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hischierslovergirl · 3 days ago

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G'mornin'! I just saw your post and I want to say it's always warming seeing someone getting back into writing!! And so please can I request:

Luke Hughes with "the first initial kiss being a peck, then they immediately go back in for a stronger, more passionate one" + "I'll give you a ride, don't worry."

Have a lovely day and take your time, no rush <33

Thank you so much for requesting and for your encouragement xx. This turned a bit longer than I anticipated, but I hope you enjoy!

Just when you thought your day couldn’t get any worse, your car decided to show you just how bad it could get. You’d already had a long and crappy shift of dealing with handsy old men, your manager and coworkers were seemingly fighting to see who could piss you off the most, you had spilled a red colored drink on your white top, and now you had to deal with whatever problem your car has now. Needless to say, you were over it.

Members of the club you worked at passed you by without even a simple glance in your direction as you stood there with frustrated tears welling in your eyes, phone to your ear as you tried to get a hold of anyone. Your hopes of someone coming to your rescue dwindled with each unanswered call until you had officially given up. You sank to the ground, knees pulled to your chest and back pressed against your car as you let out a sigh of defeat.

“Hey,” You heard a familiar voice call out.

You slowly lifted your head up from its spot between your knees and your gaze landed on Luke, one of the guys you grew friendly with during his many trips to the golf course. Though, truthfully, you had always been a bit more than friendly with him on occasion, always throwing subtle flirty remarks his way that he would bashfully return. He was a little on the shyer side than most of the guys you encountered at work, but you liked it. You liked him.

“Hi, Luke,” You weakly smiled at him, hoping the sun had set enough that he couldn’t make out the small streaks of mascara underneath your eyes.

“Is everything okay,” He carefully asks, taking a few steps closer to you with his hands shoved into his pockets, “I thought your shift was over a few hours ago?”

You decide to ignore the fact that he remembered you always got off at three on Tuesdays, but it still made your chest warm.

“It was,” You confirm, your eyes flickering to his usual group of rambunctious friends a few feet away from him before finding Luke again, “My car isn’t starting, and I can’t seem to find anyone to come pick me up, so I’m stuck here until my parents get back from the city in a few hours.”

“A few hours,” Luke lets out in disbelief before he shakes his head, his curls bouncing around in disarray, “Absolutely not. I can take you home. You’re not waiting out here for hours.”

“Luke, no,” You stressed, finally rising to your feet so you’re closer to eye level with him, though he still has quite a few inches on you, “I can handle waiting a bit longer. It’s okay. Plus, it’s way out of your way.”

A fact you knew courtesy of the time Jack had invited you to a party they had sometime last summer. A party that you left early because of the multitude of girls hoarding the one person you had gone there for.

“Doesn’t matter,” He stubbornly stands his ground, hesitantly taking a step towards you, “I’ll give you a ride, okay? Don’t worry. Making sure you get home safe will never be out of my way.”

Luke didn’t take no for an answer, and that was exactly how you ended up in seat of his expensive car with his music softly playing in the background. You had never been alone with Luke before, let alone in such a confined space, and it made you nervous. Any of the usual teasing and flirtatious remarks you would throw his way were left in the parking lot of the country club, only awkward casual conversation falling from your mouth now.

Luke kept stumbling over his words, occasionally veering off into a rant of sorts whenever certain things were brought up, and it made a smile twitch at your lips. After a few minutes he would realize that he had been talking far too long, though you didn’t mind, and he would mumble a bashful apology before directing the conversation into something different. By the time you were nearing your house, a bout of silence had fallen over the two of you and you watched everything flashed by.

“This is the one,” You pointed to the house on the right side of the street, “You can just drop me off at the end. I can walk the rest of the way.”

Luke brought his car to a stop right in front of your house, quickly throwing it into gear and grabbing the key before he was darting out of his seat. You watched him with furrowed brows and curious eyes as he jogged to the passenger door before carefully tugging it open. He was sporting a shy, timid smile, his hand grasping at the frame of the car as he patiently waited for you.

“Thank you,” You sheepishly mumble, hugging your bag to your side as you slip out of the seat.

“Of course,” He clears his throat, awkwardly shifting on his feet, “I’ll walk you to your door.”

Luke walked close enough to you that his hand kept brushing your arm, making warmth spread up your neck and to your cheeks as you kept your gaze on the ground in front of you. Once you were standing in front of the door, you finally turned to face Luke and you couldn’t help but admire the way he looked under the warm porch light. His features were soft and delicate, his curls framed his face in a way that made your mind run rampant with the idea of running your hands through them.

“Thank you, again,” You swallow thickly, “For taking me home. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” He nods, and you swear his eyes drift down to your lips, “It’s the least I can do after all the gatorade’s you supply for me and the boys.”

His joke brings a quiet giggle out of you as you playfully shake your head, “I definitely make sure to keep my cart stocked when I know you guys are coming. Though I can never seem to have enough for Jack.”

“Yeah, he throws them back like they’re going to disappear,” He chuckles, his lips tugging upwards into a smile.

“I believe that,” You airily chuckle, your gaze quickly darting to his mouth before looking away, “Well, I’m sure you probably have better things to do tonight, but I really do appreciate you.”

You hastily stand on your toes to place a small and delicate kiss on his cheek, your eyes fluttering closed for a fleeting moment until you were flat on your feet again. When you meet Luke’s eyes again, there was a certain glint to his eyes that made you nervous, but he gave you no time to dwell on it before he was surging forward and slamming his lips on your own. Your reaction was instantaneous, your bag falling from your shoulder as you wrap your arms around his neck and you kiss him back with everything you had in you.

Luke’s hands found purchase on your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin as he brings you further into his chest. His mouth is moving against yours, unyielding and fueled by months of suppressed feelings as you lose yourself in the moment. It felt like the two of you were connected for hours when you regrettably pull away from him to catch your breath, his hands sliding to the small of your back to keep you close to him.

“I’m sorry,” He eventually breathes out, his chest heaving against you, “I just— Um, I’ve wanted to do that for a long time and I—”

“Luke,” You tenderly cut him off, peering up at him through your eyelashes, “I’ve been thinking about that for a long time, honestly. Actually, I was wondering if we could do it again sometime?”

#youvegotmail!📥#from: star2fishmeg #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes imagine #viwrites ⌨️

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livinghalfway · 1 day ago

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Younger Years Pt. 3

Part 2

Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence Word Count: 1664

The next morning when Damian woke up everyone was much more prepared to deal with his inevitable attack. The restraint on his ankle and Alfred the cat still napping on him helped deal with most of the initall anger that radiated off him though. The goal right now was to convince Damian that he had been de-aged, and all he needed to do was stay with them until the magic wore off.

The topic of Danyal would come later, for now they needed to focus on Damian.

Everyone had also prepared an item to show Damian to prove to him that they were telling the truth about his current situation. Alfred was first and had brought him a cup of tea the exact way the young boy preferred when he had first joined them at the manor. Duke showed Damian his school yearbook, and had marked which pages had an older Damian in them. Jason rummaged through the art room and pulled out a few old sketchbooks.

Those had done well enough to calm the baby assassin down so that Bruce was able to explain the details to the young Damian. Which only served to make him think that instead of this being a test from his grandfather it was actually a scheme to draw him away from his birthright as one of the heirs to the demon head.

To help further convince him Tim printed out the first DNA test they had done with Damian; making sure to note that the dates on these can’t be altered. Then Dick had showed him photos of him dressed in his Robin costume. What was strange though is that Damian didn’t look pridefully at the photos, only confused.

Finally it was Bruce’s turn and no one was surprised when it turned out to be a family photo album. It was filled with photos of everyone from the last few years. Pictures of both big and small moments that the family had gone through. What was surprising though is when Damian practically exploded with rage with every page he turned.

“Chum, is something wro-” Bruce tries to start once he sees how affected the photo album is making him. Only for said book to be launched at his head before he can finish speaking.

“Get out!” Damian snarls as his eyes dart to everyone around the room as he repeats his words, “Get out!”

“I told you this wasn’t going to work.”

“Not now, Jason.”

Dick makes an obvious move of wanting to comfort Damian, but is clearly holding himself back knowing that his succor would only make things worse. “Dami…”

“You do not have the right to call me that,” Damian's breath starts to speed up with tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “The only one that will ever be allowed to use that name has apparently been long absent from my life. So I will repeat myself only once more; get out.”

No one makes any move to leave at first and it isn’t until Tim clears his throat as well as putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder does the others finally move. It takes both Duke and Tim to get Bruce out of the room, and Jason ends up having to practically drag Dick out.

“Why did you pull me away from him! He was clearly on the verge of a breakdown based around the fact that Danyal, his twin, never came here with him! Damian needs someone to be with him right now!” Dick angrily breaks out of Jason's hold on him.

Jason, immediately matching Dick’s tone retorts, “Since when has that kid ever liked having family much less strangers comfort him? Cause newsflash Dickiebird that what we are to him right now, nothing but strangers who are trying to act way too familiar with him. The only thing your sympathy will do right now is just make things worse!”

