee but you don’t mind it. Instead, you didn’t actually mind it; especially because it’s from him.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “We can share it if you want.”

He shakes his head ‘no’, turning back to the files on the page. “Where did you get up to?”

“Nowhere special. Agent Franks is right; there’s nothing in any of the files relating to knife fights that are remotely similar to the case,” you say, slumping against the table and leaning your head on your arm. “I’ve got six or so left to go through but I’m not getting much luck anyway.”

At that moment, JJ enters the room, holding another cream coloured file. “What if we were looking at this the wrong way?”

Hotch turns to her. “What do you mean?”

“I looked for unsolved home invasions. Three months ago there was a prowler called in directly outside of the Kyles’ house.”

Your brows knit together at her words and look up at her. “A prowler?”

JJ nods. “The witness was walking his dog in a nearby park. Going back to his car, he saw a man in dark clothing go over the back wall and start sneaking up to the house. By the time the police got there, the prowler was gone.”

“Only one man?” Hotch asks.

“Apparently.”

“Was the witness able to describe the man?” Spencer questions.

JJ looks into the papers before shaking her head. “If he did, it’s not in this case file.

Hotch looks at JJ then back at the corkboard. “Is there a name and address to the witness?”

“Tobias Hankel,” JJ reads. “Lives about an hour from here.”

Hotch lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. “It’s a long shot, but he might be able to give us a description. Why don’t you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr Hankel, and see if he remembers anything.”

You immediately frown, perking up at his words. “I can go too, sir. There’s a safety in numbers.”

“You’re exhausted and we need you here,” Hotch says, immediately shutting your suggestion down. “We don’t need three people to talk to a witness.”

Your face falls and your stomach churns. “I understand that, sir, but it’s late and wouldn’t it be safer if more people go?”

“We’ll be fine,” Spencer reassures, squeezing your arm. “We’ll be armed and we’ve got our phones.”

A small breath escapes you and you nod slowly, chewing your bottom lip. “Okay. Be safe.”

He smiles. “I will.”

JJ snickers lightly, turning to Hotch. “Be safe,” she echoes, grinning.

Hotch can’t help but chuckle as he returns with, “I’ll be so safe.”

“Oh shut up,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “I’m gonna kill you.”

JJ grins. “But how will that keep us safe?”

You throw an eraser at her shoulder in response and she laughs loudly, walking out of the room. Spencer squeezes your arm again, rubbing your shoulder through the fabric of his jumper before following after her.

It isn’t long before the lead detective rushes into the room, his words flying out of his mouth. “Agent Hotchner, we got another murder.”

***

“Tobias Hankel is the UnSub.”

Five words is all it takes for your world to come crashing down around you. Hankel? The UnSub? Your mouth is dry as the head detective explains about the dogs and you think you’re going to throw up. Your mind spins and your chest pounds with anxiety because oh God, what’s going to happen to the others?

“We sent Spencer and JJ there,” you whisper, your throat closing up. You tug desperately at your collar, trying to breathe. “Oh my God, we sent them there. We sent them there.”

“Hey, hey,” Derek is quick to ground you, gripping your shoulders firmly. “They’ll be okay. It’s Spencer Genius Reid and Jennifer Bad-ass Jareau. They’ll be okay.”

You shake your head firmly, pulling away from his grasp and clutching your head. “I should be there with them. I should have gone with them. We don’t know what Tobias is capable of, Morgan, something could have happened to them.”

“We’re dispatching police now,” the detective says, getting off the phone.

Tears spill from the corners of your eyes and you try to keep your breathing steady. It doesn’t work. The room is spinning and you can’t see straight. The words your team are trying to get through to you fades into background noise and you let out a choked sob.

“They could be–” Your words don’t make it off your tongue and you turn, gesturing to the black screen that was once playing the video of the woman and the dogs. “Oh my God.”

“(Y/N),” Emily holds your shoulders tightly, her words a mixture of firmness and care as she tries to snap you out of it. “They’re going to be okay. We have to go there now.”

“They can’t be gone. Spencer can’t be gone,” you say, more to yourself than anything. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go. We have to find them.”

The others don’t need to be told twice. You get into the passenger seat with Emily, trying to calm your breathing. One hour is too long. Why does Tobias have to live so far away? You press the palm of your hand to your mouth, the lump in your throat getting bigger. Hot tears fall down your cheeks as the world becomes a blur of flashing lights and you try not to cry. It’s your fault. You should have been there with him. There’s safety in numbers. Why didn’t you trust your gut?

“Don’t do that,” Emily says sternly, gripping the wheel tighter.

