#I guess if I had to pick a favorite it would be dark ocean summoning though

[weird-will]

Secret 11th option, ALL OF THEM!

[doctorthreephds]

Synapses: Part 4

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 6.4k

TW: Death, sickness, blood, violence, typical Criminal Minds stuff, specifically from the episode “Amplification”

Summary: You find yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with Spencer as your relationship grows. But, the calm is just before the storm and your job puts you in more danger than you signed up for. 

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​ @green-intervention​ @eevee0722​

Spencer made it easy to fall in love. You had little knowledge of romantic relationships besides a couple of elementary and middle school “relationships” that were barely romantic, just a couple of kids attempting to find their way in the world. Your experience with relationships, in general, had been difficult. Your father was estranged growing up and your mother was loving but constantly busy with work and her duties as a diplomat. She made time for you, though, and in the end, you wish you had made more time for her. 

Death is a fickle thing, it is the only thing that makes life worth living, and yet even as a forensic scientist, you wanted to figure out how to evade it. When your mother died, your relationship with death was complicated because you felt cheated. That she deserved so many more years of life and that you should have done more to help. You know that in your heart, you feel a deep passion for Spencer, that you want to get to know him and to cherish him as he should be cherished, but death still loomed overhead and it terrified you. So you hold Spencer at an arm’s length. While he had no problem hugging you and holding your hand occasionally, you made sure he remains cordial and platonic with you. Such a task was difficult, though.

Your feet ache as you walk over to the elevator, sniffling in an attempt to calm your runny nose. Spring had officially set in and so had your allergies; it seemed as if all the pollen in the world was coming for your sinuses. Pulling out a tissue to blow your nose, you barely register Spencer standing next to you. 

“I’m going to see Ponyo in theaters tonight, it’s a limited run and they’re playing it in Japanese. You could come with me, I could even simultaneously translate it to you,” he states and you jump slightly in surprise, not having expected him to be there.

“Sounds like fun, but I desperately need Claritin and I wouldn’t want you to miss the screening,” your voice is nasal as you speak, the pressure in your head making it pound with every step you take once you exit the elevator.

“It’s no problem, we can both head home and I’ll just pick you up with my car,” he suggests, and you look over suspiciously.

“You hate driving.”

“But I’d drive for you,” you sigh as the two of you make it out of the building and start toward the metro. “I’d just really like to see it with you, I think you’d enjoy it.”

You huff as the breeze picks up slightly, hitting you with another face full of pollen. Looking over at Spencer, his eyes were bright and full of mischief. He holds onto the strap of his bag as the two of you walk down the stairs and you try your best to read his face. Only pure content and joy, oh how this man has ruined you.

“Fine. Only if you pay for dinner,” you mumble, blowing your nose into another tissue as the train approaches. 

“Of course, it’s my turn anyway,” he states, a satisfied look on his face. The two of you often paid for each other when it came to food, remaining constantly indebted to each other. But this way, you always knew he would come back. Because he owed you.

Getting home was a relief, it truly serves as a place to escape and decompress. After being stuffy all day and having to work through several reports as you reviewed the evidence and possible threats, it had truly been a test of your patience. After taking Claritin and changing into something a little more suited to the weather, Spencer arrives right on time. The rest of the night goes off with a hitch and more often than not do you find yourself looking over at Spencer as his eyes take in every single little detail of the movie. True to his word, the two of you order cheap nachos and pizza from the movie theater and munch on it during the movie. He speaks translations to you in a low whisper, adding intonation and inflection to distinguish between the characters. Spencer never ceases to amaze you and while you love Ponyo, there’s just something so alluring about watching Spencer talk about things that interest him. At the end of the movie, he continues to process and talk about every little detail left to his whim. 

“While Ponyo is essentially a movie about a child’s innocence and familial love, there is an underlying theme that comments on the pollution of our oceans, as seen in the character of Fujimoto who is afraid of humans and constantly criticizes them,” Spencer says as the two of you walk into the foyer. 

“The ramen looked amazing, though. It makes me hungry for some real food,” you state as the smell of popcorn makes you crave even more food.

“Food in film, specifically films directed by Hayao Miyazaki, are a tool to show togetherness and family as well as human nature. The details of the food tell their own story in many of the other movies. We’ll have to check them out if they even come to the theater,” he continues and you smile, shaking your head.

“Or we can just watch them at my apartment. I’ll buy the whole box set and we’ll just have a whole binge,” you tell him as the two of you make it out onto the street, walking back to his car.

“That’s also good too,” he says as you bark out a laugh. “It’s a date.”

While such trivial words shouldn’t insight fear inside of you, it doesn’t stop you from spending the rest of the night thinking about it after Spencer drops you back home. It remains in your mind the next day when you go to work and find your way to the BAU during lunch, only to find that they were called away on a case. So, the rest of the week is spent thinking about the words “it’s a date.” Obviously, he meant a physical date, like the one on a calendar. But what if he wasn’t? He hadn’t been over to your apartment before and you had never gone to his. It was like a platonic line the two of you hadn’t crossed so that your relationship would stay strictly on the down-low. What did it mean that he wanted to come over to your apartment, then? On a so-called “date?” There wasn’t even an actual day you planned to have your movie marathon on, so technically it couldn’t even be considered a date. Just a plan. 

That Friday, you were getting ready to go home and crash on the couch after ordering take out when Penelope texts you.

From Penelope (5:46 PM):

I’m gonna need some reinforcements up here, the team is just getting back.

To Penelope (5:46 PM):

Hard case?

From Penelope (5:47 PM):

Like you can’t even imagine.

Sighing, you get up out of your chair and head to the elevator, going a couple of floors up to the BAU. When you get out, Penelope stands there with a face of anticipation as she sees you walk out. 

“Oh good, they’re almost here. Spencer’s not doing too hot,” she says and you frown, turning to face the elevator.

As if they were summoned, the second elevator opens up to reveal the team in several different states of fatigue and disappointment. Spencer stands in the back, hunched over slightly as he frowns and follows the rest of them out once the doors are fully open. You smile at your dad and pat him on the shoulder as he leans down.

“The gelato place downtown is still open,” he whispers and kisses your cheek before walking into the offices. You walk in front of Spencer and gently bump into him to break him from his stupor. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” you ask and look up at him, seeing the furrow in his brow and the dark circles under his eyes that look even darker. 

“Nothing, I have to work on my reports,” he mumbles and walks past into the offices.

“Why don’t we go get food and you can come back, just to help clear your mind,” you insist, following him as he collapses into his office chair, rubbing his temples to relieve a bit of the stress built up over the past couple days.

“I have too much to work on,” he brushes you off and turns to stare at all the papers stacked up on his desk.

“You can work on them this weekend,” you state and push the spinny chair so that he faces you. “I know something is wrong, we’ve known each other for several months and I can tell when something is bothering you. Now, I’m not going to ask, but I do know that you can complete reports faster than everyone here and that you can take them home. So, I declare today backwards day. Let’s go grab some ice cream.”

You smile your biggest smile in hopes of breaking him out of his spiral and the reference to Ponyo definitely helps. He smiles slightly, although it doesn’t reach his eyes, and shoves a couple of folders into his satchel before standing.

“Lead the way,” you smile at him and loop your arm around his in hopes of helping to keep him grounded. The two of you walk out of the BAU in silence, but you can feel a change in Spencer already. Hunting the worst types of people every single day as a job constantly gets to you, especially when it comes to this team who constantly look at the mind of unidentified subjects to catch them. With your father, he deals with it through good old compartmentalization and expensive alcohol. For Spencer, you would guess it’s not as easy. His mind was endlessly thinking and analyzing so any mistake made would be remembered and replayed. The best you can do is let him know that there’s a world around him other than everything going on in his head. 

After getting on the metro, you engage in simple conversation, telling him about what you’ve had the luxury of working on and the most recent book you had been reading: The Awakening by Kate Chopin. When you see the stop for downtown, you pull him off the train and begin to walk toward your favorite family-owned gelato establishment. 

“Where are we going?” he asks, looking around at the nightlife of D.C.

“It’s a surprise,” you wink and pull him toward a small shop full of freezers filled with gelato. His eyes light up at the sight of the gaudy decorations that are over the top depictions of Florence and Rome. 

“Gelato?”

“It’s backwards day!” you remark and order a medium stracciatella. 

“I’ll get a medium mint chip,” he asks and you reach out hand over your card before Spencer can get to the cashier. 

When the both of you have your gelato in hand, you both slowly meander down the street as you devour into your delicious treat.

“Did you know that the word stracciatella comes from the Italian word ‘stracciare’ and is also the name of the famed soup that is popular in the Lazio region of central Italy? The same technique is applied to the ice cream but instead of chocolate and ice cream, it’s broth and an egg-based mixture. It’s a western variation of the Chinese egg drop soup,” he gets out before spooning some of the gelato into his mouth. You can only smile at him as you admire how beautiful he looks in the dim lighting, rambling on and effectively getting him away from the horrors of the world, even if for a moment. He continues to talk about soup and how often eastern traditions are westernized and taken over, but all you can do is stare at him and think about how head over heels you are for him. 