“I’m not going to let my currently 6 year old baby brother mourn a death by himself!”

“We don’t actually know if Danyal is dead or not right now. Just that he didn’t arrive with Damian at the manor 4 years ago.” Tim interjects before any more arguing between the two can continue. “For all we know Ra’s could have sent one twin away to here while keeping the other involved with the league.”

“Wouldn’t have Damian said something by now if that was the case? He obviously cared a lot for Danyal.” Duke honestly doesn’t know what the right decision is right now, but he’s more inclined to agree with Jason right now.

Tim runs a hand through his hair in thought, “14 year old Damian, maybe. The Damian that first arrived at the manor four years ago, no way. Especially if he was told explicitly not to say anything. That little brat was still deep in the league mindset, and would have done anything Talia or Ra’s said.”

“Wouldn’t have Ra’s already used Danyal against Bruce though? He’s had plenty of opportunities to use the knowledge of a second child to get B to do practically anything for him. What possible scenario would he be saving that information for?” Dick at this point seems to have calmed down. He’s still obviously wanting to be with Damian, but also knows that Jason is right about how his presence wouldn’t be appreciated at the moment.

Jason instead of offering any answers to Dick’s questions turns to direct his lingering anger at Bruce, “You’re being awfully fucking quiet right now B, what do you have to say about all this?”

“... I think it’s time to call Talia. I wanted to wait and give Damian the chance to explain himself before doing so, but if the league does still have Danyal we need to start planning his rescue as soon as possible.”

After asking the boys to keep an eye on Damian, and to check in on him every once in a while without distressing him more Bruce headed upstairs towards his office. Once there he silently stares at the phone in his hand.

It had been devastating to learn that he had a son, and missed out on so much of his life. Bruce had been angry at Talia, furious even, especially when she had raised Damian to be a child assassin. To learn that she had done this not once but twice shattered him. Even more so when he thinks about how his second son might still be a part of that life when he could have been living here with him instead.

The alternative to that thought though, the unfortunate more likely option, is that Danyal is dead.

That he had failed yet another child.

Bruce presses the number and puts the phone to ear. With each unanswered ring he sees flashes of what could have been if both boys had arrived that day. What was Danyal even like? Was he similar to Damian, or was he the complete opposite?

“Beloved, what a pleasant surprise hearing from you.”

“I know about Danyal.” Bruce leans back in his chair with his eyes closed. Today has already been exhausting, and he knows that it’s not going to get any better anytime soon. “What happened to him?”

The amount of silence that follows tells him that for maybe the first time he has truly shocked Talia with his words. Eventually though she answered, sorrow clear as day in her voice, “How much do you know?”

“I’d rather you tell me what you know right now.”

“Danyal died two weeks before Damian was sent to live with you.”

There it was, the hard truth. A child that he was never given the chance to hold, to meet, and to love was dead. Bruce had nothing to hold onto from a child that died way too young.

“My Father and Damian are the only ones that truly know what happened in that room; I didn’t even know at the time that he had pulled the two of them from their afternoon studies.” She continues softly, “By the time I reached them Danyal was gone. I imagine Ra’s wanted to make an example out of him because he had put his body into the pits … only he never came back out. The pits had even taken his body with them.”

“Did you never question what happened to him?”

“Ra’s told me it was none of my concern when I questioned him, and he forbade Damian from telling me himself. He had all evidence of Danyal erased after that; he only exists now in the memory of those who knew him.”

“Would you have ever told me about him?”

“No.”

“Hm.” Bruce doesn’t do anything more than acknowledging her response before hanging up, and putting the phone down. He wasn’t going to get any more information out of her, and he had more important things to focus on right than interrogating Talia. It seems they’re all just going to have to wait for Damian to learn what happened to Danyal anyway.

For now though he needs to go back downstairs and make sure they haven’t exploded into chaos due to his absence, but as he exits his office he makes a quiet promise to himself and Danyal. “Even in death you will be a part of this family; I’m so sorry you will never get the chance to know just how much they already love you.”

Once he reaches the batcave once more he sees Tim and Duke at the computer, Jason laid back with his feet on the center table, and Dick leaning by the med bay door. All of them though stop what they’re doing and look towards him as he enters; waiting for him to tell them what has become of the brother they’ve never met.

“Danyal is dead.” It hurts to watch his sons lose what little hope they had that maybe by the end of this their brother would be coming home.

#dc x dp #danny phantom #dc x dp crossover #batfam #damian and danny are twins #dc x dp prompt #dcxdpdabbles #danyal al ghul #angst #de-aged damian wayne

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casually-eat-my-soul · 22 hours ago

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I was tagged by the very lovely @demonicfaerie so here is an angry stiles blurb that I dont exactly know what to do with but that I really wanted to get the idea down.

This is based on my headcannon that stiles and Jackson actually have know each other the longest. And that Jackson is the only other person who knows stiles real name.

The pack makes jokes about Stiles, saying that he never really gets angry, sure he gets defensive but never angry. Until the day Jackson calls Stiles by his name.

After the whole kanima disaster, Derek moves forward trying to connect to his betas. Including Jackson. Especially since now that he is a werewolf which shifts the dynamics because technically he’s now Derek’s first beta.

One afternoon during pack training when tensions were raising higher than usual. The pack had devolved into using grunt and growls as form of communication. Snarling with a little to much teeth.

So Stiles, in Stiles fashion begins making sarcastic remarks to try and settle the situation. After Jackson take a hard tumble with fighting Derek, Stiles quips about Jackson still being a fake werewolf. Especially after spending so much time in lizard scales.

Jackson spits blood from his mouth, turns to him, anger rolling in his chest. A self satisfied smirk forming as the words drip from this lips. — you would know all about fake identities, wouldn’t you Mieczyslaw.” — Stiles goes deathly still and the air shifts. Like the moment before lighting strikes.

The pack is immediately on edge. Derek makes his way towards stiles. The hair on the back on his neck standing up, putting his arms out as if he’s trying to calm down a wild animal. The way Stiles chest heaves with exertion like a cornered, feral animal. Derek knows what it’s like to watch a predator prepare to strike.

Derek swears he doesn’t see Stiles move. One second Stiles was standing on his porch steps, body tense like a spring coil about to snap. In the next second Jackson is on the ground with Stiles on top of him and the smell of blood in the air.

Lydia is shrieking for Stiles to get off Jackson. The betas step backwards from the carnage. They want to help but all their instincts are begging them to flee.

And Stiles is screaming, between the sounds of fist hitting flesh, — you don’t get to call me that — Stiles is screaming — I’ll rip your tongue from your fucking mouth. — stiles keeps hitting Jackson — That name belonged to my mother — just repeating over and over again. Stiles is screaming.

It takes Derek and Boyd to pull him off Jackson, even so he fights against their hold. It was surprising to the werewolves, the fact that they were struggling. Stiles was going rabid between them, still screaming — let me go, I’m going to rip his throat out with my teeth — and Jackson was still on the ground, not healing, covered in blood.

Derek barks out and order to get Jackson to Deaton or Melissa or both as fast as possible. Boyd slowly releases Stiles just in case he’s needed to grab him again. The minute the hold on him slacks fighting is throwing himself towards Jackson again. Derek barely catches him.

While the betas clear out, Derek throws stiles over his shoulder. Stiles still fighting against his hold. It’s only as Derek steps into his bedroom and sets Stiles on his bed, does he calm down. It’s like all the fight drains from his body.

Instead panic takes its place. Stiles fights to breathe with the same vengeance as he did Jackson. Clumps of broken sentences echo out between his sobs — not his, not his, nothis, nothisnothisnothisno — the more panicked he gets, the faster it comes out.

Derek holds him until the panic subsides and a there nothing left but silence.

The pack doesn’t mention Stiles’ breakdown the next day, or the next. And Stiles likes pretends like nothing happened. Everyone else would to, except for the fact that Jackson is barely healing, healing slower than a healthy human would. Stiles smile is a tad bit to tight and the pack is a tad bit too cautious of him.

They also don’t mention the fact that the bruises only go away after Jackson apologizes. Even so they don’t really make jokes anymore.

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buskingalbatross · 1 day ago

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AmazingPhil channel marathon musings

during a pre-show q&a back in november, in response to a question about what show someone should binge next, dan said they should watch all of the AmazingPhil channel from the start. I was not the person who asked this (nor was I at this show), but regardless I did decide I wanted to take dan’s suggestion seriously. just a few days ago, I finished watching all of AmazingPhil in chronological order. and now i really want to talk about what it was like and why I would recommend marathoning his channel to pretty much anyone—because it was a blast.