You can’t bring yourself to respond, merely shaking your head adamantly.

“Stop blaming yourself,” Emily tries again, glancing at you for a second before turning her attention back to the road. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should be there with them.” Your voice cracks pathetically and you wipe furiously at your eyes.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have.”

She looks at you again. “Stop. You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.”

The rest of the car ride is silent. You’ve learned that this is the hardest part of the job: losing someone. Losing someone because of a job. It seems ridiculous, considering that it’s something so miniscule in the grand scheme of things, and yet it is the most common factor in divorces. A lack of commitment. Instead of committing to something that actually matters and can’t be replaced, their attention turns to something so lacklustre. If Spencer were here he would tell you the exact statistics. If Spencer were here, you wouldn’t even need to think about the statistics.

The sound of sirens echo through the once quiet country area and the police officers file out of their cars. You fasten your Kevlar vest over your chest hastily, fumbling with the clasps as you jump out of the car.

“John, Bobby, take the house with Hotch, Gideon and (L/N),” the captain orders, pointing towards the house.

Your stomach lurches as Hotch busts the door open, and you move upstairs with your gun pointed out.

“Clear!” You yell, rendezvousing with Hotch and Gideon soon after.

“Downstairs is clear,” Hotch says, nodding towards you.

“Then where the hell is he?” Gideon mutters, looking around the rooms of the house.

The blood rushes to your ears and the air grows thick. You can’t breathe. The house is unmaintained with mould growing in the corners of the rooms and dust gathering on the shelves, the paint on the walls cracking from water damage. Your eyes sting as the air pricks at your skin, and your legs carry you down the stairs and out the house.

“JJ,” you breathe, your eyes wide as you meet the blonde sitting at the back of an ambulance. You pull her into a hug. “You’re okay.”

It’s a different JJ to what you’re used to. She’s always been put together with not a hair out of place. She’s usually so full of life and mirth, bringing a sense of serenity and security when you need it most but this…

Her blue eyes are red and puffy from crying and she’s shaking miserably against your body. She scratches at her wrists and picks at the bandages, her bottom lip trembling. Her gun is set beside her, not in the holster she usually carries it in.

“(Y/N),” she sobs, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” You demand. “Where’s Spencer?”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, shaking her head. “I tried–”

“Where is he, Jennifer?” You ask, pulling away from her like she burned you. “Where is he?”

She sobs again, clutching her head. “I don’t know, we separated–”

“What do you mean you separated?!” You’re trying not to scream. Your thoughts are running a million miles an hour. Spencer is gone. He’s gone. “Why would you do that?”

Jennifer lets out a wail, trying to explain herself through broken words. “We didn’t– he said– I’m sorry I’m sorry–”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t bring him here, does it?” The words are harsh and low, and you tug at your collar again. “He’s not here, Jennifer! Does that mean nothing to you?!”

“(L/N), that’s enough.”

Hotch’s voice makes you snap your head in his direction and you see red.

“I told you I should have gone with them,” you snap, and it doesn’t even occur to you that this man is your boss. “If I went with them, Spencer would still be here right now!”

“(L/N).”

“No.” You glare at him menacingly, too deep in your anger to even comprehend anything else. “He should be here right now! He should– he should be spouting out statistics or coming up with some theory! He should be here and he’s not!”

“We’ll find him. Trust me.”

“I did!” You yell, your voice fervent. “I trusted your judgement! And look where that got us. Spencer is gone. He’s not here, Hotch, because I trusted you!”

“(Y/N), enough.” Hotch is firm and he stares you down. “That is enough, do I need to remind you who you are speaking to?”

In an instant you stop, your heart lurching and you quiver. “... This is my fault.”

He immediately shakes his head no. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should have gone with him. I should have– it’s my fault. It’s my fault.” Your eyes well with tears and you tug at your hair erratically. “He can’t be gone. He’s not gone. He’ll figure something out. Why didn’t I do something? I should have–”

“Stop it. (Y/N), stop.” Hotch grips your shoulders squarely, bending down so that he’s eye level with you. “Take deep breaths.”

Your lungs burn as you try to breathe, hot ragged breaths leaving your lips shakily as you cover your face with the palms of your hands. Tears fall down your cheeks and gather in your hands as you make a desperate attempt to calm yourself down. It’s all too much. The sky is pitch black and the feeling of cold rain stings and bites your skin. The sounds of sirens fade away and for a moment it’s just quiet. Quiet, except for the words and the voices that swirl in your mind.

“A man that matches Hankel’s description was spotted in the next town over.”