Perhaps it is love. But your heart is stored in a box away from harm. Its defenses were weakening, though. Every word spoken by Spencer was like a small chisel working away at the precious marble box, artistic and masterful. You love him, yet in your mind, keeping it from him meant keeping him safe. Or, keeping yourself safe.

Quiet weeks are always appreciated at the FBI. Quiet weeks for you meant simple research and few reports, just enough to keep yourself busy. Quiet weeks for the BAU were just simple consultations and writing up all their fieldwork into manageable reports. But, before a tsunami, the ocean always rears its ugly face. 

You knew something was wrong when your director called you before dawn. A shrill noise jerked you from your sleep and you pull your phone to your ear even before checking the caller.

“Agent Montgomery,” you reply groggily, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you check your digital clock.

“There’s a suspected attack, we’re sending an agent to pick you up. The FBI is under strict media blackout rules so do not inform anyone,” Director Chase states. “There’s Cipro for you on arrival.”

Your heart beats out of your chest at the mention of anthrax. You had just started college when the Amerithrax attacks happened, it had been one of the reasons you wanted to become a toxicologist. Never in your life did you ever expect to face an actual anthrax attack head-on. 

Getting ready is a blur, you pull on suitable clothes and meet the other agent when they arrive. During the drive, you are given a very quick debrief. Last night, twenty-five people checked into emergency rooms with black lesions and lung failure after they had all been at the same park after 2 p.m. The strain of anthrax used was weaponized and reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs, odorless and invisible. At the moment, there are eleven dead with the number quickly rising. All remaining patients were moved to a special wing in Walter Reed Hospital with Dr. Linda Kimura from the CDC and her team overseeing the treatment of all victims. You memorize this information and how you would apply your skills, finding any evidence and analyzing it. The thought of working with the BAU is both exciting and terrifying. Your father would be at risk, and so would Spencer. The only peace of mind is the fact that you would be working with them so any harm that comes to them would go through you first. 

Once at the Bureau, you swallow the Cipro dry and take the elevator up to the BAU where several military scientists have gathered and move around the busy offices. Your director approaches you as you enter and glance around at all the chaos.

“Dr. Kimura’s already in the conference room with Agent Jareau and Agent Hotchner. You’ll be accompanying them to any possible active sites to try and gather a sample as well as oversee the response,” he states and you nod, climbing up the stairs and trying not to throw up the pills you just swallowed. Seeing JJ and Hotch helps to ground you a little but your heart still beats quickly.

“Dr. Kimura, it’s nice to meet you,” you smile weakly and shake her hand.

“You too, I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances,” she replies and you nod, turning to look at the file full of evidence. It was unlike anything you had ever seen, less than twenty-four hours and already fourteen people were dead. 

The rest of the team shuffles in and you meet Spencer’s gaze, seeing the worry build up in his eyes like tiny storms. You were sure that your face shared the same fear. As they are debriefed, you find yourself looking through at the lesions and pictures shared, trying not to grimace at the sight. College had its fair share of gross photos, but those people were either dead or safe. Time was not your friend.

“Reid, go with Dr. Kimura and Dr. Montgomery to the hospital, interview the victims,” you tune in at your name and look up at Hotch as he delivers assignments. “There’s Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go.”

“We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something,” Dr. Kimura huffs out as she raises the tray for everyone to take.

“This is really happening?” Emily asks. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Can such a weapon be real?

“We knew this could happen. We’ve done our homework. We’ve prepared for this. This is it,” Hotch speaks the words as if they are a mantra as if the FBI knows everything. And while he’s right, the FBI does not know everything about this strain of anthrax. The unknown kills people, you just hope you can get to it before it kills more civilians. 

“Jin dan,” your father says. “May you live one hundred years.”

Your jaw clenches as you watch both your father and Spencer takes the pills. Your father is on the older side, you know that and he’s lived through a lot, but something like this would take him out in a matter of hours. And Spencer, he’s young and healthy, but this spore had killed fourteen people. What was another victim? 

As you follow Dr. Kimura and Spencer out of the conference room, your mind is full of statistics and chemical concoctions that could help you. It moves quickly and swiftly, distracting you from the escalation of the current situation.

“Why didn’t you take the Cipro?” Spencer asks as you stand in the office. 

“I took it when I arrived, I was here before you,” you respond monotonously, sighing as you turn and give him a reluctant smile. “Sorry, I’m just nervous. Never really been ‘in the field’ before.”

“You’ll be great,” he offers you a look of encouragement and squeezes your hand as you follow Dr. Kimura to the cars, waiting for Spencer as he grabs files from JJ. 

The car ride is spent talking about treatments and other specific details. You focus on trying to break down the creation of the spores as well as possible antidotes to combat it. Because there are no know samples just yet, you work through from the other angle. How does one weaponize a regular bacteria? Well, increasing its ability to quickly become activated and multiply would do the trick. To fight against it, our white blood cells would need to work just as quickly to get rid of the foreign bacteria that attacks our immune system, therefore an antidote would be able to target this bacteria and destroy it at the same rate. Just as a vaccine would. Arriving at the hospital is a bit jarring, you walk with Dr. Kimura and Spencer up to the wing where you break off and look at blood and toxin reports to fully understand what parts of the body are being attacks as well as what kind of chemicals makes up this specific toxin. 

“What’s causing her aphasia?” Spencer asks as they make their way back over to you. This piques your interest as you take notes on a separate piece of paper, jotting down everything you can think of to help understand.

“The poison is infecting the parietal lobe, impairing her speech. Some of the other patients displayed the same symptoms shortly before they died,” she states solemnly, and you sigh as you speak out.

“The only thing that can help them is if we find the antidote because unless we do a molecular analysis of the specific strain, we’re unable to understand how this works,” you grumble, the want to lash out angrily growing. “This can’t be his first attack, especially if he was a scientist. You run small trials before getting to human subjects.”

You continue to work with Spencer, sifting through ideas as Dr. Kimura makes calls and inquires about possible previous victims. It made sense in your little science brain, that one would not test on a bigger group before ensuring it was deadly with a smaller group--like vaccine or drug trials. As Dr. Kimura brings over a list of other patients, Spencer goes into another area to call the team as you cross-reference your notes with her. 

“So far, all we know is that this is anthrax. Do you think I can use blood and tissue samples in your lab for analysis? Maybe I can refine the strain and get an antidote or perhaps see how quickly it multiplies,” you ask and she nods.

“Of course,” she calls over another nurse and asks for blood and tissue samples from an already deceased victim and asks for it to be delivered to your lab.

As Spencer steps out of the closet, you look over at him and try to memorize every part of him. The revolver that sticks out of his hip, the badge, the long unruly hair, his violet shirt, just everything that makes him Spencer. Your heart was racing with nerves and all you wanted to do was take him out of harm’s way. 

“How are you feeling?” he inquires as you shake your head. 

“I feel useless. I’m no medical doctor nor am I any closer to finding the antidote,” you mumble and look up at the ceiling to try and stave off the tears. 

“You’re doing great. It’s a waiting game until we get more answers about the profile, you’re doing the best you can,” he reaches out and wraps an arm around you as you hug him, sighing as you deeply inhale his cologne. 

“Yet my best can’t stop all these people from dying,” you look over at the young girl that Spencer was talking to, watching as every breath in her lungs feels like the last. 

“You’re one person. And I know that when it gets down to it, you’ll be brilliant,” the two of you pull away slightly and you look up at him, your noses almost touching. You could kiss him right now if your lives weren’t being threatened, but the voice of Dr. Kimura breaks the two of you apart. 

“How’s she doing?” Spencer asks as the three of you walk over to the window, Dr. Kimura pulling up her charts.

“She’s a fighter. She’s held on this long because she’s young and strong. But she’s started to bleed into her lungs,” Dr. Kimura states and you stare through the glass, wanting to will this young girl to live. 

“One of four left,” you mumble and look over at Spencer. 

“We’re running into another problem. When next of kin have questions, what do we tell them about cause of death?” you look back through the glass as you ponder another unanswerable question. 

Once the samples are ready, you and Spencer go down to the hospital lab where you try to isolate the spore in each of the samples and look at them underneath the microscope as well as streak them on Petri dishes. Spencer helps with tools and supplies so you aren’t running around, but the most that the microscope tells you is that it is anthrax and the dishes won’t be ready for analysis any time soon because they need to incubate. Once done, you clean and sterilize everything before sitting down on one of the chairs and looking up at the fluorescent lights of the hospital.

“This is useless,” you mutter and shake your head.

“No, it’s not. They’re delivering the profile right now and then we’ll be able to find a suspect,” Spencer tells you as you look over at him, a small smile on your face. 

“Are you always this optimistic, Dr. Statistics?” you ask as he chuckles.

“No, because I’m usually running and forming statistics, but you distract me enough from the looming threat of death,” your eyes widen as he speaks as you let out a short laugh before his phone begins to ring. The conversation is short, but you gather that you finally have a suspect worthy of bringing in.

“That was Morgan, we’re going to a suspect’s house. His name is Dr. Lawrence Nichols and he tried to lobby for money to fund his anthrax preparedness plan but failed because it wasn’t feasible,” he says as the two of you grab your things and make your way down to the bottom floor, Derek meeting you as the three of you take off toward his house. He fills you in on Dr. Nichols’ past, his adamancy about wanting all families to have protection against anthrax as well as his inevitable job termination. Your hands shake with nerves as you think about having to be around people, specifically people that could potentially pose a threat to your life. This wasn’t what you did, nor was it who you were. You were far out of your comfort zone, but at least you could be helpful instead of sitting around in a lab. 