I watched all of the 369 currently public AmazingPhil videos over the course of 35 days, which is from my perspective a pretty casual marathon. 369/35 = roughly 11 videos a day, though due to algorithm and monetization policy stuff, phil’s videos became longer in duration around 2015-2016; for many years, most of his videos were around 4 minutes long or less, which for me meant that early on in this marathon I was watching more videos per day, and then later on my pace slowed. phil’s videos with dan are usually pretty long as well, so if I had something like a baking video or wdapteo up next to watch, I might have only watched one or two videos that day.

unsurprisingly, watching all of phil’s videos in order in a relatively short span of time gave me a really cool perspective on how phil has grown as a person and as a YouTuber over the past eighteen years. surprising to me, though, was how I felt like watching his channel in such a linear way felt a bit like coming to know who phil is for the very first time, again. despite having watched his videos for over a decade, i feel like i understand his style and creativity and personality more fully, and in general better, than I did before. watching 2007 phil become 2009 phil become 2011 phil and so on in the span of a few days or a week meant seeing clearly how his sense of humor evolved, how his editing and creativity developed, how his perspectives on life and relationship with his audience shifted. much as when you binge an entire tv or book series and immediately afterwards feel like you’re brimming with information, and have all the context, that’s sort of how I felt. and it was new for me because I’d never done that with phil’s content before—I’d never followed the course of his life the way you might a fictional character’s.

AmazingPhil is also an incredible capsule of 2000s, 2010s, and 2020s Western internet culture, obviously. it’s like an anthropologist from the future with a very hyperspecific thesis topic’s dream treasure horde. what a person can learn about one corner of the world, and one corner of society, from AmazingPhil’s videos is, well, a lot. I see so much cultural value in AmazingPhil, it’s insane. his videos are not sketches, essays, and commentaries on society and life like Dan’s, but I’d make the argument (as I’m sure most of you would) that they’re just as important and critical to helping people understand themselves and the world they live in. and the kind of people they want to be, too, perhaps.

there were also certain videos that stuck with me more than they had in the past. I discovered new favorite videos and videos that I considered more interesting than I previously had. (I tried just now to make a list of some of these but it rapidly got too long, so instead I’ll restrict myself to mentioning only one, a new favorite, from 2021: “I Got Catfished.” - which i think is a fantastic example of phil’s storytelling style). dnp have both said before that they view life as a performance – and phil is without a sliver of doubt a magical and incredible performer. he knows so well how to tell stories with words, pacing, structures, and effects that are hilarious and entertaining; he turns anecdotes from his life into these amazing whimsical pieces of art made in a way no other person has ever made things. YouTube has from the beginning presented him with the perfect way to be creative in a way that suits him. and more than that, i found that it was never even remotely unpleasant to watch his videos every day for over a month. there is simply not an AmazingPhil video that doesn’t bring me joy and make me sit there smiling like a fool. my cheek muscles are probably stronger than they were 35 days ago.

so, to you I say, go: watch all of AmazingPhil, draw your own conclusions from his current oeuvre and deepen your parasocial relationship with Phil Lester in ways you cannot yet comprehend. I really recommend.

(final notes: one side effect of watching all of phil’s videos was being unexpectedly yet thoroughly convinced he does indeed possess psychic talents. even though i don’t believe in magical anything, i do now believe phil lester inherited prescience from his grandmother.)

(also dan is completely right that every time phil changes his hair, he regenerates into an entirely new man.)

(also also I made an AmazingPhil spotify playlist that is highly specific to my music tastes but that anyone is welcome to listen to all the same) ✨🐗💙🥱

#if i'm honest sharing my thoughts about dnp like this makes me anxious i am a lurker and a fic writer at heart so #if you disagree with my thoughts simply do not let me know #but also if anyone wants to talk about this or other dnp topics feel free to dm anytime :>#phil lester #amazingphil #dnp #dan and phil

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phoenixeclipse-lmkau · 1 day ago

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what would happen if monkey!Reader was harassed by a male monkey who tries to woo her and really won't give up(let's assume this happens before the kings announces their courtship since i doubt they would lay a finger on her if they knew) pls i need i've been harassed, heavily uneasely catcalled and saved by a dude who intervened(my hero❤) and i need to portray this asshole dead

Okie! It looks like I am making an oc Monkie demon who is also an absolute prick! I mean not all of them can be ‘nice’ and respectful. Like Wukong and Macaque are assholes there is no doubt about that but they will defiantly not harass Reader into bed with them. They even make sure she know about the cave they set aside for females who are in heat, a cave which is guarded and watched to make sure NO MALES come barging in during such a vulnerable time. They respect that women can and will say no to sex.

Now our price of a monkey demon who I shall name Linshu is NOT like that at all. (Will probably add him into cursed warlords too… hmm. Sorry back to the ask) Let’s get to it.

“Doesn’t it look so pretty!” Spirit cheered as she held up a bunch of flowers in her hands, her face brimming with pure joy.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her pure excitement, ever since you two came to the island she was all smiles. Well after her short fight with her ‘dad’, but that didn’t last too long. You shook the thought away as she went back to looking at the flowers pointing out different ones, telling you the name and even the symbolism behind it. Her dad’s mate loved flowers and explained them to Spirit.

“Well look at these two beautiful ladies,” a new voice caught your attention causing both you and Spirit to turn and look at him.

Immediately Spirit’s face soured while you just looked. He must be someone Spirit met when you were exploring. You didn’t bother saying hello and frowned when your friend stepped in front of you.

“What do you want Linshu?” Spirit growled lowly.

“Can’t I say hi to the new troop members?” He asked with a smug smirk.

You narrowed your eyes at his attitude while looking him up and down. He was a short monkey demon with a dark grey pelt which was pretty well groomed, a rather toned body from fights, she could tell solely by the scars he had. There was a slash at his neck, one across his abdomen and another on his chest.

“Like what you see?” He asked proudly.

You narrowed your eyes again, he acted as though you should bow down to him. Where could someone get the nerve? He must be on some sort of power trip unless he always acted like this. If so then you didn’t want anything to do with this island at all.

“Not particularly, come on Spirit let’s go,” You said calmly.

Linshu’s face flushed in rage immediately gritting his teeth as if you had declared a fight against him or thrown some awful punch. You went to leave without any more talking when he grabbed your arm with a sneer. “Hold it there! You should be honored I’m giving you my attention!”

Your eyes darkened immediately before you moved and decked him across the face, hard. A low growl escaping your lips as you stood toe to toe with him. “Keep your hands off,” You growled. His grip didn’t move when he started yelling profanities at you, he was stronger and you hated that.

“Listen here, you should be honored that one of The King’s ACTUAL people are offering you a place here! You could be my mate and you would fucking love it. I am a powerful demon who is only second to the kings themselves. You have no right to deny me-“ He continued to yell at you.

“Let her go you prick!” Spirit yelled as she came over to help you, her tail lashing angrily.

Growling lowly you were about to speak when he suddenly released your arm and let out a pained cry. You were shocked to see Macaque’s hand on his shoulder, his grip tightening harder with each passing second. A dark threatening look settled easily across his face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He questioned smoothly and the monkey immediately held still.

“N-Nothing my King, I was merely speaking with these women- Ah-AHH!” He shouted as blood dripped down his arm from Macaque’s claws.

“Hmm, it appears you don’t know your place,” His words were calm and steady even as his eyes burned with a very dangerous rage.

Loud footsteps came forward and you were shocked to see non other than Sun Wukong himself and to say his mate was the only angry one would be a lie. Rage covered his face while he held his staff over his shoulder, his grip tightly around it.

“Wukong my dear, would you please take these two out? I’m sure they would prefer not to witness this,” Macaque said calmly, while his tail lashed threateningly.

You didn’t even get the chance to say anything as Wukong pulled you away, Spirit following behind quickly. You were too far away to hear the sounds of his screams by the time Macaque began to- teach him a lesson. Not that you have much time to worry about it as Wukong takes you to the healer to check for any injuries.

All in all, you would definitely be in good hands the moment you come onto the island. Weather the two warlords have decided that they want you to be their mate yet or not. These two would definitely protect their troop from those not in it and those who are being assholes. Also that bitch dead, he died and is NEVER coming back. Hope you enjoyed Sleepy!

#dead dove do not eat #sun wukong x macaque #yandere sun wukong #yandere macaque #sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #shadowpeach x reader #LMK OC #Monkie!Reader AU #Monkie!Reader lmk au #chu spirit oc #chu spirit

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babymetaldoll · 2 days ago

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Are you mine - Chapter sixteen: "What do you mean Wheels up?"

Summary: Stephen's death and Emily's kidnapping are a hard blow to the team. Spencer and his wife haven't slept in over 48 hours and fighting is the only way to go, apparently. Word count: 6.074 Warnings: Cursing, spoilers of Criminal Mind Ep S13 01, angst A/N: The Reids need a break from everything. And no matter wht you say, the "wheels up" scene is the cringiest moment in the entire show. Try to prove me wrong.

Series' Masterlist - Author's masterlist

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(Y/N)’s point of view

We waited for a few minutes in the hospital hall until our friends got there. We had called their family and let them know what was going on. Spencer seemed to be in severe pain, and there were too many reasons: lack of sleep, stress, hospital lighting… the fear our friend had been hurt, Emily was missing and Stephen was dead. My husband was clearly having post-traumatic stress syndrome, with no time to deal with any emotion he might have to face.

It got worse after talking to Rossi. He was refusing treatment until he spoke to Luke, Spencer, and me.