Derek’s words bring you out of your thoughts and you manage a soft, “What?”

“Alright,” Hotch nods, before turning back to you. “Go back to the police department.”

“What?” Your ears are ringing. You must have heard wrong. “No. No, no, I can’t– no, Hotch, I’m not going back to the police department. Spencer is missing.”

“You’re too close to the case.”

A humourless laugh leaves your lips as you stare at him. “We’re all too close to the case, Hotch. Look around!”

“You attacked JJ and you raised your voice at me. I want you to go back to the police department and work the case from there.” He speaks to you as if he were speaking to a child and it makes you feel sick.

“Oh, so you’re punishing me?”

“No, I’m using you,” he says firmly, and then his voice softens. “It won’t do you any good to be here, (Y/N), you know that.”

“Aaron,” you try again, your voice wavering. “Please, don’t do this to me.”

“Go back and find us something that we can use.” He turns to one of the policemen. “Make sure she gets there.”

The policeman nods, tipping his hat, and gesturing for you to follow him.

“Wait I– let me talk to JJ. I need– just, please,” you say quickly, clearing your throat. “Sir.”

He’s sceptical before nodding. “Go ahead.”

You don’t need to be told twice. In moments you turn back to the ambulance, letting out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry.”

JJ shakes her head adamantly. “No, you’re right. It was my fault.”

“It’s not,” you say quietly. “I know Spencer and I know you. It was… probably his idea to split up.”

She smiles wryly, fiddling at the bandage on her arm.

“It’s not your fault,” you say again. You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince anymore. “You went through something too and I ignored that and that wasn’t right of me. I’m sorry.”

JJ sniffles, pursing her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you respond quietly, patting her arm. “I need to go. Um, Hotch wants me off the case, or something.”

She nods. “Okay.”

You look at her again, the guilt building like bile in your stomach. “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” she whispers, wiping the tears away from her eyes. “We’ll find him.”

You don’t respond.

***

Everything hurts. His head is pounding and he can feel the sticky blood drip from the side of his head and against his cheek. His feet hurt from each thwack of wood, and his wrists hurt from the handcuffs. It’s cold. So, so cold, and he feels so weak. No amount of knowledge or training could have prepared him for this.

Spencer’s throat throbs from crying. No matter how many times he tries to convince whatever personality is taking over Tobias, it never seems to work. What’s the point of being a profiler if he can’t even save himself?

The creaking of the door brings him out of his thoughts and he jolts. Tobias, at least who appears to be Tobias, enters the room carrying a slaughtered animal. A shiver runs down Spencer’s spine and all he can do is watch.

“You need to eat,” the man says, his voice strangely soft and oddly calm.

“What’s your name?” Spencer asks, his voice small.

The man looks back at him. “Tobias.”

“Tobias, who was here before?” The fear is obvious in his voice and Spencer just wishes for an ounce of Hotch’s stoicism or Derek’s bravery.

Tobias chuckles weakly. “It was probably my father. I’m sorry if he hurt you.”

Before he could comprehend his movements, Tobias takes off his belt and walks over to him. Spencer fears the worst. Did Tobias’s father take over again? He tries to inch away, struggling against the restraints as best he could.

“W-What are you doing?” Spencer asks shakily, trying to pull away from him.

Tobias doesn’t respond, slipping one end of the belt above his elbow. Everything begins to click.

“No, no. Don’t. Please, please don’t.” He resorts to begging.

In this moment, Spencer hates the way his mind works because he doesn’t need to know the statistics. He doesn’t need to know that 75% of drug abusers started out using pain killers. His head swirls with what Tobias could be using. Codeine? Heroin? Opium? The list goes on and he tries to keep his breathing steady.

“It helps,” Tobias says, ignoring the way Spencer trembles and shakes his head adamantly. “Don’t tell my father. He doesn’t know they’re here.”

Tobias takes the syringe and the bottle out of his pocket and Spencer sobs even harder. He tries to appease him again, shrinking away as best he could in his chair.

“Please,” he tries again, his chest heaving and tears wetting his waterline. “Please, I don’t want it, I don’t want it.”

“Trust me. I know.”

“Please,” he begs, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Don’t.”

Tobias doesn’t listen.

The effects are far too quick for codeine, heroin or opium and Spencer can feel it hit. He knows it’s wrong. He can go on for hours about the statistics about it but the feeling so euphoric that he can’t help it. And then he sees it.

“We have another recruit as well. Came in a couple weeks ago,” Derek told him, walking him through the halls of the BAU headquarters. “She’s part of the academy Honours program. Top of the class, apparently.”