The three of you wait outside the small suburban house, waiting as the hazmat team goes through and ensures that there are no traces of anthrax that could threaten your life. 

“This guy just had people over for a charity event last month,” Derek states and you look over at the house, it was painted a robin blue. You would never suspect a serial killer to live in such a normal house. 

“We should probably take a look around anyway,” Spencer suggests as the three of you head toward the garage and behind the house. 

You stayed quiet and observed from a scientific view, looking over at the rose bushes and reaching over to touch the delicate flower. Though even the most beautiful flowers have thorns and you wince as a sharp point pricks your finger. Following Spencer, you stick the finger in your mouth to get rid of the blood. 

As you maneuver around the many plants, Derek’s phone rings and he puts Penelope on speaker as Spencer listens in. You, on the other hand, continue to look around for any evidence pointing toward him being the suspect. Perhaps a lab of some sorts. As you enter the smaller building behind the house, you instantly see the makings of a lab with the fumes hood and the surplus of beakers and Petri dishes. Stepping into the lab, your heart jumps in your chest when you see a shattered test tube on the floor with white powder. 

Behind you, Spencer calls out your name and you rush over the door to close it, the chill of the air conditioning blasting behind you.

“Spencer, get back! Get back right now,” you fumble with the lock, shutting yourself into the lab with the vial. 

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” he asks and pushes against the door.

“No, please, Spencer. Get away from the door,” you beg, tears forming in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? Open the door,” he persists as he stares at you through the glass. Was it enough? Was he infected? You couldn’t know for sure. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you mutter, a tear dripping down your cheek as you step back from the door. 

“Kid, what’s going on?” you hear Derek call out from behind Spencer as he backs up from the door.

“Call Hotch. Call an ambulance. Call everyone,” he tells Derek as the fear fills your veins. Your hands are so cold, why are they so cold? Spencer’s sweet voice isn’t enough to talk you down from the anxiety building up. This was the tsunami and you were caught in the tidal wave.

Spencer stands away from the door as you wrap your arms around yourself, staring silently out at him. Your phone rings as he calls you and you put it on speaker. 

“Tell me what’s going on, everyone’s on their way. You need to describe everything to me,” you can see Spencer’s mind going a million miles an hour and you could see the blame he put on himself. This wasn’t him, this was all you. At least you were right about anthrax getting through you before it did him.

“There’s a body here, I think it’s Nichols, and he’s dead. There’s also a tube that’s shattered. It’s full of white powder, I’m pretty sure it’s anthrax--Spencer,” you pause, staring straight at him. “I don’t want to die, please I’m so scared.”

You hear all the sirens as they approach and you shake your head, more tears falling down your cheeks.

“Sh, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he says and you can see that all he wants to do is wrap his arms around you. “This is where you can help, remember? It’s your turn to be the hero.”

You look up to him, the tears blurring his figure as you wipe them from your cheeks, nodding. 

“You’re right,” you mumble and take a deep breath before beginning to go through the lab. “You’re right.”

First, the body. 

Reaching down, you feel the skin of Dr. Nichols and see the blue-ish tint to his skin as well as the way his blood has pooled. He appears to be dead at least for a day or two, Livor mortis has already set in.

“Spence, he’s been dead for maybe one to two days. Blunt force trauma to his head,” you say just as Hotch and another man join Spencer and Derek. 

“Doctor, we need to get you to the hospital,” Hotch speaks and you shake your head.

“No, I can help. I’m the only one who can work the case here. I’m already exposed, there’s nothing they can do but give me morphine. I can do this,” you state and turn to the lab, looking around for any important information.

“Just get out of there, you need to go to the hospital,” Spencer insists as you continue to search his desk.

“She’s already infected. Now if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure,” the general says and you grab the papers off his desk, reading through his notes. 

“If I’m in here, I can find the cure, or I can make it. If I figure out how he made this strain then I can make the antidote with his notes,” you reply, hearing Spencer sigh with exasperation. “I can also try to see who killed Dr. Nichols, the answer is in here somewhere.”

“Say something to her, order her. She can’t stay in there,” Spencer’s voice cracks and you shake your head, now was not the time to get distracted.

“She’s right, her best chance is to be inside,” Hotch replies and you set your phone down as you read through his writing. “We’re gonna get a suit and mask in to you right away.”

“Don’t bother, I’m already infected,” you mumble and break apart all his lab reports. 

“Your dad is going to kill me,” Hotch tells you and you sigh, shaking your head. 

“He does his job, I do mine.”

Your mind reels at the information, but you force yourself to focus and read through the reports and how Dr. Nichols managed to make such a potent spore. In your mind, your best bet is a combination antibiotic and antibody treatment to combat the toxins and ensure that any remaining bacteria is killed off.

“I think there was a struggle, there’s glass spread out and clutter all over,” you tell them, looking around and finding another desk in the corner. “There’s also another desk in the corner that’s smaller and organized. It appears there are two sets of handwriting as well as instructions on how to sterilize and transfer spores.”

“Nichols would know all that,” the general states. 

“He has a partner, maybe even a protege,” Spencer suggests as Hotch and the general run off to go follow that lead. Your phone begins to vibrate and you see that your father is calling you. Picking up, you put the phone to your ear.

“Papa, I’m so sorry,” you mumble, feeling the tears well up once more. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sh, piccolo. This is not your fault. How are you doing?” he asks and you inhale deeply, beginning to feel sharp pains in your chest. 

“I’m fine. I’m working,” you let out a sad laugh and shake your head. “I’m scared.”

“You’re going to be okay,” he tells you and he says it with such conviction that you almost believe him.

“If I’m not--”

“Don’t talk like that,” he cuts you off and you shake your head, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“If I’m not okay, I just want to tell you that you were the best dad in the whole world and that I love you so much. I’ll tell mom ‘hi’ for you,” you hold in a sob as he begins to protest. “I love you.”

You hang up the phone and sob into your hand, breathing in as deeply as possible to try and stay afloat. Quickly, you call up Penelope as something crosses your mind.

“Hey, you,” Penelope mumbles solemnly.

“No funny quip?” you bite your lip nervously as she sighs.

“I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are,” she says.

“Hey, Penny. Do you think you can record something for me?” you ask, glancing out the window to where Spencer is staring in.

“Anything,” you hear her type. “Alright, you’re good.”

“Hey, Spence,” you bite back another sob as it shakes through your chest. “This isn’t how I intended for you to hear this, but here it goes. I love you. So much. And I’m such a coward for not saying it to your face, but, if I’m gone then I want you to know that your brain and your smarts are so incredible, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I love you so much.”

A woman in an orange suit steps into the room and you quickly hang up your phone, smiling at Dr. Kimura.

“Dr. Montgomery,” she says as does her best to walk in the suit.

“You look nice,” you say and let out a shaky laugh. “How is everyone else doing?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she states and you nod as Spencer calls you back. You answer and put him on speaker. 

“Hey, it’s me and Garcia,” he tells you as a tickle in your throat bubbles up and makes you cough. “I think the cure is in there somewhere. Dr. Nichols was a former military scientist so he’s secretive and paranoid. Prentiss and Rossi don’t think the partner was a coworker.”

“Can you look for the cure while I help them?” you ask Dr. Kimura and she nods as you look around the room. “I’ve been through everything, Spence.”

“I know you’re not thinking straight,” his voice cracks. “But, we need you.”

 You clear your throat and nod.

“You’re right,” you rush over to his desk and look through his items. “There’s a picture of him teaching and a syllabus.” 

You think back to the instructions and think for a moment.

“Hold on,” you run over to the other desk and look at the content. “It’s a student, it has to be if he went through the trouble of writing lab procedures.”

Picking up the thick stack of paper, you instantly recognize it as some sort of thesis. Years of curating your own, you would never forget it. 

“A thesis, his partner was a doctoral student,” sweat drips down your hairline as you sift through the papers.

“He wouldn’t have let just anyone in there so perhaps he opened his lab to a student,” Spencer formulates as you read through the paper. “Check the sciences.”

“Uh, cross-checking with names of former employees or customers with grievances at the bookstore.” Penelope types away at her keyboard as you read through the paper, it mentions things like preparedness and less about the spores itself as well as scientific findings. “Nothing, my doves.”

“This doesn’t sound like a science student, this is all about city preparedness, and response,” you cough and try not to stress about the taste of blood in your mouth. 

“Check the social studies,” Spencer states. “Public policy, urban planning.”

“Hot to trot. There’s a Chad Brown, School of Public Policy at U. of M. matches a Chad Brown, former employee at the book front. I’ll tell Hotch,” Penelope hangs up as you stifle another cough, the pain in your chest worsening.

“You did it, now get out of there,” Spencer says and you turn to Dr. Kimura as you let out another cough. Blood splatters on your hand and you wipe it on your pants.

“You said the cure would be hidden somewhere we wouldn’t suspect. What about Nichols’ inhaler?” she walks up with the inhaler as you put Spencer on speaker. 