- “First, you, go through my pants pockets and find my keys. There's a little one there in a file cabinet in my office. You following me?”

The man had hit his head, was still bleeding, and looked at us like he was about to give us the secret location of the holy grail.

- “Yes, I’m following.”- Luke said, holding the keys.

- “Inside, there's Chicago Bears season tickets. When you get them, you call Matt Simmons. I promised him those tickets.”

So Rossi hit his head harder than we had anticipated. We tried to convince him he was under any drug effect, but he got so mad he called us “assclowns” and forced us to go to the BAU and do as he asked us. It was the only way he would accept treatment.

- “I can’t arrest him.”- Spencer said as we reached the bullpen. Luke and I turned to him as he covered his eyes with one hand for the hundredth time in the last half hour.

- “What are you talking about?”- Alvez asked him.

- “Scratch.”- my husband explained and made an effort to look at us- “The second I see his face, I am going to kill him.”

- “Reid, come on! No one could blame you, we all wanna end that bastard.”- Luke tried to ease the mood, but I knew Spencer meant it. He wanted to add something, but he covered his eye with one hand with a painful expression. I wanted to hold him and take him away from all that pain, but we needed to help our friends.

- “What's wrong with me?”- Spencer whispered as I kissed his hand. Neither of us had rested a lot, and his crazy hair showed how little time he had had to take care of himself in the last 48 hours.

- “I’m pretty sure it’s PTSS. You’ve been in hyper-vigilant mode for the last 48 hours, we haven’t slept, eaten or rested, and shit keeps going south.”- I replied and rubbed his arms. - “I would suggest you take some time off to deal with this, but we both know…”

- “I don't have time to process my emotional state.”- Spencer added and I just nodded.

- “That's exactly when you make time, right? You ask for help. There's no shame in that.”- Luke tried to help, but Spencer’s attention was lost.

- “Rossi's office.”

- “Yeah. I'll handle that.”- Alvez tried to continue talking, but Spencer stopped him as he started walking away.

- “No. There's someone in Rossi's office.”

My husband was right, Penelope and Agent Simmons were in the room when we walked in, and they immediately gesticulated us not to make a sound and to give them our phones. Once they put them in a little wooden box filled with Cuban cigars Rossi had on his desk, Pen finally explained:

- “Ok. Now that we are secure, I got that for Rossi last year. Not only is it a cigar case, but it's also a Faraday case. It blocks all radio and cell signals. I think Scratch might be listening to us with our cell phones, even when they're off.”

I felt naked as soon as I heard that. What had Scratch heard…

- “That explains why Rossi was so cagey in the hospital.”- Luke added- “All right. Let's find these tickets.”

But as soon as he opened the drawer, all we could see were files about Scratch.

- “What is this?”- I asked as I grabbed one and went through the pages.

- “Stephen was brought on board for one reason. That was to catch Scratch.”- Simmons explained- “That is his entire investigation into him. He kept all his records off-site, updating Prentiss and Rossi through hard copies.”

- “If it's off the cloud, Scratch can't hack it.”- Spencer added, making it sound so obvious it hurt I didn’t realize it sooner.

- “Have you guys read it?”- I asked immediately.

- “No. Prentiss ordered it compartmentalized, eyes-only clearance, but she also felt there should be at least one failsafe who wasn't part of the BAU who knew about it just in case of emergency. That's why Garcia called me.”

Emily fucking Prentiss was the best, no questions asked.

- “All right. Let's dig in. I mean, this may be our only chance at stopping this bastard.”- Luke grabbed a few files and started passing them around. I followed him and got ready to read and find my best friend. We had to bring her back and make Scratch pay for what he had done.

Spencer’s point of view

It wasn’t a good day, let's put it that way. The fact Stephen was dead and that it could have been anyone on the team was too painful to start analyzing. It got real. I had always been, but it reminded us we could go through the same any day on the field.

Monica, Stephen’s wife, called Luke and asked him to go with her to the hospital to see her husband for the last time. It broke my heart to even think that that could be my wife, visiting my corpse.

But I didn’t have time to think about it. We had to find Prentiss.

I knew my wife was trying to focus as well, but tears kept falling down her cheeks as she read the files from Stephen’s investigation. I wanted to comfort her, but again, we had no time to process, to feel sorry, to feel at all. We were against the clock, and every minute Prentiss was away was a minute I knew she was being tortured.

All I could do was read file after file and make a major effort to find a lead.

Until I did.

- “What? Prentiss texted Hotch?”- (Y/N) asked as she read the print I had found. Garcia stood by her side in the conference room and read the paper over and over again, still not believing what I had found.

- “According to Stephen's documentation, yes.”- I replied.

- “It must have been a coordinated attempt to share intel. Would Hotch have exposed himself like this?”- Simmons asked, looking confused.

- “No!”- me and my wife yell at the same time.

- “And neither would she!”- I added and continued talking as I wrote the last message on the board. - “I mean, she wouldn't rely on a hackable app, and she sure as hell wouldn't write, “A.H.,” in a text. That defeats the purpose of compartmentalizing the investigation.”- I rambled, starting to feel very irritated by the slow pace we had figuring out where Prentiss was.

- “It was a smoke screen.”- Garcia whispered, shocked.

- “Prentiss knew they had to triple watch their backs because Scratch has always had eyes and ears everywhere.”- (Y/N) added and crossed her arms on her chest, looking upset and tired as well.

- “Stephen had a background in counterintelligence. He must have designed this. He faked the Hotch side of the conversation to entice Scratch to make a move.”- I nodded at Simmon’s words as I turned and looked at my team.

- “The size and scale of which indicate desperation, a desperation he hasn't shown after a year of hiding, so why now?”

My question hung in the air for a few seconds, until (Y/N) said.

- “It’s clear that the last text hit a note on him. We know Scratch has been obsessed with Hotch ever since the very beginning. He has to be trying to get his location from Em.”- that didn’t help keep me calm at all, but I knew she was right.

- “(Y/N) is right, A.H. is a pretty big red flag. Maybe that's what brought him out.”- Simmons added.

- “Well, they used Hotch's initials in other texts before.”- Garcia suggested- “Maybe that’s not it…”

- “Then they found something else, something they knew would rattle him.”- I turned to read the message again when my wife asked.

- “What’s B-cap?

- “Geography maybe. I mean, it's mentioned in relevance to DC.”- I heard Simmom’s theory, but it didn’t feel right. To make it worse, my eye was still bothering me, I was feeling anxious and I couldn’t focus.

- “Maybe it’s a code name for a partner.”- (Y/N) suggested.

- “I can't see it.”- I whispered, annoyed. That shouldn’t be that hard. There had to be something there to help me decode those letters, and I couldn’t see it. It was so frustrating and irritating I had to deal with it alone before I snapped in front of my team. And my wife.

- “Hey, no. Why don't we kick it over to the team? Maybe they can suss out…”- Penelope was still talking when I started pushing her and Simmons out of the room.

- “No. No time. Get out!”

- “What?”- Garcia looked at me like I had just asked the most random thing on earth, but I kept gently pushing her and Simmons out.

- “Get out. Sorry. You too, chipmunk, please.”

- “What? Why me?”- the way (Y/N) stared at me was both hurt and confused.

- “I'm sorry, but get out.”- I kissed (Y/N)’s forehead as Garcia grabbed her computer, Matt took the folders and I closed the door behind them.

I needed to be alone and focused. I was exhausted, but there was no time to rest. Prentiss was in danger and I had to make an effort and figure out that message as fast as possible.

(Y/N)’s point of view

I stared at Spencer pacing in the conference room for almost an hour. It was killing me because I knew how much he was pushing himself to get the right answer. He felt responsible, he was taking the burden all alone, and it was painful to know he wouldn’t even let us help.

- “Did he even sleep?”- Garcia asked and held my hand, trying to comfort me.

- “No more than an hour. Morgan stopped by with donuts.”

- “Yeah, he told me he wanted to catch up with him.”

- “I didn’t get time to hug him. I really need a hug from Morgan right now.”- I whispered and Pen held my hand tighter.

- “This I might be able to help with.”- Matt Simmons said and pointed at the text on the screen- “Prentiss’ last text had to do with Honduras. Scratch's last known sighting before tonight was Honduras.”

- “Right, and we thought Scratch fled there.”

- “Right. Prentiss asked the IRT to contact our Central American sources just to see if we could find anything. Now, we never did. We also never stopped to ask why Scratch was in Honduras in the first place.”

- “Clearly, not for the baleadas.”- I whispered and stood up. I needed to move to keep my head focused because I was both falling asleep and losing my mind sitting there.

- “Reid will figure this out.”- Garcia said with such conviction I felt hopeful for a second.- “He's really amazing at this kind of thing.”

That was the moment my husband picked to toss a book against the window, shocking us all. He was like a madman inside that room, with crazy hair and crazy weary eyes. I ran over and stormed into the conference room with Matt and Garcia. But before I could ask Spencer what the hell had happened, he started talking:

- “B-cap is short for Banisteriopsis caapi.”

- “What the hell just happened?”- I asked, but he ignored me and continued explaining.