“Oh.” Spencer nodded slowly, fidgeting with the zip of his bag.

Derek grinned. “Relax, kid. You still have the most impressive résumé. She’s just an intern; doing paperwork, mainly.”

“I wasn’t– I wasn’t worried about that,” Spencer stammered, wetting his bottom lip. “I mean– not that I think she isn’t smart or anything. I just meant–”

“Kid, I mean it when you have to relax,” Derek snorted as he opens up the door to the bullpen “Meet the rest of the team.”

He walked through the doors, ready to make his mark. He’s spent so long believing that he was nothing but now… he took another step, meeting Hotch’s gaze and– he didn’t get very far when something catapulted into his side. There was a flurry of paper work and cream coloured files, case details splayed all over the floor. Spencer grunted a little, tumbling to the ground like a house of cards.

“Oh, my God, I am– I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going and I was running and I am not used to office attire! I am so sorry!”

The ramblings of a girl– she couldn’t be older than him, at least, not by much– filled Spencer’s ears and he grimaces. “No, it’s– it’s okay. Don’t– uh– don’t worry about it.”

“(Y/N)...” JJ huffed out a quiet laugh, helping the other girl to her feet. “Are you guys okay?”

“I’m okay,” Spencer said, slowly getting to his feet.

The girl didn’t do the same, instead scrambling to pick up the multitude of papers that litter the floor. “I’m fine! Just– great. Great. Brilliant.”

Spencer immediately started to reach for the papers, trying his best not crumple them up anymore than they already were. “You’re… the intern?”

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, breathless. “I’m still getting used to all…” You gesture wildly to the interior of the bullpen. “... this.”

“(Y/N), meet Doctor Spencer Reid. He’s the youngest addition to the team. Reid, meet (Y/N) (L/N). She’s part of the Academy Honours Program,” Gideon introduces, peering at the two of you from behind his glasses.

“Hi,” you said meekly, stretching out your hand.

His words hitched in his throat because once he’s gotten past the flying papers and the fact that you literally ran into him, he realises just how beautiful you are. You were right there in front of him, close enough to touch but–

“I don’t shake hands,” he said quietly, the anxiety gnawing at his stomach. His fingers twitch at his sides and he moves them to grip the handle of his satchel. “Sorry.”

You smile at him and his heart thunders in his chest. Is this how Romeo felt when he met Juliet? Or how Charles Bingley felt when he met Jane Bennett?

“It’s okay,” you told him, tucking the papers under your arm. “Don’t worry about it. So, you’re a doctor? That’s really cool!”

“Reid here got accepted into the BAU without even taking a physical exam,” Derek chimed in, practically bragging about Spencer’s intellectual prowess. “Isn’t that right, kid?”

“I’m not an athletic person,” Spencer said awkwardly, his worries dissipating when he heard you laugh good-naturedly. Regardless, he felt the urge to defend himself. “I’m not weak.”

JJ laughed along. “We know, Spencer.”

“I’m not weak… I’m not weak…”

“I don’t give a damn whether you’re weak or strong.”

Spencer barely manages to blink his eyes open as he hears the familiar timbre of Tobias’s father’s voice fill the room. He’s slowly coming down from the high of the drugs and the room spins as he does.

“Yell all you want boy,” Tobias sneers, bending down so that he’s eye level with Spencer. “Ain’t no one gonna hear you where you are.”

As if to prove his point, he begins to scream. Deep and rumbly, and it jolts Spencer back to reality. He wishes he was careful. He wishes he was with you.

***

“Tobias has dissociative identity disorder,” Garcia explains to you through the phone, and you slap a hand to your forehead.

“That makes so much sense,” You mutter to yourself, pacing around the room of the police department. “I should have seen it. It was right there in front of me and I missed it.”

Penelope hums, her voice tense with worry. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. No one knew until we started digging into the journals and cross-checking dates.”

“I know but–” You rub your eyes, cringing as stars litter your vision– “it was just so obvious. What else have you gotten?”

It has been a little over ten hours since Hotch sent you back to the police department and you haven’t gotten much sleep. You tried, you swear you tried, but every time you see the terrified face of Spencer and it makes you sick. The whiteboard in front of you is littered with different evidence files and profiles. Profiles on Tobias, profiles on the victims, geographical profiles… the list goes on.

“We know that Tobias is an addict,” Emily says. “He picked dilaudid as his poison.”

“For someone so hellbent on following the Bible, he’s incredibly hypocritical,” You say, jotting down the words onto the whiteboard.

“His personality is split into that of his father, Charles, and Raphael,” Emily continues, and you can hear the frown in her voice.