“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you out here,” he says and you hang up as the two of you walk out of the lab and into the tent where people are ready to spray you down. You let the tears flow freely now that you’re out and the water rolls over you in an attempt to get rid of all the powder that might have stuck. Spencer is outside the tent speaking to Hotch and your father as you get naked and hosed down. Once they’re finished, you’re toweled down and put into a gown as you get on the gurney and are wheeled off to the ambulance. 

“Hey, you,” you mutter weakly to Spencer as he walks alongside you. Another cough bursts out of your chest.

“I’m seeing you off to the hospital, the team doesn’t need me,” he states and you nod, taking his hand as they get you into the ambulance. There is a sharp pain in your lungs every time that you move and you cough up blood more and more. The lights in the ambulance are too bright and you feel so hot as Dr. Kimura places her stethoscope on your chest.

“How are you feeling, Dr. Montgomery?” she asks as you fail to hold back another cough.

“I’m obey,” your eyes widen as the words in your head fail to come out of your mouth. “Obey. I fleel fin.”

Your eyes water as you look over at her and then at Spencer who watches you in terror. 

“Okay, that’s okay,” she mutters to you before calling out to the driver. “Driver, faster.”

The sound of your heart beating echoes in your head is nausea and dizziness loom over you, making you close your eyes. All the sounds, including Spencer who seems to be calling out to you, dissipate as you drift off into the darkness. At least he would know. 

[danse-or-farkas]

Interview Meme

Rules

1. Choose an OC.

2. Answer them as that OC.

3. Tag 5 people to do the same.

tagged by @avaleon and i’m not putting it off for a week for once.

1. What is your name?

“Adrian. Of Jehenna” He doesn’t give his actual family name.

2. Do you know why are you named that?

“Its an old Imperial name. Roughly translates to Dark Sea. I suspect it was a thinly veiled reference to the Sea of Oblivion.” He smiles fondly. “It was Kodlak that gave me the ‘of Jehenna’ part.”

3. Are you single or taken?

“Taken.”

4. Have any abilities or powers?

“Fus. Next question.”

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

“Never been called that before. Once had a soldier call me his commanders name, but never Mary Sue.”

6. What’s your eye color?

“Probably blue. Hard to tell with the light. Mer blood does that. My brother has it worse, his are Altmer yellow and glow very brightly compared to mine.”

7. How about your hair color?

“Black.”

8. Have any family members?

“My Brother Gero, wherever he has gotten himself. My uncle Armadeo. And my other uncle Adrian, who I am not named after surprisingly, and his husband who I have yet to meet.”

9. Oh? How about pets?

“No, but I sometimes have a very big dog in our quarters.” Adrian tries not to grin like a fool, clearly enjoying a private joke.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like?

“Blackbriar. The mead or Maven, both are bitter and don’t agree with me.”

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

“I read. I’m kept far too busy to really pick anything else up.”

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

“Should I make a list?”

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

“Yes.”

14. What kind of animal are you?

“Does dragon count? If not I would say lizard, but that sounds like it might be offensive to Argonians.”

15. Name your worst habits?

“I’ve been told to stop summoning Durnehviir to escape awkward situations.” Adrian clearly has no intention of answering truthfully. “Also the appropriate response to being insulted for being a mage isn’t to lower the temperature of the room to freezing with magic. Its to rearrange their face with my fists. Or a knife if its Aela telling me to do it.”

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

“Every Nord I know is taller than me so I have to look up a lot. My far ancestors are the Nedic people and the Altmer, both absurdly tall races, and somehow that didn't make its way down the bloodline to me.”

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

“Gay.”

18. Do you go to school?

"Various tutors in my early youth.”

19. Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

"I think I might be already. Some Nords follow the Old Ways were the promise to stay together forever is as good as a Temple wedding. I have no idea if Farkas does or doesn't, and I don’t want to ask just in case we are married and I hurt his feelings by not knowing we are.”

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

"Every bard between Solitude and Windhelm. They never stop playing that damned song. Its my own fault really, but I can’t make them stop just yet.” His expression stiffens for a moment, his stance shifting to one more severe and less relaxed before slipping back to his usual slouch.

21. What are you most afraid of?

“Helgen.” His tone is oddly final about that.

22. What do you usually wear?

“Whatever is to hand. Loose tunics, leather armour, preferably just a layer of wolf fur.” There is that smile there again.

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

“Any dessert that Tilma makes successfully.”

24. Am I annoying to you?

“I had to bunk with the Whelps. Months of that will give you a phenomenal tolerance for irritation.”

25. Well, it’s still not over!

“What a surprise.”

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

“Noble born. Dragonborn now.”

27. How many friends do you have?

“The Companions, one and all. Even the Whelps.”

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

“Tilma bakes the best pie crust I have ever tasted. Meat, fruit, honeyed cream, all come out amazing in her hands.”

29. Favorite drink?

“According to Aela its milk. I don’t even drink milk.”

30. What’s your favorite place?

“Jorrvaskr.”

31. Are you interested in anyone?

“A little past interested at this point.”

32. That was a stupid question…

“One of many thus far.”

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

“Neither. Have you looked at the Padomaic Ocean? There are chunks of ice the size of Windhelm floating in it. As for lakes, Slaughterfish and Mudcrabs.”

34. What’s your type?

“Tall, scruffy, kind, nice eyes, kinda hairy, good with a sword.” It is clear he is describing Farkas.

35. Any fetishes?

Adrian gently lowers his collar. His neck is so bitten and marked it looks more like he somehow survived being hanged.

36. Camping or outdoors?

“No. Skyrim is too cold for both, not counting the bears and dragons. Bears are worse, Dragons at least respect when I tell them to go away.”

[theitalianalchemist]

Is it Love... or Pity?

Word count: 1460

Warnings: Nightmares, mild anxiety attacks, a little bit of Deceit

Summary: We read Logan and Roman's side, now let's read Patton and Virgil's side of the story of the day.

A/N: This is the flip side/continuation of "Random Question" but it can be read alone. This is "Roman" longer that the first one. 😎 It can also be read on AO3.org if you want to read it on there.

That night Virgil actually got a decent amount of sleep alone in his room. Patton gave him a rather large baby seal plushie for when they weren’t able to snuggle with each other. So when he woke up and went into the kitchen that day, he had his jacket around his waist instead of completely on and the plushie in his arms.

“Good morning, Virge,” Patton said calmly with a huge smile on his face, “I’m sorr-.”

Virgil raised his hand for Patton to stop before saying, “Pat, there is no reason to apologize, you were just getting off of a cold that was bordering the flu. It’s perfectly fine, besides, Jacob here helped me last night.” He smirked lightly while lifting it up.

Patton put down the spatula he was using to cook breakfast. “You really love that plushie, don’t you?” he giggled.

“Yeah, but it will never beat the warmth of laying next to you,” Virgil had placed the toy on the kitchen table and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, “I mean it, Patton.” He kissed the other trait on the cheek before resting his head on their shoulder.

Patton kissed Virgil’s hair before going back to making breakfast. “It’s almost done, do you want to go wake up Roman and Logan for me?” he asked his boyfriend.

“No need for me, I’m already here,” Logan replied which made Virgil jump a little away from Patton.

“Oh, hey, Logan,” Virgil said before taking a calming breath to cease the racing of his heart.

“I apologize, Virgil, I did not mean to scare you,” Logan replied before going to make himself a cup of coffee, “did you sleep adequately last night?”

“Y-yeah, I did actually, it wasn’t the best amount of sleep but it was more than I used to get.”

“That is excellent to hear, and how about you, Patton?”

“I’ve had better honestly, but it wasn’t the worst night for me,” Patton told him, “besides, I know tonight will be better.”

“Oh, and why is that, Patton?”

“Cause I’ll be with my favorite snuggle buddy tonight,” Patton beamed before giggling when he noticed a small blush appear on Virgil’s face.

“I-I’m gonna go get Roman,” the anxious side said quickly before grabbing Jacob and leaving the kitchen. All of this made Patton giggle again before dishing out breakfast.

--

In the afternoon Patton and Virgil were snuggling together while watching Winnie the Pooh. Virgil had his head resting on Patton’s shoulder while the latter Side had his arm wrapped gently around his boyfriend.

Even though he had a good night sleep, Virgil was comfortable to the point of falling asleep on Patton’s shoulder. Patton noticed with a slight giggle before gently moving Virgil’s head to his lap and running his fingers through the anxious side’s hair.

-

Virgil was calmly, floating in his dream before trying to move around. He found that on his back was a pair of silverish wings that were completely in his control.

These look more like something Romano would have, he thought with a smirk. He gently flapped them once to test their strength before making them extend and actually flying.

It felt amazing to Virgil. Normally he would be freaking out about the height if he saw the ground. Even though he couldn’t see anything around he could feel the wind on his face and going through his hair.

To his left Virgil saw a small gentle light, he didn’t know what it was so the side cautiously flew towards it to investigate. As he got closer, a world started to appear around him. Green filled Virgil’s vision before it formed into trees and fields and an ocean not too far away from him.

His anxiety started to rise when he saw how high he was, but the side was able to calm down before it affected Thomas.

Ok, it’s fine, you’re fine,” he whispered out loud and continued to fly.

Are you sure though? He heard something ask him. Are you sure that you’re going to be alright?