- “It's a plant, specifically a hallucinogen that's found in a tea called ayahuasca.”

- “We worked on a couple of those cases, I think. If I remember, it's like peyote.”- Simmons added and my husband nodded and continued talking.

- “Yeah, in multiple ways. They're similar legally in that taking them is considered a religious practice, and pharmacologically, they're similar in that both drսg cause you to hallucinate intense, geometric patterns and vomit a lot.”

- “Ok. What does this have to do with Scratch?”- Garcia questioned, still looking shaky after the book-throwing scene.

- “Well, Scratch has a cocktail of disassociative drugs to induce delusions, but a mathematical mind like his would always be looking for ways to tweak and improve the formula.”- my husband explained.

- “Ok, so he wanted to get this B- cap and use it against his victims?”- I asked him and he nodded.

- “Exactly.”

- “So he went to Honduras to look for it. He then brought it back to DC to experiment with it. Stephen and Emily came to the same conclusion and tried to pretend like they were hot on his trail.”- Simmons summarized Spencer’s idea as my husband came up with a plan:

- “We need to track down all practitioners of the ceremony in the district... Shamans, gurus, overnight religions that just hung their first shingle. He could be using one of their volunteers as a partner, either witting or unwitting.”

Penelope, Matt, and I nodded, but none of us moved. Spencer frowned and stared at us confused.

- “What?”- he asked us.

- “You threw a book at a window. It was jarring.”- Garcia whispered, still shocked.

- “It took me sixty minutes to deduce what should have taken me sixty seconds, and if Emily dies because I was too slow, I'll be throwing a lot more than books.”

And just like that, my husband stormed out of the conference room. But I wasn’t gonna let him throw a tantrum and make me feel bad about it. So I followed him.

- “Stop it!”- I whispered/yelled and grabbed his hands to force him to turn and look at me, as he reached his desk in the bullpen.

- “What? Working? I don't think it’s a good idea, all things considered.”- Spencer hadn’t snapped at me at work in a very long while, though it didn’t surprise me. He was exhausted, but so was I, and I wasn’t throwing things around.

- “Stop trying to do this on your own, Spencer! We are a fucking team!”- I raised my voice ‘cos I didn’t have any more patience to deal with him.

- “I know we are, but I need to focus! This is the kind of thing I am good at, and I am failing!”- Spencer’s voice was hard, he was almost yelling and I was glad the bullpen was mostly empty.

- “You are failing at being a team member! We are all worried sick about Em, not just you!”

- “Don’t you think I know that?! I am worried about JJ, Rossi, and Tara too! And they are not here to help us solve this case, so it’s just us two, who have barely slept or eaten, plus Garcia and Simmons!”

- “Exactly! Not just you! So fucking let us help!!”

- “I need to do this!”- Spencer argued and I nearly lost it.

- “Why don’t you take a trip to Mexico behind my back again then, maybe that would help!”

- “Oh! you were waiting for a chance to throw that to my face!!”

- “Stop it!”- Penelope grabbed our hands and forced us to stop yelling at each other.- “I love you both, and I know you are not at your best, so please, for your family’s sake, stop arguing right now!”.

- “Can you tell him he is being a jerk?”- I replied and Penelope nearly gasped. - “He is! You know he is!”

- “So are you!”- my husband argued and Garcia was now officially shocked.

- “You are making me act like a jerk!”

- “Time out! Both of you!”- Garcia raised her voice- “You are going to sit in the conference room and fix your problems while me and Simmons are going to find the ayahuasca dealer who is covering Scratch, and we won’t talk to you until you have talked like adults and not the annoying brats you are being!”

- “We don’t have time for this!”- Spencer argued as Garcia started pushing us to the conference room.

- “Then make time for this!”- she said and slammed the door behind us. She locked us there, forgetting (or overlooking) the other door in the room, wide open.

- “This is crazy, we should be after Scratch!”- Spencer complained as I sat at the conference table and stared at him, pacing back and forth the room.

- “We? Don’t you mean you, Spencer?”- I crossed my arms on my chest and stared at him as his face changed.

- “Why are you making such a big deal about it? I am good at figuring things out! Period!”- my husband stared at me, crazy hair, weary eyes, exhausted, and angry. I was sorry I was being mean, but I couldn’t hold it. He was in so much pain he kept covering his right eye with one hand, still struggling with his vision. And yet, he refused to stop and ask for help.

- “I know you are good at it! You are good at fucking everything, Spencer! But that doesn’t mean you have to figure it out all alone! You can’t just throw us out of a room ‘cos you need to think, and you can’t fucking slam books at a window and not expect us to be worried!! What the hell were you thinking?!”

I stood up and waited for his answer. He looked at me and simply raised his arms, like asking me a question.

- “You know this is not our regular case! This is not a normal situation! We are worried, frustrated, and exhausted!”

- “Spencer! I know that!”

- “Then why are you nagging me?”

- “Because I am tired of feeling you keep pushing me away when things get hard like I can’t handle shit!”- I yell and finally take the anger off my chest- “You don’t ask for my help! You wanna solve everything on your own! I know you wanna keep me safe, but it’s so frustrating ‘cos I know I can help you and you don’t fucking let me! Ever!”

- “You know I trust you! You are an amazing SSA!”- Spencer tries to explain, but I don’t let him go on. I groan in frustration and shake my head.

- “Not here! At home! You are your own island! I know things haven’t been at their best lately! I know having your mom has been challenging and I feel incredibly guilty because I told you it was ok to bring her home with us! But I just want to help! And you never let me in!”

- “(Y/N), I’ve had to deal with my mother alone my entire life!”- Spencer yelled like it was groundbreaking news.

- “Not for the last ten years or more, Spencer!”- I replied and felt almost insulted.- “I’ve supported you, loved you, and helped you with Diana since we were friends! I’ve loved her since we met!”

- “But she is not your mom! She is my problem! My burden!”- Spencer’s voice shook as he finished that sentence, and covered his eyes one more time.

- “We are not married just to fuck and raise our kids! We are married to share the good and bad things! I’ve told you a million times, that we are in this together! Whatever “This” is! Stop pushing me away or I’m actually gonna go away! Is that what you want?”

Spencer stared at me after I finished shouting. He seemed hurt, not angry, not upset, he looked at me as if I had just shot him, and he had never seen it coming.

- “I love you with my life, but we can’t go on like this.”- I whispered and took a few steps closer to him. Enough yelling, we really had to start moving in that conversation and fix things- “This whole situation showed us how much work we still need.”

- “(Y/N), all I’ve ever wanted to do was to protect you.”- my husband sounded so wounded as he said those words, and I felt guilty for having that conversation, though I knew we needed it.

- “I know, but ironically, you keep hurting me in the process.”- I replied and took another few steps closer to him. He held my hands and rested them against his face, cradling his cheeks.

- “I know I’m stupid when it comes to feelings… I’m sorry.”

- “Were you planning to tell me about Mexico or did you actually think you could keep it from me forever?”- I asked him and he took a deep breath before replying.

- “I really wanted to tell you. I've felt like shit since it happened.”

- “Did it just happen once?”

- “Yes. I planned a second trip but never made it.”

- “Why didn’t you? You felt guilty?”

- “That, and the kids got sick that weekend. I could never leave you alone with them.”- Spencer confessed and he closed his eyes as if the thought brought him pain. He looked ashamed. - “I’m so sorry.”

I wrapped my arms around Spencer and he held me so tight against his body, I had trouble breathing for a second.

- “I hate when Cat Adams gets into my head.”- I whispered against his chest and my husband kissed the top of my head.

- “It was my fault, I let her get too close this time.”

- “Fuck yeah you did, she even sat on your lap.”- I looked at him and he caressed my cheeks carefully and slowly as he stared into my eyes.

- “I did what I could to get my mother home safe.” - Spencer’s voice was so apologetic my chest tightened as I heard him.

- “I know… but it doesn’t mean it was nice to hear, or watch.”

- “You know you are the only woman on earth for me.”- he added quickly as he raised my chin with his index finger, forcing me to lock eyes with him.

- “Derek might add other planets to that list as well, Space Boy.”- I teased and Spencer sighed, nodding.

- “True.”- he held me a few more minutes, letting the whole argument sink in.- “I don’t want to push you away.”

- “I know… it comes naturally when you are under pressure. You shut everybody out.”

He didn’t say anything else, I knew what he was thinking. A part of him wanted to apologize, the rest of his brain kept thinking about Emily. I sighed and looked at him, as my hands tried to fix his messy and crazy hair a little.

- “We’ll figure it out. Now let’s bring Em back.”

Spencer’s point of view

(Y/N) and I were still reading some of the files with Scratch’s intel Stephen had collected over the recent months when our cell phone rang. We both read the text, it was an address. Matt and Penelope had a location. They were on their way.

- “We are ten minutes closer.”- I whispered and my wife dropped the file on the table.

- “Hurry!”

We both knew we shouldn’t be doing that, neither of us had slept, I could barely see with one eye and my mental health was… unhealthy, to call it somehow decent. I was ignoring all the signs of burnout, anxiety, and panic attacks because I didn’t have time to deal with it. And my poor wife was unquestionably exhausted.