You’re about to say something when Garcia’s voice raises by an octave.

“Oh God,” she squeaks, and you can hear the clicking of keys in the background. “Morgan? Emily, get the others, oh my God!”

“What’s going on?” You demand urgently, gripping the phone tighter. “Garcia, what’s going on?”

“It’s Spencer,” her voice is hushed and far from the speaker, and your heart sinks to your stomach.

“What happened? Penelope, what happened?”

“We have to go,” she says hurriedly, and the sound of footsteps from the rest of the team fill the speaker.

“No! Wait, don’t hang—“

The sound of the prolonged dial tone echoes in your ears and you resist the urge to scream. You press the pads of your fingers to your eyes, hot tears wetting your skin. Crying will get you nowhere and you know that. You know that Spencer is holding on. He’s relying on the BAU to save him.

You gather all the available files on Charles Hankel, spreading them around the table. There’s not much to read; he’s lived a relatively quiet life. He was a farmer, his wife left him… dead end. Again. You’re at your wit’s end and you grab your keys.

“John, want to work on a federal case?” You ask, shaking your keys. The younger policeman nods eagerly and you point to the door. “Great. Let’s go.”

It’s a small country town in Atlanta. Someone has to know something, especially if Tobias was a drug abuser.

“We’re going to a few Narcotics Anonymous groups,” You explain to John who looks a little too excited to be sitting in a federal car. “Ask questions on Tobias Hankel and Charles Hankel. Someone has to know something.”

“All due respect, um, ma’am,” John stammers, and you raise an eyebrow amusedly. He coughs before continuing, “why aren’t you with the rest of the team?”

You falter, turning your attention back to the road. “They need me to work it from here. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

Two miserable hours pass by with not much luck. Two hours that could have been used for something more meaningful than asking a bunch of drugged up assholes about the UnSub. Anxiety claws at your chest again as you flick through the answers. It’s nothing you didn’t already know.

“I got something,” John says a little breathlessly, jogging back over to you.

“Yes?” You need something. Anything.

“A few sheep were stolen off of a farmer’s property,” he says, flipping through the notebook and reading off his scrawny handwriting. “Wasn’t Charles a farmer?”

“What does that have to do with–” You feel your mouth go dry and you turn to him. “Which farm?”

“Which– um…” He swallows. “Mcallister? Shawn Mcallister.”

In seconds you’re dialling Garcia again and she picks up with a trembling, “hello?”

“Is Spencer alive?” You ask firmly, slamming the car door.

“Y-Yes. He’s– it’s not good, (Y/N),” she whimpers, clicking on the keyboard. “There was another murder. Spencer had to– he had to– he had to choose who to save. The UnSub fed a video to us, (Y/N), it’s horrible.”

There was another murder? John seizes up beside you and you grimace. You keep forgetting that John is practically a kid, barely twenty-one, and he hasn’t even seen the horrors of the world yet.

“But he came back, right? To Spencer?” You ask, gripping the steering wheel tighter in an effort to keep yourself steady. “Penelope, Tobias posted a video of the latest murder, right? When was it posted?”

“9:23,” she says woefully, typing away.

“Okay, and…” you check the police radio, biting your lip nervously. “Okay, it says that the call for the murder came in at 9:04.”

There’s a little static in the background along with some shuffling before she responds. “Um… okay?”

“John, I need a map. Where’s– goddamn it– where’s the map of the area, John?!”

He fumbles, spreading the paper open. “Here!”

“That road– it’s 60 miles an hour, right? That means he needs to be–” you scribble across the map, frowning. “That’s within seventeen miles of the crime scene. There’s a farm, uh, poaching or something. Mcallister farm?”

“We’ll find something,” Penelope says quietly. “I’ll try find the farm area. He is going to be okay, I promise.”

You let out a heavy breath. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

***

The guilt alone is enough to kill him. Spencer knows that he is not at fault for this; Gideon said so. Regardless, he can’t get their faces out of his head. They were happy. What if they had kids? They were good people; they didn’t deserve to die the way they did. Spencer’s head pounds as he slumps against the chair, his breath quickening when he realises that Tobias is right there.

“Sorry, I had to leave for a while,” Tobias, the real Tobias, says quietly, strapping the belt to Spencer’s arm again.

He’s felt this so many times now. The high, and then the inevitable low. There’s no point fighting it, Spencer tries to justify, it’s biology.

“You can leave again,” he says softly, “and you can take me with you.”

“My father would be angry,” Tobias says, drawing the liquid up the syringe.

“Not if he can’t find us.”

Tobias scoffs. “He always finds me.”