He whipped his body around, making him a little dizzy, and quickly checked to see what was talking to him. Virgil couldn’t see anything except small orbs of light.

Do they even like you?

Are you making them scared?

You’re rubbing off on them.

“No I’m not,” Virgil said sharply, “Patton loves me and I love him.”

Are you sure it’s love…

Or is it pity?

The orbs continued whispering to him and, unknowingly to Virgil, they were getting closer until they engulfed him completely.

He could see nothing but the bright light and it was over stimulating, his heart-rate picked up and his breathing became shallower. The anxious side tried to steady his breathing but no matter what he did, it just got worse.

"Nononononononono,” he shook his head, “you need to stay calm for Thomas. Just wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!”

-

Virgil shot up into a sitting position, barely registering that his legs were over the arm of the couch. Patton warned him quietly before giving Virgil a hug and running his fingers through the Anxious side’s hair.

“C’mon let’s go upstairs,” Morality whispered and gently led him up the stair and towards Virgil’s room.

“N-no,” Virgil stopped before they arrived at the dark colored door, “n-not th-there.” He led Patton passed it and into a different door.

It opened to reveal a dark room with a couch, bed, small tv, and a lot of plushies. Without saying another word, Virgil sat down on the bed and hugged Jacob the baby seal plushie that he summoned from his room.

“What is this place, Virgil?” Patton asked while sitting down next to his partner and gently hugging him.

“A version of my dream space,” the other answered quietly, “I used to come here a lot when you guys hated me. It was one, if not the only, place where I could escape the voices in my head.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Patton whispered, “and I never hated you.” He pulled Virgil closer and kissed his head.

Next thing both of them knew, a loud noise sounded through the still open door, making both of them jump and Virgil let out an equally loud noise that sounded like a cat’s yowl.

“Do the breathing exercise, Sweetie, in for 4, hold for 7, and out for 8,” Patton told him and counted off each time. It took a few minutes but Virgil calmed down again.

“Thank you, Patton,” Virgil whispered after a little bit, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Virge,” Patton replied before asking, “do you want to talk about what you dreamt. You don’t have to but I think it might help.”

“I-it’s fine, it didn’t scare me as much as it looked like.” Right outside the door a shadow appeared and let out a hiss, making Virgil stiffen up.

“Virge,” Patton gently grabbed his partner’s chin and turned his face to look at him with a gentle smile, “you know how I feel about lying.”

Tears started falling down Virgil’s face, stained by the eyeshadow under his eyes. “I-I’m sorry, P-Patton,” he whispered. He recalled all that he could remember of the dream. The wings, the flying, and the orbs of light, but hesitated about what the orbs said.

“Patton… do you actually love me or is it just pity?”

“Of course I love you and no it isn’t pity love or fatherly love. My love for you is pure and true.”

Virgil smiled and cupped Patton’s cheek before closing the distance between them a little bit. “Can I?” he asked.

“Always.”

Virgil closed the gap completely and pressed his lips against Patton’s lightly. Patton deepened it a little bit before they broke apart and rested their foreheads against each other.

The fatherly side giggled lightly before relaxing into the bed. “I think we’ve deserved a nap now and a cookie afterwards,” Patton told Virgil, “and don’t worry, I’ll be right here holding you the whole time.”

“Thank you, Pat,” Virgil kissed his boyfriend on the cheek before completely snuggling against him.

About half an hour later, Roman and Logan finally found the room the other two sides were in. “Well, this explains why we couldn’t find them, though what is this place?” Roman asked.

“If I were to take a guess, this is either Patton or Virgil’s dream space, but I am not entirely sure about that,” Logan responded with a small smile.

“Well, it looks like Virgil is alright, so we can let them take a nap for now.”

“Agreed.”

The logical and creative sides shut the door so that it was slightly ajar and left the other two to sleep after the scare earlier.

[langwrites]

Tagged By: @fanfiction-by-abalisk, @owlsofstarlight

Rules: List the first lines of your last 15 stories (or chapters). See if there are any patterns. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

This is gonna be a mix of Catch Your Breath, Ocean Stars Falling, and more than one work in progress. They’re in (approximately) reverse order.

Starting off interplanetary diplomacy by shooting one of the natives in the face, Daniel thought, has to be a new low. And then he remembered the entire rest of the SG-1 mission history, stampeding across his mind’s eye view like the running of the bulls, and had to admit that it wasn’t even in the top ten. With as many encounters with the System Lords as the plucky Planet That Could had, it probably didn’t make the top fifty. (CYB/SG-1: Cold-Calling)

So, the Uchiha clan. The powder keg of Konoha as a whole, and historically in charge of the police force or as near as they could get, with the membership numbers they had. (CYB)

Fū sighed. "Chōmei? Chōmei, you can stop laughing any time now." (OSF: All the Little Children)

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear, I hummed to myself as I headed to the village gates. Unheard by anyone but my literal inner demon, the words went on, Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, how do you measure—measure a year? (CYB)

Kuromushi and Komushi kept our group out of trouble for the next few days. More trouble, anyway. (OSF)

“Is this a thing?” Gaara asked, as he and Naruto swayed in time with the terribly off-key sea shanties being sung by the Whitebeard Pirates. “Until I got here, I didn’t think ‘drinking contests’ were real. Only Zoro and Nami ever do it.” (OSF: Ninety-Nine Bottles)

Kushina’s first thought upon waking up at sea was pure confusion. The calls of gulls tugged at her memory, drawing her up and into a sitting position from the...deck? The wind ruffled her hair and nightgown in a way that seemed familiar, but from ages ago. From when she was still small enough that Auntie Mito could pick her up and set her on her lap to talk about the future. (OSF: Better Red than Dead)

"Now, what happens next?" asked Hancock. Utakata peered down at her notebook, then said, "Step three should be to make chocolates, I think." (OSF)

Kei stared out at the open sea, from her place on the deck. Often, she’d found herself walking through the same mental checklist that anyone in an unfamiliar location would, starting with the obvious questions like “What happened?” and “Where am I?” Today, she skipped the second question, figuring that it could effectively be answered by the first and that she was alive anyway. That sole, absolute fact meant the rest of the situation would be dealt with shortly. (OSF: Damsel in Distress)

Marineford was a nice place. Large, dignified, polished…brimming with eager soldiers of all ranks and plenty of guns pointed toward the sea. Battleships bristled with cannons and the sound of human activity carried along the wind and up through the island’s structure. The sea breeze on the edge of the Tarai Current was refreshing, particularly after days of travel to reach this particular, fortified spot. The base buzzed with nervous energy as the garrison prepared for a war that could shake the very foundations of the world. Almost literally, when one accounted for the possible presence of a master of the Gura Gura no Mi. The Marines were ready. The war would not find them wanting. (OSF: On the World Stage)

Later that night, after a shower on the Thousand Sunny, I ended up having to fall back on a tank top and shorts that I didn’t remember acquiring, since everything else was either in need of a wash or a patch job given the events of the past week. Given that my hair was already a complete disaster on the best of days, I flattened my bangs back with a borrowed bandanna. I wasn’t sure if I had completed my transformation into a beach-combing tourist, but it was too dark for sunglasses. Nonetheless, I headed up to the deck of the Sunny to see what was going on. (OSF)

Isobu's Reverse Summoning Jutsu took us outside of the prison in a single mind-bending leap through space-time, and the four of us in my group landed in his hand some fifty feet away from the front gates of Impel Down. Isobu, it seemed, had managed to not just get to the surface in time to accommodate us, but also put himself in the best position to help anyone still stuck in the prison. Sure, he probably didn't care about most of them, but Gaara was already making a sand bridge stretching from the Thousand Sunny back toward the prison. Seemed like Chōmei had managed to get the ship clear after all. (OSF)

Miyako knows the exact second that the mission goes to hell. (CYB: The Canine Warriors)

Yatsu has been awake since four in the morning. He doesn’t especially want to be, but between his duties to the main house and his lousy sleeping habits, he’s awake long before his alarm clock twitches to life. He doesn’t have time to lie on his futon and laze about when the work of the household always needs doing. (CYB: The Canine Warriors)

Level Five was, true to its "Freezing Hell" moniker, cold enough to give the Land of Snow a run for its money. I'd never been to the Land of Snow personally, though some of Kakashi's ANBU missions (that I wasn't supposed to know about) had taken him out there more than once. What little I was allowed to learn about the country painted a picture of endless snowfields, mountains, intermittent tundra, and a shinobi population that was all too well-adapted for their environment. Their chakra armor ran off of high levels of ambient energy, making them effectively immune to the cold and annoyingly hard to kill unless the cores on the suits were cracked first. That was the extent of my knowledge. (OSF)

Sorta broke the rules and just posted the opening paragraph for the most part. I seem to like starting with a brief recap, just enough exposition to set the scene, or else with in medias res dialogue to start chapters. I guess I have more variety than I thought I did?

I’m just gonna tag @tsume-yuki and @ladynorbert since I think everyone else has already been tagged or tagged me. Have fun!