I kept the AC ice cold, trying to keep (Y/N) awake as she drove. The cold could help her stay focused, because it has a stimulating effect on your body, helping to counteract drowsiness, as well as improve mental clarity and alertness.

- “I’m fucking freezing.”- she whispered.

- “I’m trying to keep you awake, chipmunk.”- I replied and rubbed her leg.

- “I’m about to start singing all the Frozen songs.”- I chuckled remembering Raven would force us to watch that movie at least once a week back then. Even my mother knew some of the songs.

- “Did you double-check your bulletproof vest?”- I knew I had checked it myself, but I had to ask again.

- “Yes, you?”

- “Yes.”- she parked and we basically jumped out of the SUV.

- “You take right, I take left.”- I suggested but my wife shook her head even before I was done talking.

- “We are not splitting. We walk in together and walk out together. Is it clear?”

- “Yes ma'am.”

We rushed inside and less than a minute later, we heard the first gunshot. The place was a three-floor warehouse. We ran toward the sound, in hopes of finding Emily. My wife was right behind me, both our guns pointing around us the entire time.

And then, I saw her, Em, running up the stairs as Scratch tried to catch her.

- “FBI!”- I shouted and pulled the trigger. But I didn’t get him, I couldn’t even focus my gaze. He shot back, and I had to take two steps back, pushing my wife behind me to keep her safe.

- “Are you ok?”- I whispered as she nodded.

- “Are you?”

- “Yes, let’s go, Emily is on the run.”

We went upstairs but didn’t find anything. Instead, we heard Alvez’s voice from the first floor and decided to regroup with him.

- “Prentiss!”- I yelled as soon as I heard another gunshot. I was on edge, ‘cos I knew at the sight of Scratch I wasn’t going to talk to him, I wasn’t hoping for an interrogation or even to see him rot in jail. No. I wanted to be the one to put a bullet in that man’s head. I needed to see him bleed and get cold to be sure no one else in my family was ever going to be threatened by him.

- “Lower your weapon, damn it!”- Prentiss whispered as I found her and Matt behind some boxes on the first floor.

- “Where is Scratch?”- I asked immediately.

- “He is upstairs.”- Em whispered.- “Tag in here, Simmons and Alvez can box him in.”

- “No, I need to go find him.”

- “No, no, no, Spence. Please. I need someone I know is real right now, all right?”- Emily begged me and my wife moved closer to her and wrapped her arms around her. Simmons took his chance and ran away to catch Scratch. When my wife moved from Emily, I wrapped my arms around Prentiss and held her close to me.

- “Are you ok?”- I whispered as Prentiss nodded and tried not to cry.

- “Do you wanna go to the car?”- (Y/N) asked.- “This whole floor is clear. Scratch was alone here. Cocky bastard.”

- “Yeah, I need to get out of here.”- Emily replied. I held her and helped her walk as my wife grabbed her from the other side and supported her weight too,-

- “Scratch is down.”- we heard Alvez’s voice on the monitor a few seconds later.- “I repeat, Scratch is down.”

And though the nightmare was over, I didn’t feel relieved at all.

- “He fell, trying to escape.”- Luke explained to us as we stood next to the body. It made his death real, but it didn’t help with closure. It felt oddly wrong. The bastard was dead but all the pain he had caused was still here, hunting us. Knowing he was gone wasn’t enough to make it go away.

Coming back home to our kids was all we needed. That day, after visiting the team at the hospital, and dragging Emily along for a check-up, we went to Sofia’s and spent the rest of the day with our babies and my mother. Raven was so happy to see us she didn't let either of us go the entire day. Not even for nap time. (Y/N) held Vincent most of the time, she didn’t want to let him go, even when our 22-month-old wasn’t very excited to be stopped from running around.

- “We need time off from work.”- my wife whispered as we both lay on her old bed, holding our sleepy babies close to us.

- “We do.”- I replied and moved my hand from Raven’s back to my wife’s leg, rubbing it carefully a few times.

- “Maybe permanently.”- she added after a few seconds. But I didn't have an answer for those words. Not yet at least. So I just closed my eyes and sighed, ready to fall asleep.

(Y/N)’s point of view

Stephens’ funeral was something I wasn’t ready to deal with. I still felt overwhelmed by everything that had happened, and I didn’t feel prepared to face Monica, his wife. When I saw her sitting with their two kids, I kept seeing myself instead, crying over Spencer’s casket.

I didn’t know how to deal with the angst that that image produced me. I just held my husband’s hand tight as we stood next to Penelope and Simmons. Speeches were said, and people spoke about Stephen’s incredible career, his brilliant mind, and his good heart. All the things we were never going to share with him.

Somehow, Emily was strong enough to say some words at the ceremony. Being in a cemetery wasn't doing any good for anyone’s mental health at the moment, but we loved Stephen too much not to be there to say one last goodbye.

- “We never get to say good-bye the way we want, and when we deal with a loss so sudden and cruel, our emotions can overwhelm us.”

Prentiss’ voice was clear and strong. I bit my lips to stop crying, and Spencer wrapped an arm around me, kissing the top of my head.

- “Stephen Walker was a good agent, but he was a better man. He made the world a better place, and we can honor him by doing the work he never got to do.”

He never got to watch his kids grow. He never got to kiss his wife one more time. He didn’t get to retire, have a life, catch Mr. Scratch, and watch how he made the world a better place. There were too many things Stephen didn’t get to do, and all that ‘cos a psycho killer murdered him. I just sobbed and hid my face in Spencer’s shirt. He held me tight and didn’t let me go during the entire ceremony.

I couldn't even talk to Monica, I was too affected. However, I watched Emily and JJ talking with her, so after they lowered the casket and most people were gone, Spencer whispered in my ear:

- “Ready to go?”- and I just nodded.

- “Prentiss asked us to meet her at the BAU.”- Mat announced to us as we started walking. I didn’t want to go there, I wanted to go home and be with my kids. But I knew if Em wanted us to go to the BAU, it was serious. It wasn’t a meeting at Rossi’s after something had emotionally affected the team, it was formal.

When we walked into the conference room, Emily was waiting for us. She stood alone, like taking the room in. God knows how fucked up she was after being taken by Scratch, we had very little time to talk to her. We had little time for anything and everything at that moment. Rossi stood by her side as we all heard her saying to Matt.

- “I wanted to thank you for all of your help.”

- “Well, it was good to be of help. Ever since the IRT went down, I've been sitting on my hands waiting for a new assignment.”- he replied with a short smile.

- “We should sit down tomorrow. We can talk about that.”- Em suggested with a nod.

- “I'd like that.”

I don’t know why knowing there was a chance Matt joined the team made me feel better about my constant thoughts of leaving. Maybe ‘cos it meant someone else could step in and take our place.

- “So we all need to discuss what Peter Lewis' death means for this team.”- Emily was in full chief-of-department mode. Spencer, who was standing by my side, held my hand and intertwined our fingers as he kept looking at Prentiss.

- “It means that Hotch can come back.”- Penelope suggested, which I hadn’t thought about to be honest. Would he like to come back to this job? A job I didn’t know if I wanted anymore?

- “Yeah. We spoke to him. He was relieved that he and Jack were out of danger. They're out of Witness Protection, but...”- Rossi paused as if he didn’t want to break our hearts with the truth.

- “He's not coming back, is he?- JJ finished his sentence and David just nodded.

- “He loves being a full-time dad.”- Prentiss added- “He never got to do that before, and, let's face it, in this job…”

- “There's always gonna be another Scratch, and he's lost enough.”- Rossi’s words were somber, but filled with honesty. Of us all, Aaron Hotchner was the one person who had been forced to sacrifice too much for the team, for the victims, for the benefit of the Bureau. He deserved a life out of that madness and just be happy. Who knew? Maybe Beth could take him back after all those years.

- “We all have.”- Tara pointed out and looked at me. Of course, she knew I was a mess. But to be fair, we were all destroyed after those last couple of days.

- “Yes. We have, which is why the director has ordered us to take some time off from handling cases.”

At that moment right here, I felt like a whole brick wall had been lifted from my shoulders.

- “But before we all leave, there's one last thing I need to say.”- Prentiss continued talking. - “Scratch got deeper into my head than I care to admit, and the only way I was able to stay sane was by repeating a mantra, two words. You know what those two words were?”

- “Fuck you?”- I asked, but Prentiss shook her head.

- “Wheels up. It saved my life when I wasn't sure I was gonna make it because it reminded me that you were out there fighting, so take your rest... You've earned it. But when we get back, wheels up, Matt.”- Em turned to Simmons and he looked at Rossi for a second before answering:

- “Wheels up, Emily.”

- “Wheels up, Tara.”- Prentiss asked and I closed my eyes for a second, feeling the anxiety filling my body. My friend was about to ask us all one by one if we committed to the team after our weeks off and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life.

- “Wheels up.”- Lewis replied with a short smile.