“If you tell me where we are, my friends will come and they’ll save us,” Spencer pleads, trying to look him in the eye.

“We can’t be saved,” he says dismissively, flicking the syringe.

Spencer sniffles, and for a split second he feels the fear course through his veins. “We can. We can, I promise, if you tell me where we are I’ll save us both.”

“Listen to me. It’s not worth fighting.” Tobias pauses, readying the syringe. “Tell me it doesn't make it better.”

The silence that follows is humiliating. He hates the way that he isn’t fighting anymore but he can’t. It’s almost as if his body doesn’t even want to listen to him. Tobias doesn’t waste another moment and the familiar feeling of artificial ecstasy floods Spencer’s mind.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

The phrase was so unfamiliar and Spencer’s brows furrowed as he looked at you. It has been a couple weeks since you were officially indoctrinated into the BAU and he couldn’t be any happier. It felt nice to talk to someone who was his age, especially because he never really knew anyone of his age back in Las Vegas.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

You laughed and his heart fluttered in his chest. He remembered the feeling distinctly; how could he forget? The feeling is still the same now.

“I mean… tell me something not a lot of people know about you. Like… okay, I’ll go first. Um… my favourite flowers are hydrangeas. The purple ones.”

He committed that information to memory. Every year for your birthday he would buy you a new pot of hydrangeas for your apartment or something flower related like an automatic waterer or a replacement sun lamp.

“Hydrangea macrophylla,” Spencer said slowly, his cheeks flushed. “It means… gratitude, grace, and beauty. It’s fitting.”

He relished in the way your eyes lit up and the way you smiled at him. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Um… my middle name is Walter?” He chuckled awkwardly, wetting his bottom lip. “No one really calls me that, though.”

You typed something on your computer, reading out loud, “The name Walter is Germanic in origin and means ‘commander of the army’.”

His cheeks burned in embarrassment and he nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“I like it.” You grinned at him. “Walter.”

Spencer choked a little, the hairs on his neck standing on end and heat crawling up his cheeks. “You– you don’t have to call me that.”

“I won’t if you don’t like it,” you told him.

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” he said quickly, his eyes widening. “I’m just not used to it.”

He remembers the way you beamed at him and the way he felt knowing that he made you happy.

“Well then,” You began, meeting his gaze, “I guess that means I just have to call you that more often.”

Tobias’s yelling brings him back and all he can do is stare as he watches him slam on the keyboard angrily. A bright red pop up is flashing on his computer, and Tobias turns to Spencer with a murderous scowl.

“They’re trying to silence my message.”

“I can’t control what they do,” Spencer defends tearfully, his voice wavering. “I’m not with them, I’m with you.”

Tobias scoffs again. “Really?”

He types something onto the keyboard and Gideon’s face show’s up on the screen. He’s leaning towards the camera, his words a mantra that Spencer repeats in his mind.

“Reid,” the crackly audio sounds with Gideon’s voice, “if you’re watching, you’re not responsible for this, understand me? He’s perverting God to justify murder. You are stronger than him. He cannot break you.”

Tobias slams the computer off, walking back to him. “You think you can defy me?”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about–”

“You’re a liar!”

Spencer can only grimace in response, the words caught in his throat. Tobias must have been able to see something and the fear creeps into his heart again as the man lunges for his arm. Tobias forces Spencer’s sleeve up and the guilt crashes like waves.

“You’re pitiful,” Tobias sneers, “Just like my son.”

Spencer wracks out a sob, silent pleas of mercy never leaving his lips. Maybe he does deserve this. Maybe, in some sick and twisted way, the universe is out to get him for all his shortcomings. Maybe, he thinks to himself as he watches Tobias turn the camera on, maybe he does deserve to die this way.

“This ends now,” Tobias snarls. “Confess your sins.”

“No,” he whimpers.

Tobias’s fist collides with the side of Spencer’s face with a resounding slap.

“Confess!”

“I haven’t done anything…”

His fist meets Spencer’s cheek again and all he can do is recoil in his chair.

“Tobias, help me,” he manages, but his plea is shut down almost instantly.

“He can’t help you, he’s weak. Confess!” He hits him again and the pain is almost too much to bear. “Confess your sins.”

Spencer sobs. “No…”

In a fit of anger, Tobias throws Spencer to the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts as he feels the back of his head meet the cold musty ground. He can’t breathe. He feels like he’s underwater. Have to breathe, he needs to breathe, why can’t he breathe? He needs to see you again. He can’t die like this. He can’t, he can’t, he needs to breathe. He tries to take a breath of air but it’s like his mouth is full of water. And just when he thinks he reached the surface, he’s pulled under once again.