[toogaytowrite]

Bad People

“You thought we would get a divorce and you didn't think for a moment what an awful person that makes you." TW: dubious consent, emotional manipulation and abuse, choking, Joseph is a bad person //

For the most part, things were painfully amicable. It felt like things should be different. When Joseph offered Jean to basically be his mistress (what would a male mistress even be called? A mister? No, that sounded weird... a cuckhold? Was he being a cuckhold?) he had blanched at the idea. It didn't feel quite right. Then again, sleeping with a married father of four had never really felt right. Didn't feel wrong; not exactly. Nothing with Joseph ever felt wrong. The only thing that ever felt even the slightest bit “wrong” about Joseph was the way his wedding ring would press against the webbing of Jean's fingers when he pinned his hand against the sheets. That felt intrusive, jarring, and images of Mary's miserable face glaring at him over the rim of a wine glass came unbidden to his mind, but even then, he could move past it. Sometimes he wondered if it was evil of him to move past it. Ever since Amanda had left for college, he'd spent nights alone staring through the television, his favorite shows little more than white noise to fill a suddenly unbearably empty house, pondering this. What made him worse; fucking a married man and feeling guilty about the pain he was knowingly putting his wife through, but putting her through it anyway, or simply not thinking about her at all? Maybe he deserved to think about that every time they touched.

The fact that Joseph invited him over to the house all the time did nothing to assuage his conscience. Jean stood in that house, amid the family he was actively coming between, and made brownies with Christie. He soothed Chrish when he cried and even got Chris to say more than two words to him. Not <i>many</i> more, but some. Even so, kids, especially Joseph's kids, were smarter than people gave them credit for. Jean couldn't help feeling like they knew. It made the everyday tasks of a happy family tense, he spent most of his time in that house picking at his nail beds and sucking on the wounds where the skin would split. Every family photo and child's toy reminded him that this place, where he felt he should be, where he was needed and wanted, was a place he didn't belong.

Mary was never there. That made things a little easier for him. The few times they'd passed on the street were far from confrontations, yet still left him with knots in his stomach. Hanging off Robert's arm outside of a bar, she simply narrowed her eyes at him, tipping her head up in a minor acknowledgment of his presence. Robert, on the other hand, did everything to avoid his eyes.

The whole thing was confusing. It was what he wanted, to be with Joseph was all he really wanted, and he had that. With it came all the insecurities and late nights spent staring at the ceiling and the questions. Only one question, really. Only one that mattered.

“Am I a bad person?”

Jean observed the layers of band-aids wrapped around his torn nail beds, stretched his fingers out against the flour strewn counter top, curled them back into his palm. Joseph's hand slid over his and he felt that ring, that small reminder, that thin piece of gold that stood out and kept Joseph's fingers from interlocking perfectly with his. That thing that came between them.

“What are you talking about? You're amazing. You're kind, you raised a fantastic daughter in a loving home, you make the best brownies.” His other hand traced the curve of Jean's cheeks and urged his head to turn towards him. He felt the coarse flour covering Joseph's otherwise soft fingers brush against his skin. He stared at his shoulder, unable to bring himself to look higher. He remembered the photo in the yacht's cabin. He remembered how happy Robert looked in the sweater adorning Joseph's shoulders like a hunter's prized pelt. How dark his eyes looked when he saw the two of them together.

If Joseph was as bad a person as he seemed to think, maybe they really did deserve each other. Maybe the married man keeping a lover on the side was as fucked up a person as the man putting himself in between a family.

“What brought this on?” Joseph asked. Jean swallowed but something was stuck in his throat.

He hadn't really meant to say it. It just came out. “I'm not sure. Thinking about it I guess.”

“Aren't you happy? The last thing in the world I want is for you-”

“I'm happy,” Jean said, unconvincingly. He <i>was</i> happy with Joseph, more than he had been in months. If he were being honest with himself, Joseph made him happier than he had been since Alex's death. Amanda was the best thing that ever happened to him, but she couldn't fill that empty space left behind by the loss of a spouse. Joseph could, he did, he had been, in as much a capacity as he was capable of.

He smiled in a way that highlighted the dimples in his cheeks, one more perfect feature of a man with seemingly no flaws. That was the reason Mary was even still around, wasn't it? So it looked like Joseph had no flaws.

He pulled Jean in and kissed his forehead. “You're a good man. Don't doubt that.”

They finished baking in near complete silence, Joseph throwing him worried side-eyes now and again, but speaking little of the matter. The next morning, after another night of contemplation and booze, more booze than he ever drank alone, he awoke to a message.

From Joseph:

Margarita Zone?

Attached was a photo of a sign with those words written in chalk and strung up with lights, sat against a table with the high shelf tequila and triple sec he always bought. Beyond it was the sea stretching out past the horizon, and he knew exactly where Joseph wanted to meet him.

Jean did the bare minimum in human upkeep (a smudge of deodorant under each arm and a lackluster mouth sweep with a dry toothbrush and a swig of bourbon for mouthwash) and left the house in a jacket and sweat pants. Craig had bought them for their exercise sessions, but they had yet to see the inside of a gym. Jean hadn't really left the house much in the past few weeks. On the drive over, he tried not to think about how the innocent concept of a place where your troubles drifted away had been twisted into a code word for “come fuck on my yacht because I have just enough respect for my wife that I don't want to screw you in our marital bed in the house we raised our kids”. He flexed his fingers around the steering wheel until he stretched far enough he could feel the mending skin beneath the band-aids crack and bleed again.

It was overcast by the time he arrived. The beautiful skyline of oranges and yellows in Joseph's message (his summons, Jean thought with a bitterness he couldn't pretend he didn't feel) was now an ocean of reflected rain clouds and a steady breeze had kicked up. The boats in the marina bobbed with the upset waves that lapped at the docks. The motion made him sick if he stared at them too long. The St. Peter was no better once he climbed aboard, and he had to hold onto the railing to keep himself from falling when a particularly hard gust sent waves rolling underneath them. It wasn't like it had been the first time. “You never forget your first,” he'd told him, in that casual tone that permeated all of their witty repertoire. Remembering all the things he'd said back then left a sour taste in his mouth.

He emerged from the cabin, beaming, but holding back, hesitant to offer Jean much more than a polite greeting. “Weather called for rain, guess I should have listened.” He gestured to the dark clouds above them. “Now we pay the price of my hubris.”

“Maybe God is sending a flood to wipe the Margarita Zone away.”

“We'll just have to build an ark, bring two of every margarita mix. Blackberry Grapefruit, Watermelon, Mango Orange.” He pulled a serious face. “But not Raspberry Rhubarb. I find it offensive to God's domain.”

“And you need Mexican cuties, of course.”

“Naturally.”

Jean gave little beyond a hum, a single note of polite laughter that wasn't really laughter. He wanted it to be genuine. It used to be. Joseph handed him a glass already prepared and rimmed with salt and poured his own from the small blender. The bright red slush stood out in the otherwise dreary gray sky and ocean, like Joseph, who somehow still looked bright in his over-saturated pink polo shirt. Jean used to wonder how many of them he owned- had never thought to check out his closet when he was invited over to his house. It was all part of his carefully cultivated, hip-with-the-kids youth minister look, so having an entire wardrobe full of the same shirt would probably be on-brand for him. He'd certainly never seen him in anything else.

It occurred to him he was musing at such length about his shirt because his eyes refused to go much further up than that. They stood with only the winds and waves to fill the silence. The sweet tang of the margarita he couldn't take very large sips of brought a dull ache to the back of his jaw, though he suspected that was caused by his recent tendency to clench it in moments of stress. Being with Joseph had never been a cause of stress, but lately...

“Talk to me, Jean.”

He jolted, gaze darting upward, and he finally meets Joseph's eyes, his chest constricts. There was only the honesty and calmness in his face that drew him in in the first place, and he was overcome with a sense of guilt that he had been trying to look away from it in the past weeks. Guilt was something he was becoming more and more accustomed to.

Jean swallowed thickly and set his glass on the table, holding it steady as another storm wave cresting underneath them threatened to slide it off. Once it had calmed, he let himself let go.

“I don't know if I can keep doing this.”

“Isn't this what you wanted? If I've done anything wrong, you can tell me, we-”

“It's not you.”

In a way, it was. Joseph might have been the type to handle this guilt- if that picture of him and Robert together meant what Jean thought it meant, then it wasn't the first time he'd carried on an affair. Some people were just wired to handle it, to compartmentalize, to justify, to twist themselves up with such mental gymnastics that they could be okay doing this. Jean wasn't one of those people.

“Is this what you meant the other day? You think you're a bad person for doing this?” Joseph asked. Jean felt a hand slide across his cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, fingers lingering as they traced its shape. He leaned in to the touch. Joseph leaned in and went on, in such a soft, warm voice, he could only bask in it, “You are.”

The words didn't register at first It took a moment for the meaning to cut through the tenderness with which they were spoken, and the warmth in his chest slowly receded. He looked up, brow furrowed. “What are you-”

“You're a bad person, Jean. You were perfectly content flirting with a married man, well before you knew Mary and I were even thinking of separating. It was fine then wasn't it?”

“That's not fair.”

He stroked the tender skin behind Jean's ear and down his neck. “Isn't it? What was your ideal outcome to this arrangement? You were hoping I would leave my wife and we would have a happy ever after.”

“You just... you were unhappy, I thought-”

“You thought we would get a divorce and you didn't think for a moment what an awful person that makes you. To wish for that. To hope that I would ruin the lives of my wife and children, just so you could get what you wanted.” There was no resentment in his voice, no malice, and that somehow made it worse. The calm, matter-of-fact way he plunged his hand through Jean's chest and pulled out his heart- was he right?