- “Wheels up.”- JJ said before she was asked to answer,

- “Wheels up.” - Penelope did the same, and her voice cracked slightly.

- “Wheels up.” - Luke added

- “Damn right, wheels up.”- Rossi gave it a twist and then turned to my husband. His hand was still holding mine and I gave it a little squeeze. He looked at me and then at the people around us and finally nodded as he replied.

- “Wheels up.”

And then, they all stared at me. I didn’t know what to answer; I was feeling my peers’ pressure. So I opened my mouth and before I knew it, I heard myself saying.

- “Wheels up.”

And I immediately regretted it.

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#criminal minds #spencer reid #babymetaldoll writes #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fix it #Spencer reid needs a hug

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leeny-leens · 1 day ago

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Knives Out (Wounds In) | BCJ x Reader

Pairing: bsf!Barty Crouch Jr x bsf! Reader

Summary: You accidentally stab Barty and he...asks for more?

Warnings: BLOOD, STABBING, INJURIES, Barty has issues,I've never dressed a thigh wound before, description of injury being taken care off, Barty likes pain (and blood), proceed with caution okay I'm sleep deprived

Content: Barty and the Reader are a little unhinged, Barty is having a crisis, Barty being called doll (courtesy of @vun3r4b13xwrites for this brain rot), not proofread or edited, Barty makes like one really dark joke abt dying but it's not too dark

WC: 3.83k

AN: this was inspired by a post of @unconventional-lawnchair and honestly idek what happened, it somehow spiraled into being something much longer and ??? than anticipated so have this. Also tagging @esotericloser BCS ya said ya want it <3

Being friends with Barty meant that there wasn't much that could actually traumatize you anymore when it came to gory horror. Oh no, you’re bound lose that ability quite quickly in his company, with the way he walked around looking like a splasher horror victim half of the time. He barley ever had an explanation for it either, always shrugging and mumbling something incoherent about where the blood on him came from.

So really, you'd say you're pretty desensitized when it came to blood and injuries, especially when it came to Barty being bloodied and injured.

Nothing however, could have prepared you for the sight of your very own dagger piercing his thigh, blood spilling and splashing on the ground and wall.

It's your worst nightmare come true; a loved one injured and bloodied because of you and your stupidity, though Barty would go on a tangent, chiding you for the self deprecating notion of that thought.

The boy in question, you just noticed, stood by the open door, his face pulled into a blend between amusement and a grimace of pain as he stared between the dagger and your frozen form on your bed.

“Damn doll, when I said your stare could throw daggers at me I didn't think you'd take it seriously,” he said, painfully failing to conceal the wince in his voice as he joked.

The sound of his voice was apparently all your brain needed to reboot itself and jumpstart again. Immediately, you hurled yourself up from the bed, standing by his side in a few quick strides as you crouched down to examine the injury on his thigh.

“Merlin I’m sorry Bee, I was doing that stupid Charms assignment and- and you just came in and I panicked and oh my god are you gonna die?” there was seemingly no stopping you the moment you began to speak, the words stumbling out in no rhyme or rhythm as you tried to remember what little you’d learned about first aid.

In your panic, there wasn't much you remembered aside for needing to stop the bleeding somehow and making sure to keep his leg raised high, or was it keep it low to prevent bleeding? You couldn't recall it, your mind too riddled with guilt and terror at the vast amount of blood staining the carpet.

“You can't die on me,” you whimpered, tears barley held at bay “They're gonna expell me if they find out I killed you-”

The sudden realization of who your best friend was hit you harder than any hex you've sustained in your lifetime before you stared up at him with terror blown eyes “Oh my god your father is sending me to Azkaban for killing his only heir.”

This was evidently the straw that broke the camels back, Barty finally doubled over from laughter, his barking voice probably resonating through the entirety of the dormitory. His laughter quickly turned into pressed coughs as he tried to straighten back up again, mild gasps of pain escaping him in-between. Quickly, you're on your feet again, gently yet firmly guiding him to your bed and hissing at him to not put any weight on his injured leg.

To his credit, he let you push him around like a pliant ragdoll, following your instructions and keeping his pretty mouth shut aside for a few pained noises here there. His eyes flickered between you and the dagger, regarding the latter with a glimmer of fascination and you could tell it took everything in him to not poke at the metal protruding from his flesh.

“Relax doll,” he said in an attempt to reassure you “’M not gonna die yeah? Tis but a scratch.” As if trying to convince you, he tapped the dagger lightly, smiling at you with that wide expression, his lips pulled apart so much it brought his dimple out. “See? I've survived worse,” he added, and to your utter dismay, it did help calm you down.

“Right, it's probably worse than it looks like” you muttered, taking a few deep breaths to compose yourself before finally gathering your thoughts to help him. “Okay, stay right there and don't move okay?” you threw him a warning glare before disappearing into the bathroom, occasionally glancing over your shoulder to make sure he was following your instructions. You knew staying still was hard for Barty, his natural inclination to always be in motion was one of the biggest hurdles he faced in his day to day life. He couldn't sit still for longer than a few minutes, not without bouncing his leg or tapping his fingers against the nearest surface or hell, rocking back and forth. Don't get him started on people telling him to be still, that somehow made it much harder to comply than if he tried to do it on his own.

He was however, trying his best to stay still, probably to not worry you more than he already had, and you appreciated his cooperation immensely.

Returning back to his side, you knelt down at the bedside and set down a plain white box and opened it, revealing various bandages, potions and vials along side bandaids and scissors of different types and sizes.

Barty decided to stay silent, watching your movements with an attentive, hawk-like gaze and arched his eyebrows in surprise as you grabbed the biggest pair of scissors, only to bring it to the hem of his pant leg, quickly cutting through the dark fabric.

“You know,” he said amused, watching you cut apart his pants “This is not how I imagined you undressing me would go, could've taken me out to dinner first at least.”

“You're so lucky you already have a stab wound,” you replied dryly, moving the fabric away to reveal the pale skin of thigh and barley held back your grimace at the sight of the dagger lodged into it. “Otherwise that comment would've gotten you one.” you grabbed a whole bunch of gauzes and disinfectant, slowly trying to assess how bad the wound was in order to decide your next course of action.

This was the part you'd feared the most, the one where you pulled the dagger out.

As if he’d read your mind, Barty reached out to take your hand into his, bringing it to his lips so he could press a kiss on your knuckles. “It's gonna be okay doll,” he murmured softly “I trust you, you're bloody brilliant and you don't have to be scared of this.”

It was comical really, how he'd gotten hurt because of you and yet was the one to offer you comfort and reassurance. Had this been anyone else, you would've scoffed and thrashed against the gesture, but this was Barty, your Barty, who'd watched you overcome every obstacle in your life for the last six years, your Barty who knew you like the back of his hand and studied you like you were the biggest mystery in the universe to be unraveled. You could only nod in agreement, squeezing his hand tightly as you steadied your breath to pull out the dagger.

You vaguely remembered how Madam Pomfrey would talk up injured students to distract them from procedures, and you decided that if the matron of the hospital wing did it, it couldn't be that stupid of an idea to try out.

“Why did you come into my room?”

you asked suddenly, and he leaned back into the nest of pillows you had propped against your headboard.

He shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. “No reason, just wanted to see my favourite person,” despite all the years with him as your best friend, the response still managed to draw out an over exaggerated eyeroll from you, one that did nothing to mask the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

You questioned him some more, asking about his day and what he was going to do, and because this was your Barty, you knew he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to talk your ear off, the dagger in his thigh quickly forgotten. Fortunately for you, that meant you could pull it out with one smooth movement, granting Barty barley any time to register the pain before you began to press a mountain of gauzes against the wound. The white fabric quickly became a soaked, scarlet mess and you could hear his breath hitch at the sight, not the way it would've from pain, but rather from something akin to speechlessness. He watched you press against the wound, switching out gauze after gauze whenever it became unusable after soaking up too much blood, and he was sure the blood rushing to his head at the sight of your fingers gleaming with the red liquid of him was significantly more fatale than the stab wound to his thigh. There was just something so primitively alluring about the sight, your face contorted into a grimace of worry and concentration as you applied moderate yet firm pressure against his thigh, not minding how dirty your hands became in the process. It didn't help that it was him sullying your pretty hands, and he swore his soul left his body when you moved a stray strand of hair out of your face, cursing when you felt the blood smear on your cheek.

He wanted nothing more but to lean forward and wipe it off, perhaps clean it up with his own mouth just to see how he tasted on you, but he remained rigidly seated like a statue, his mind a battle field of desire and rationality.

You were none the wiser to his predicament, taking his sudden silence as a side effect of pain or shock. You took to murmuring encouragement and random things about your own day, partially to fill the silence and partially to make sure the boy was still rooted into reality instead of floating into the realm of dark memories, just on the off chance that the sight of his own blood and the feeling of pain brought them forward. You told him about the stupid Charms project you’d taken up for extra credit, letting a dagger float around in a coordinated pattern, and how you'd been sitting at it for hours on end before he barged into your room, startling you into sending the dagger straight at him. He made the occasional grunt of agreement or let out a snort at a particularly funny joke you cracked, and after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, the bleeding finally seemed to stop enough for you to be able to actually inspect the wound.