Warmth. The feeling of his blood pumping to his ears is the first thing Spencer feels and his fingers twitch. He’s alive. There’s only one reason why that must have happened.

“I was given CPR,” he rasps out, Tobias’s words swirling in his head.

“There are no accidents,” Tobias says slowly. “How many members are in your team?”

Spencer can barely whisper the word. “Eight.”

“Seven, not including you. ‘The seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound. The first sounding followed hail and they were thrown to Earth’.” He hoists Spencer’s chair upright, standing before him. “Tell me who you serve.”

“I serve you.”

“Then choose one to die.”

Spencer blanches, looking up at him. “What?”

“Your team members. Choose one to die.”

He doesn’t need to think when he responds, “kill me.”

Tobias jeers. “You said you weren’t one of them.”

“I lied.”

“Your team has seven other members. Tell me who dies.”

Spencer breathes in as if it were his last. “No.”

Tobias pulls out a revolver from his jacket pocket, spinning the cylinder before aiming it for Spencer’s head. “Choose, and prove you’ll do God’s will.”

“No.”

Tobias clicks the trigger and nothing happens so he repeats, “choose.”

“I won’t do it.”

The trigger clicks again and nothing happens. “Life is a choice.”

“No.”

Spencer’s mind is racing. His first thought goes to you. He knows you would understand any and all references he throws in your direction, but it makes him sick just thinking about putting your life on the line. He needs something. He needs to think.

“Choose.”

“I choose…” his voice stammers and he can barely see straight. “Aaron Hotchner.”

***

“We got him.”

The words echo in your mind as you pace up and down your hotel room, chewing on your destroyed nailbeds. It’s nearing two in the morning and you can’t sleep. The rest of the team are awake. Why should you be given the privilege of rest when none of them were able to? Why should you be given the privilege of rest when Spencer is out there fighting for his life? It’s not fair. Life isn’t fair.

When you hear the sirens outside you run out the door. Blood is pulsing in your ears and you’re still wearing the thin hotel slippers but it doesn’t matter. How could anything else matter? The car door clicks open and Emily helps Spencer out of the car. She whispers something to him and he looks in your direction. Those big hazel eyes stare at you with so much hurt and you can’t contain it anymore.

“Spencer.”

His arms wrap around your waist, his nose pressing against your neck as he holds you, breathing in the smell of your vanilla perfume. He almost doesn’t believe you’re real. He pulls you impossibly closer, sniffling, and he can feel your fingers run through his hair.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, trying to be reassuring, but he can hear the way your voice cracks. “You’re okay.”

“I should have listened to you,” He whimpers, feeling the cold wet rain soak through his shirt. “I should have– I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be, Walter.”

The moment he hears that name spill from your lips he begins to cry. He’s okay. He’s with you now. You’re right here.

“I thought–”

You shush him for the first and last time, squeezing his arms. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

He wonders how a person could be so warm. Even in the cold Atlanta weather you’re still so warm.

“Hotch wouldn’t let me work the case from the house,” you tell him quietly as you sit beside him on the bed. “Understandable. I screamed at him.”

He chuckles a little, flinching when you gently pull the bandage off the side of his face. He feels a lot better now that he’s clean, the shower more than necessary and he savours the feeling of warm water on his skin. The gash on his head is oozing sticky blood and you dispose of it accordingly, reaching into the first aid kit.

“It’s gonna sting a little,” you tell him, pressing a damp cloth to the wound.

He hisses at the contact, gripping your arm and he tries to change the subject. “Why did you scream at Hotch?”

You hum, continuing to clean the blood off his head. “I was mad at him.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“I know.”

You smile at him, applying a new bandage to his head. “It’s okay. I was able to help the case from here, anyway.”

“Stay with me,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. “Please?”

Your gaze softens. “Of course, Walter.”

He curls into your side, an arm wrapped around your middle and he breathes in the scent of your strawberry and honey shampoo. Your fingers curl in his hair, untangling the knots when your eyes flicker to your desk, the letter of resignation tucked inside your bag. He doesn’t need to know that. At least, not yet.

***

You knock at the door of Hotch’s office, chewing on your bottom lip. You remember being in this office for the first time four years ago when you were an intern; the way you shook with nerves and anticipation as you handed in your résumé for the honours program and then again when you were hoping to take the job full time. It’s ironic that you’re back at his office again, but for a very different reason.

“Come in.”

The breath that leaves your lips is shaky and you take a seat in front of his desk. “Hotch.”