Jean felt tears bubbling hot in the back of his eyes, but Joseph ran his thumb against his lashes and brushed them away before they came close to falling. “But you were okay with it before. With the flirting and trysts on this very yacht. Now you're not. So what really changed? Nothing. I was married then, I'm married now.” He tipped his head when Jean looked away, never allowing him a reprieve from those untroubled blue eyes that pierced him with accusations. But they weren't accusations- they were simple truths. He couldn't deny that.

“Joseph-”

“So what is it you want? Is all of this too easy for you? Too friendly? You want Mary to break down sobbing and call you a home wrecker? That's it, isn't it? You want there to be consequences.” His fingers slid once more from his ear to the back of his neck, then made their way across his collar bone until Joseph's thumb came to rest in the middle of his throat. Jean's breathing was already labored and his heart was pounding in his ears when he began to press deeper and deeper against his windpipe. “You want to be punished because you know what you're doing is wrong.”

It wasn't posed as a question or as Joseph fishing for consent. He captured Jean's lips, his head so swimming from the conversation and oxygen deprivation he couldn't begin to piece together his own thoughts. Joseph's teeth dug into his bottom lip and pulled back until it hurt before releasing him, the pressure on his throat relaxing just enough he could take a deep breath, but still feel the uncomfortable block stopping him from breathing of his own free will.

If he had said something, it would have stopped. Somehow he knew that, even as Joseph pushed him into the cabin and onto the bed, it all could have gone away if he told him to get off. Truth was, Jean didn't really want it to stop. For the first time in weeks, it felt right again. It felt like this was what he deserved. Where he had been tender and slow in the nights before, now he was rough, impatient, his nails raking up and dragging down Jean's back when his hands weren't enveloping his throat. There was no safety net to catch him as he teetered on the edge of a thin rope, Joseph's wedding ring buried so deeply into his trachea it brought tears to his eyes. It should have worried him how quickly and how eagerly Joseph was ready to punish him, but it didn't. He liked it. The pain of him entering without so much as a warning was almost unbearable, yet he still bobbed his hips, begging for more. Whatever his conscience might have told him, his body couldn't deny that he wanted this.

He was a bad person. He had been wrestling with this because he was convinced of the opposite his entire life. But Joseph was too. It was easy to forget that when looking at his wholesome family and his perfect smile and just how hard he worked to make people overlook the ugliness in him. Mary saw it. Robert saw it. Now Jean saw it too. It was just like Robert had told them at the marina that day;

“You're both awful. You deserve each other.”

[strawberryopossum]

Would it be too much or odd to ask for the answers to all of the ocean asks? That post is absolutely adorable and I'd really like to get to know you better, but if it's too much, it's okay too!!

@mystic-ghouls I know you also asked for some, you were the only one who asked not on anon ~

pearl: if you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go and why?I’d really like to go to Prague in the Christmas time, not only do I want to see the huge libraries, I’ve seen pictures specifically from Christmas, and it’s so pretty

sails: describe your perfect partner.I don’t know how to describe it, really, but there’s a couple people who fit the description ~

lighthouse: how much makeup do you wear?Usually just foundation and whatnot to contour my face, and mascara so I don’t look dead... But occasionally I like to go all out, and I tend to wear a lot

shells: would you prefer to be a vampire or a werewolf?Vampire

mermaid: most embarrassing moment?When I was a freshman in high school, I tried to kiss my then-boyfriend on the way to the busses after school, and I tripped over his foot cause he didn’t realize what I was doing and he turned to say “hi” to someone, anyway, I tripped over his foot and fell directly into the open bus door

turquoise: weirdest dream you’ve ever had?I don’t remember many of my dreams, but they’re mostly more bad than weird

waves: favourite season and why?It’s a cross between fall and winter, because I can bundle up in coats and sweaters and look aesthetic as fuck

breakers: would you ever consider getting married?No idea, the legality and...permanence of it scares me... But I’m not opposed, I guess

seafoam: describe your ideal summer vacation.Somewhere either inside or not so hot, maybe a library or at home watching movies

rain: if it were possible, what exotic animal would you keep as a pet?Any sort of big cat, I like panthers and snow leopards

sunlight: least favourite song?I... I don’t know, really? I have songs I associate bad memories with, but I don’t make it a habit of remembering song’s I don’t like...I guess I could say either The Mortician’s Daughter by Black Veil Brides, Fall For You by Secondhand Serenade, or Home Sweet Home by Motley Crue... All very pretty and nice songs, with bad memories attached

marine: would you ever consider plastic surgery?Yes, it’s not really considering if I’m going to do it when I’m financially able ~

sea glass: what do you consider to be your best physical feature?I’ve heard my eyes are nice... I like them

storm: do you like piercings and tattoos? Why or why not?Yes, and though I don’t have any tattoos yet, I plan on having many... They’re art, and I like art, and my body’s a blank canvas... Might as well become a walking masterpiece

boardwalk: who is your favourite fictional couple?We talking about ships or canons? If ships, then right now it’s Prompto and NoctisIf we’re talking about canons, it’s still Prompto and Noctis probably Annabel and Owen from my favorite book, it’s called Just Listen

coral: if you had to describe your personality as a food, what would you be and why?Sour Patch Kids, cause sour then sweet... Just kidding Probably saltine crackers, there’s nothing really outstanding or special about it until you add or change something

nymph: old-fashioned or modern decor?A mix of both, honestly, I like anything dark and cozy

seawater: scariest movie you’ve ever watched?Hmm... A short film called Lights Out... I didn’t go see the movie thoughBut the short film still scares me several years later, and even now I’m still freaked out to turn off the lights sometimes

siren: in a fantasy setting, would you be a warrior, rogue or mage?Either a rogue or a mage... Probably a rogue

tempest: your favourite Pokemon?Espurr

tropic: what is your least favourite thing about your appearance?I hate my body... And everything else.... Except my eyes, which I mentioned up there

aquamarine: describe your dream date.Staying in a hotel room, pretending we live there, and laying in bed watching anime for a weekend or soJust something quiet like that

brine: gold or silver?Silver, I don’t like gold

tidal: what is a colour that best describes your personality?Black, I’m a slightly dark individual

azure: what is something that you do that makes you happy?Think about the future, plot out fics and AU’s I might or might not ever write

fog: describe where you think you’ll be in five years.Hopefully not where I’m at now

coastline: what is your favourite flower?Roses

shallows: what is your typical Starbucks order?I hate both coffee and Starbucks, and this question offends meOk, not really, I just work at a coffee shop and am constantly asked about Starbucks, and it’s annoying as fuckI do hate coffee, though, can’t stand the stuff, and frappe’s make me sickAll that being said, I really like Starbucks lemon cake

voyage: what are your favourite names?I don’t know, I’ve never thought of it...

shipwreck: do you have an OC? If so, describe them.His name is Steve, and he feeds my ego and narcissismYes, I made an OC who’s completely in love/obsessed with me, he even has a shrine to me in his roomHow self-centered can I get? I mean, jeeze ~

cerulean: do you believe in true love?I.... I do

shoreline: if you could become fluent in another language, which would you pick and why?Latin, not only could I read tons of old books, and speak a really cool language that could help me learn to speak other languages, I also have the chance of accidentally summoning some sort of Eldritch monstrosity 

tsunami: describe a dream outfit of yours.A lot of muscle shirts, and skinny jeans, knee high boots, peacoats, and beaniesI’m putting an outfit together right now inspired by Noctis, so that’s fun

riptide: are you introverted or extroverted? Are you happy with this?Introverted, I’m fine with it, but I’d like to be able to do things more

hurricane: describe a strange habit of yours.Not so much a habit, but I hate sleeping under my bedspread and sheets... I sleep on top of my bedspread and under a separate couple blankets

[my-northern-downpour]

Chapter 7 of Summon Me

Guess who just finished her first multi chapter story? This girl! Here’s the last chapter of Summon Me! Read it here on Ao3

Emma- Age 23

It’s been about three years since Emma had seen Killian. She’d heard from him, but she hadn’t physically seen him. It’d been hard at first to not have him there at first, but as time went on, it got better. She still had his notes that he’d send with his little shadows and whom Henry had grown to love playing with. After years of playing with her as a young girl, they had lots of experience.

She had tried summoning him, but had sent his shadows with his apologies that he couldn’t leave where he was. When he left her apartment that day four years ago, he said he’d visit the next month, but didn’t actually come until three months later. After that, he’d seen her two more times and then just kind of disappeared from her life minus the letters.

Oh. and the fact that he had sent her enough money throughout the years that she could move to a more decent(safe) part of the city, which meant a nicer apartment with Henry being able to have his own room. And air conditioning that actually worked. Plus, her built in lie detector was a nice added bonus. She had more closed cases under her belt than others who started around the same time as her, and she was quickly catching the eye of the big boss. A promotion seemed to be in her future.

Despite all these things, she still missed her best friend. A lot. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. And of course, she loved him-he’d been there for her when most others left. But lately she had the growing realizations that maybe she missed him more than she originally let on.