It looked worse than it actually is, not too deep and not too long, and your entire body slumped in relief at the realization. For a moment, you rested your head in your hands, muttering thanks to whatever might hear you. “Thank everything you're not gonna die,” you said once you looked at Barty again, whose attention had been on you the entire time. “What a pity,” he replied almost too plainly, yet the grin on his face betrayed the self deprecating statement. “Here I was looking forward to bringing joy into my father's life for once,” you rolled your eyes so hard you worried they might actually fall out, and you could only lean forward to hit his shoulder with a warning scoff. “Don't be mean to my best friend,” you chided “That's my job, I can't afford to lose it in this economy.”

“So true, the prices are ridiculously high these days,” he mused, eyes glimmering as he watched you disinfect the wound and bandage it up.

“Exactly! I mean come on, 5 galleons for a pack of chocolates frogs? Do they think all of us are made of trust funds and old money?” Barty is unable to hold in his snort at your statement, reminiscing how you haven't let it go ever since your last trip to Hogsmeade nearly a month ago. If anyone knew how to hold a grudge, it was his doll for sure.

Absentmindedly, your fingers traced slow circles around the red, angry skin of the gash, careful to not press or touch anything that might elicit unnecessary pain. Barty’s entire body went stiff at the soft touch, so gentle and soothing, like he was made of porcelain and too fragile, the lightest press of your thumb against his thigh a breaking hazard. It was a stark contrast to how he was usually treated, but he’d come to accept it from you. While he hated being seen as vulnerable and weak- because he was everything but that-, he found himself relishing your touch and care, for it stemmed not from pity or underestimation but genuine care and love. And oh how he soaked up every ounce of affection you gave him, starved of it for his whole life but finding you there to give it to him like a steady stream flowing from the creek of your heart.

You took his stiffness as a sign of discomfort and swiftly withdrew your hand to stop the ministrations, almost missing the imperceptible whine of dissatisfaction that barely escaped the boy’s lips. When you stared at him with a puzzled look on your face, he greeted you with one of his own, cleverly covering for his mindless slip-up.

When it seemed like he hadn’t actually made any sound, you were content to get back to treating the wound, your fingers brushing over the tools in the first aid kit.

After realising the wound wasn't life threatening, your mind had cleared up significantly, rendering you able to think and remember what you needed to do to properly take care of the gash. You grabbed a bottle of blue disinfectant alongside more of the gauze, dousing the latter in the blue solution before pressing it against the injury.

The lack of warning, coupled with the sudden action, had Barty hissing and bucking in pain, even if the momentary sting left an aftertaste of pleasure in its wake.

You glanced up at him, your expression one of sheepish apology, before dapping the gauze carefully on the cut.

“’M so sorry, just a bit more yeah doll?” you murmured, your other hand coming up to rub along his knee. Barty wasn't sure what knocked out the breathe out of his lungs; the endearment or the touch or perhaps the sincerity and care that he could feel seeping into his cold and hollow bones with every second he spent in your presence. If getting stabbed by you meant he could have you this close, this warm and soft and attentive all for him? Merlin, he'd let you stab him over and over again, like he was your personal pin cushion.

He tried to keep the noise to a minimum, alongside the flinching in fear of losing your touch. The last thing he wanted was for you to let go of him, as selfish as that sounded. He quite liked having your full attention on him, like nothing else in the world mattered as much as he did.

Selfish and self-centred? Maybe.

Did he give a fuck? Not in the slightest.

A tap against his knee brought him out of his reveries, and his eyes met yours in a questioning manner. “Whadya say, darlin’?” he asked, trying his best to sound casual “Too busy enjoying your hands on me.”

His comment drew an amused chuckle from you, much too used to his flirtations. You never quite knew whether he meant it or not, all those playful jabs and nudges that toyed the line between friendship and something more, yet neither of you made a move to explore that territory, too afraid to lose what you had.

“I said I’m putting some of that scarring ointment on the wound,” you said, repeating the statement that had been lost on him. You’d already grabbed the small tub with the greenish paste. When you uncapped it, dipping your finger into it to apply it to his wound, you were surprised by his sudden recoiling, as if the mere notion of applying the ointment would sear his skin down to his bones.

“Bee?” You asked, surprised to see him flinch away from you.

He was mortified at his own reaction, not having had enough time to control his movements. He didn’t quite know how he could explain this to you, why he flinched away when you’ve been nothing but a perfect caretaker, inspecting and treating his injury.

Just as he began to sputter out a messy apology and an explanation, realisation dawned on you. You weren’t stupid, just like Barty knew you better than anyone else, you had the privilege of knowing him like no one else had. You’d watched him get into fights more often than you could count. You’d talked to him plenty about it of course, unable to just stand by as he destroyed himself, body and soul, over and over again. What had bothered you the most was him never properly taking care of his injuries, opting to let them fester and scar until his entire body was littered with gashes and cuts of various sizes. Over time, you’d come to understand that he didn’t necessarily enjoy the act of fighting itself, but rather how alive he felt with each punch, with each crack and broken bone. The scars were a testament to his existence, proof that he hadn’t been complete worn numb by life and its hardships. He liked the reminders, liked to look at them and trace along their edges whenever he felt himself slip away into the darkest corners of his mind, and you’d figured that this gash was no exception.

“You want it to scar,” you said, not a question but rather a fact. You watched as colour rushed into his pale face, mouth falling open and closing in a comical fashion. He could muster up nothing more than a nod, knowing that trying to talk his way out of this wasn’t an option.

Softly, you traced along the edge of the gash, your eyes never once leaving his. “Why?” There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in your voice as you posed the question, just pure curiosity and the need to understand him.

Silence blanketed the room as you patiently waited for him to answer your question. His eyebrows furrowed in that typical Barty manner, the one that made the silver piercings in his eyebrows more visible, catching the lights around him. When he spoke up, his voice was quiet, almost too quiet, as if afraid that speaking any louder might shatter both you and him.

“I want your mark on me,” from all the answers he could’ve given you, this one was the last one you’d expected, yet somehow the most perfect Barty answer of them all. His love had always been that way, all teeth and scratches, leaving marks in its wake as evidence that he had been there. In the same fashion, it made sense that he wanted love in the same manner; with marks left on him to prove that he was loved.

It was crazy, really, how much you understood him. It should’ve scared you, weirded you out at least, but no such sensations arised. There was only love and understanding cursing through your body for the boy you called your best friend.

Emboldened by his vulnerability, you found yourself leaning in closer, your lips ghosting over the edge of the gash before pressing them down in a gentle kiss. “It’s alright,” you mumbled “You can keep it Bee, ‘m not judging you.”

His breath hitched at the feeling of your lips pressed so closely to the wound, mind reeling at having you so close, so understanding and so incredibly loving despite him being so himself, a warning in and out of itself.

“Does that mean you’d be down to giving me another one?” He asked jokingly, trying his best to lighten the mood by even an ounce.

“Maybe,” you quipped back, pulling one of the bandaids out to put it over the wound. “If you ask nicely, I might,” you grinned up at him, enjoy in seeing him squirm for once. His eyes drifted to the dagger, mind running wild with anticipation.

“Please?”

“Is that the best you got, doll?”

“Bold statement for someone who just stabbed me,” he retorted “And took off my pants without asking!”

With a snort, you stood up, patting his thigh softly before putting the first and kit on the ground to sit beside him. “Well when you put it that way, I have no choice but to oblige, no?” You grabbed the dagger, twirling it in your hand before you ever so slowly lowered it down to graze the skin of his thigh.

He was completely still beneath your touch, his breath shallow as he waited for your next move. There was no hurry in your movements, the glinting tip of the dagger barely tracing across his flesh. “What do we say when we want something, doll?” You asked, amused by the extreme change in his behaviour. You’d never seen Barty so complacent and mellow in all your years together, much less because of you.

“Please,” he mumbled “Give me another one?” Subconsciously, he’d leaned in closer to you, hazel eyes almost completely swallowed up by the darkness of his pupils.

A small smile tugged on the corners of your mouth, and not wanting to tease him any further, you pressed the blade into his skin.

You watched as he bit his lips, trying to the best of his abilities to not wince in pain and spurred on by the heat of the moment, you closed the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips against his. The sounds of pain he let out were swallowed by your mouth, moving in frenzied hunger as you let the dagger blade dig deeper into his thigh.

In that moment, you realised two things.

One: You were in love with Barty Crouch Junior, your best friend since first year.

Two: You were incredibly and thoroughly fucked, for you would go to the ends of hell for this boy, the same way you knew without a doubt he would do the same.

And here, in the quiet of your dorm room, your mouth on his and the distinct, metallic smell of blood, you didn’t quite mind going to the ends of hell if it meant you could have Barty by your side.

#barty crouch junior x reader #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr x yn #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch junior x yn #barty crouch junior x you #barty crouch fic #barty crouch x reader #barty crouch x yn #barty crouch imagine #barty crouch jr fic

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