“(Y/N).”

You place the pristine white envelope onto the desk,watching the way his face shifts from stoic to surprised.

“You don’t have to do this,” He says, not touching the envelope. “The situation at hand was stressful. No one blames you for reacting the way you did.”

“It’s not just because of that,” you say slowly. “You were right. I was too involved.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” you say quickly, a humourless laugh slipping at your words. “I would have killed him.”

Hotch looks at you, his eyes meeting yours. “You wouldn’t have.”

“I would have,” you say surely. “After what he did to Spencer, if I had found him I would have killed him. And I would have– I would have slept well. I love this team, Hotch, but I can’t separate those feelings when I’m on the field no matter how hard I try.”

He’s quiet for a moment before nodding, rising from his seat. “I’m assuming it’s a two-week’s notice?”

You nod, also getting up from your chair. “Yeah. I– I don’t want to just leave, you know?”

“We’re going to miss you,” he says, walking with you to the door, “but this will be good for you.”

“I know.” You can feel the stares of the rest of the team through the glass and you can’t help but smile. “They’re horrible at being nonchalant.”

“They’re profilers,” Aaron chuckles. “Can you blame them?”

“I guess not,” you muse, pulling the door open. “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You always have a place here, (Y/N),” he says gently as you walk back down to the bullpen.

It doesn’t take long before the overflowing dam of questions burst and in moments Emily is crossing the room and sitting next to you.

“You’re leaving the BAU?”

You look at her with wide eyes before laughing a little. “You… are very good at your job, huh?”

“Oh…” Penelope tackles you in a hug, her arms tight around your frame. “We’re going to miss you.”

JJ sniffles a little, joining the hug. “Don’t forget us.”

“As if I ever could.” A bittersweet smile rests on your lips.

Derek hugs you as well, his chin on the top of your head. “Look after yourself, kid. We’ll make these last two weeks the best you’ve ever had.”

“If you ever need anything…” Emily begins slowly, squeezing your hands. “I’m here, okay?”

Gideon pats your shoulder lightly, a sad smile on his face. “You’re a good person. Never forget that.”

You nod, trying to blink away the tears that fill your eyes. “I know. Thanks, you guys.”

The opening and shutting of the BAU doors brings you out of your thoughts and the familiar head of brown hair stalking away makes your face fall. Gideon meets your gaze, gesturing towards the door. That’s all you need to run out of the bullpen.

“Spencer– Spencer, wait, please.” You tug on his arm desperately. “Please–”

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” He asks, his voice cracking. It has only been a few days since the incident and he looks a little better. The scratches on his face are still visible, but they’re fading slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I–” you falter, flinching at the pain and hostility in his voice. “It was never a good time.”

He scoffs quietly, rubbing at his arm. “You should have told me.”

“I couldn’t just randomly tell you,” you say, frowning. “How would that be fair?”

Spencer rubs his eyes, the dark bags beneath them even more prominent. “Why are you leaving?”

“I have to,” you say gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I love this job but I can’t do it anymore–”

“Why not?!”

“Because–!” You exhale, trying to calm yourself down. “Because I swore an oath when I took this job that I will put this country above myself. And I can do that. I would die for this country to protect the people in it, I will hunt down the people who make this country so unsafe and I will sacrifice myself willingly, but you? I can’t– I can’t lose you. If I had to choose between catching the UnSub and saving you, I would save you in a heartbeat. Even if that meant letting a bad guy go. Even if that meant more people would get hurt I would still choose you and I can’t let that happen.”

Your words deem him speechless and he shifts his weight on his feet. For a moment, all he can do is stare at you as your reasoning sinks in. It makes sense. He hates that it makes sense.

“So that’s it?” He asks quietly, finally looking you in the eye. “You’re actually leaving?”

“Not for another two weeks,” you tell him truthfully. “Besides, you can still text me. And call me. You know where I live so you can always visit.”

He bites the inside of his cheek anxiously, teetering on his feet before hugging you tightly, burying his nose into your hair. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I’m going to miss you too.”

His grip is tight around you and if you paid attention you could feel him tremble. “I can’t do this job without you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You can, Walter. You’re stronger than you think you are.”

There are so many things he wishes he could tell you. You’re right here. He doesn’t have to yearn for your touch anymore because you’re right here in his arms. He wants to tell you so many things. Like how he adores the colour of your eyes, or the way you smile, or the way your hair falls. He wants to tell you how much he likes spending time with you and how he feels so good with you but he can’t. The words are at the tip of his tongue so how can he not say anything?

“I–” love you– “I’m really going to miss you.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “Me too.”

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