Seriously?! was her daily thought when it came up in her mind. He was a demon for crying out loud. A person who served Satan himself, who she heard wasn’t as scary as most people say, but that was coming from something that enjoyed fear and pain and all the other things she didn’t really think about that came with being a demon. All she knew was that he didn’t feel human emotions such as love and joy and happiness. But she thought Killian was different. He laughed with her. He seemed to enjoy being with her and Henry and said that he loved spending time with her at one point in time. But that could just be him picking up on human sayings and using them with her to make her feel better when she needed a confidence boost.

Damn, she thought, I’m in love with that damn hell spawn.

---

The first thing he saw when he woke up was the gray sky. He heard seagulls in the distance and the crashing of waves. Where was he? And how did he get here? Killian sat up from his position and looked around his surroundings.

He was on a beach it seemed. And he was hurt. He looked down to his arms to see that they were bleeding from long, deep cuts going vertically down them. His legs had the same kinds of wounds. What had happened to him? No matter, he could just heal himself.

Although when he tried to, nothing happened. Weird. He tried again and still nothing happened. He tried to get up and leave, but the dark smoke never came. What was going on? Well, he was up now. He should try and get somewhere other than the beach where people could find him like this. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself while he tried to figure out what was going on.

He looked at the city that lay next to the beach he was at and instantly recognized it. Boston. He was close to Emma. If he could just get to her. But in his condition, he didn’t know if he could make. But he still had to try. And so, Killian set off down the street towards the part of the city he knew Emma resided in the hopes of finding her.

---

“Yes Ruby, I’m on my way back. Thank you so much for watching Henry tonight,” Emma said as she walked back to her yellow bug her demon had given her. “Hmm? Oh yeah, if you could please put him to bed soon, that’d be great. I’m still on the other side of the city by Quincy and I need to stop and get a few things before I get back. Alexis should be there soon after he’s down to spend the rest of the time with him till I get back.”

A few more words from her friend and a good night to her son and she was back on the road after chasing down her latest sleazebag and successfully locking him up for embezzlement. This paycheck should be a nice one and set her up for at least the next month.

She had decided to take the scenic route back home and was driving down the ocean lane when she stopped a little ways away from what looked like someone walking, limping actually, down the street. Deciding to get a little closer, she drove a little closer until she saw that the man had dark hair that looked so familiar. But his arms and legs… They were covered in deep cuts that had dried blood on them. Quickly, she pulled her car up to the man and jumped out to help him out, but stopped short when she saw his face. That hair she had recognized, but the eyes gave him away.

“Killian?” she chocked. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she was afraid she would hurt him.

He looked up from the street and the smile that appeared on his face was dazzling, minus his obvious wounds. “Emma, I found you,” he managed to get out before he started to sway. She managed to catch him before he face-planted into the ground.

“Great,” she grumbled aloud. “I don’t see you for three years and this is how we first meet again.” She started to slowly carry/drag him to her car to put him in the back seat and take him to her place. “You owe me a really good reason for this you damn spawn,” she uttered to no one in particular as she got in the driver’s seat and head home.

“Hey Ruby! Hey look, do you think you could actually take Henry home with you tonight? I don’t think I’ll be able to make it back tonight. Hmm? Oh, everything is fine! I just kind of ran into a few little things and I need to go to the office. Yeah, sure thing. Tell Granny I said hi and thank you so much!”

She looked at the mirror to see him sleeping in the back seat and smiled. At least he was back.

---

Two days later and Killian was finally waking up. Henry had stayed with Ruby and Granny with a promise from both of them that it was no problem at all and the occasional picture of him and Ruby. Her favorite was of his face covered in beans from sticking his face in the coffee beans at the restaurant. His excuse was that they smelled good.

She had brought him straight to her apartment, checking that Henry wasn’t there, cleaned him up and put him in her bed to let him rest while she stayed on the couch. And then had done nothing but worry and wonder what had happened to him and how he got all the way in Quincy and why he was walking?

After getting him up when he was finally awake enough, she made him some soup and had asked him to tell her what happened to him. All he did was look down into the bowl with a look of utter defeat on his face.

“Killian?” she asked as she slowly put her arm on his shoulder.

He looked up to her and then back down and quietly muttered “I’m no longer welcome back home.” He looked up at her to gage her reaction to his answer and saw that she was a little confused and trying to process what he had said. He sighed and put the bowl down on the night stand next to him. “Emma. I am no longer a demon. I am a human,” he said with such force in his voice she was taken aback a little.

She quickly got over that and slid all the way onto the bed next to him and just carefully laid her head onto his shoulder. She didn’t ask him anymore questions, knowing that he was exhausted, but she also didn’t really care right now. And Killian only looked at her and smiled as he settled in next to her. This was a nice feeling he thought he could really get used to.

---

Throughout the next few months, the new human Killian became accustomed to life as a human. His wounds had healed, leaving only minor scars thankfully. He was lucky that he had access to all his old accounts and any other worldly holdings he had, which meant he was able to get a job to pass the days. He loved watching Henry when Emma was gone, but he wasn’t used to staying still for so long. And so, he set out to begin work at the children’s home. It seems he was interested in working with children after Emma’s experience growing up.

Speaking of Emma. They had grown close over time. Living together will do that to people. But their friendship was stronger than ever. Emma’s feelings for him only deepened as time went on, but she kept them to herself. Killian had enough on his plate right now. Only, Killian’s feelings for her had been there for a while now and had grown as well over the past few months.

He learned new these new feelings were things he had started to feel when he was still a demon towards Emma during their last few visits together. Things like joy and happiness he had started to feel when the girl was younger. Those were easier to hide from other hellish creatures. But once he started to develop actual feelings for the human girl, what he now called love, well that was harder to hide.

Emma had found out some details about his missing three years over time as well. He had apparently been put on trial, for what she wasn’t sure, but as a result of being guilty, he was stripped of his immorality and became a human. Apparently, it was a merciful way to be punished. Most others were just stripped off their immortality and killed on the spot. It seems that Lucifer had a soft spot for her hell spawn. He never disappointed and was one of his better demons. If she could, she would thank him personally.

“Hello?” she called one evening as she was getting back from the grocery store.

“In the living room!” Killian answered followed by Henry’s ecstatic answer “Mama!”

Emma quickly went to put the things she bought away and ran to the living room to meet her son in their daily hug greeting. “Hey there kid. I missed you today,” she said as she smothered him in the hug. After another few seconds, she put him down and saw Killian standing next to where Henry was, just smiling at her.

“Welcome home Swan,” he said and pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead. She quickly melted into his hold and hugged him back.

The moment was ruined a minute later with her son tugging on her shirt. “Mama. I’m hungry. Can you make me something to eat?” She looked from her son to Killian who only shook his head. “He burnt my grilled cheese. You don’t expect me to eat that when you make it so good do you?!” the five-year-old blurted out. Killian just put his head in his hands and Emma laughed.

“Okay honey. Go get the ingredients ready and I’ll be there in a minute to make you the best grilled cheese of your life,” she said and winked at him. He only cheered and ran into the kitchen.

Killian still looked embarrassed from the child’s confession. She chuckled. He really was cute.

“Hey there.” she waved her hand in his face to get his attention. “You know it’s nice you tried to make him food. But you shouldn’t have tried the grilled cheese. That’s my specialty.” Emma gave him a smile and flicked his nose to try and cheer him up.

He quickly wrapped his hands around her waist and hugged her close to him as she left out a slight ‘oof’ from being caught off guard.

“Maybe you could teach me your secrets to this sandwich so the child doesn’t give me another lecture on the art of the grilled cheese.”

Oh. He was close to her face. Like, very close. Without thinking, she did what she had wanted to for a while now. She kissed him. Emma put her hands around his neck and pulled him down, closing the gap between them quite effectively. It was Killian’s turn to be caught off guard.

As quick as it started, it was over. Emma’s face was bright red and she started to turn her head to the side, avoiding his gaze.

“I... I’m sorry… I don’t. I don’t know what came over me,” she started to explain, but was quickly shut up when Killian’s mouth met hers once again in a gentle kiss that made her legs go weak. Good thing he was holding her up.

Only parting when the need for air became too great, they rested their foreheads together and smiled at each other.

“Hey,” he said at her.

“Hi,” she replied through her smile.

“So, that uh, I hope wasn’t unwanted or just a one-time thing,” he confessed and started rubbing the back of his head. Emma’s smile only grew, so did his, and she brought him down for a quick kiss.

“I hope it wasn’t a one-time thing. I rather liked it.”

They stood there for another minute, letting the moment just soak in before the rambunctious child in the kitchen called out.

“Mama! I’m dying of hunger in here!”

Emma couldn’t help but laugh from his statement. After another kiss to his cheek, she grabbed Killian’s hand and led him to the kitchen with the promise of teaching him the correct way to cook her famous grilled cheese.

As the little family sat down to eat, Emma looked around and couldn’t help but think how lucky she was. She had a son who loved her, friends who she loved and would do anything for. Her best friend was back and now she had found someone she thinks she may be able to spend the rest of her life with. He had never left her, even when he could have plenty of times. He was a constant in her life and memories. She loved him, and he loved her.

Yes, her life had turned out to be better than she could have imagined it could have ever been. And to think it all started on the playground all those years ago. Summoning demons wasn’t so bad if you asked her.