#not in this condition….. killer he has to sleep on your floor sorry you know how it is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

charliedawn · 3 years

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What is their reaction when they find out that they may have grown attached to you ?

You know how Jason can be very insecure and self-conscious ? Well. Prepare for a whole new level. He will check himself in the mirror when you're not looking, and if he doesn't like what he is seeing ? He will smash the mirror and go in a corner to sit and move back and forth, to give himself some reassurance. He still remembers what his mother used to tell him.

" Persons are a nuisance, Jason. You don't need them to survive."

But then, why does he feel like he needs you ? He feels conflicted as to what to believe.

Super jumpy ! He will jump almost every time you touch him or lose his grip of the things he is holding, often ending broken and splattered on the floor. He would be as clumsy as Jason and would want you to spend more time with him. However, he would also be scared of you breaking his heart.

" I..I c..care.."

Like many of your patients, Brahms has trouble finding his words. At first, many thought he was mute, like Jason or Michael. This is why hearing him speak to you always means it is important.

" I..I care.."

He wants to say many things, how he cherishes every moment you spend together, how you make his heart race everytime you are near him or how he wants you to be by his side forever..But, he can't. He can just hope that what he feels can be expressed through eye contact. You may not understand what he wants to say, but you still try to understand. You put your hand on his and reply with a compassionate smile.

" I care about you too. You are a very good friend, Brahms.."

Did you just indirectly friendzone him ? Possibly..You walk out and Brahms sighs before sitting on his bed while hugging his doll to comfort him.

" You turn me on."

He will be absolutely frank about it. He will just step up and tell you in front of anyone. He doesn't give a damn if the others hear him as well. Also, creep alert, will watch you sleep. He will sneak in your bedroom in the middle of the night and just look at you sleep. He wants to touch you so bad, but he knows that that would wake you up. And he doesn't want that. He will just admire you from afar, even pretend that you may like him back. He would just want to get close to you, to look at you and wonder what you may be dreaming about..hoping that you are dreaming of him.

" Oh my sweet..You look so perfect when you sleep.."

Now..You know how Five is very serious about his relationship with Dolores ? Well, you better be prepared by lots of imaginary fights between the two of them, and even a break-up ! *gasp* Drama. He would be in a very bad mood and would scream and attack everyone that approaches his personal space. He would also smash everything in his room. Like, everything. So much that the other nurses would be too scared of him and ask you to handle it.

" Hey. Are you okay, Five ? Did something happen ?"

He would snort and look up at you with visible frustration.

" You happened. Dolores and I broke up. Not that she was one to share her feelings anyway."

You frown in incomprehension before asking with a small airy laugh.

" I don't understand, what does that have to do with me ?"

Your question seems to trigger a nerve and he suddenly stands up to look at you dead in the eye with anger and, somehow, pain..

" Everything ! You're too nice ! Too forgiving ! Too perfect ! You wiped our past as if it was nothing, goddammit ! We're serial killers, Y/N! We're monsters and you treat us as if we were..as if we were.."

He doesn't get to finish that sentence as he seems on the verge of tears. He jumps on his bed to sit and hide his face behind his knees. You seem to finally understand the problem and sigh before sitting next to Five.

" It's okay to have feelings, Five. You can't hide them forever. I'm sorry if it upsets you but, I don't think you're all that bad. Sure, you kill and even eat people. But, I've seen you change. You are a lot less violent and a few more months ? And I'm sure you'll be out of here in no time."

He looks up at you again with a sort of desperation, very uncharacteristic of Five, before finally asking in a tearful voice.

" What if..What if I don't want to go back ? Out there, I'm just a freak. But, here ? I got.."

He doesn't finish his sentence, but you guess what he is going to say and smile understandingly.

"..Friends ?"

He doesn't answer, he only suddenly hugs you tightly and hides his face in your skirt. You hesitate before slowly petting the top of his head affectionately. The gesture seems to relax him, but he quickly straightens up and wipes his tears away. He then stands up and apologizes.

" I..I'm sorry, it was highly inappropriate of me. I'll..I'll let you work."

Before you could say anything, he runs out of the room and leaves you confused and worried.

Lots of uncontrollable laughter. More than usual. He is very nervous when you're around him and sometimes cries while laughing, showing that he is deeply ashamed of his condition. He is very bipolar and will sometimes act very casually around you, only to break into tears when you leave the room. He will stare at you and turn his gaze away as soon as you would notice.

" Well, would you look at that ? Sir Sh*tty the clown seems to have a little crush on the nice nurse.."

Pennywise would tease him about it while Penny cackles behind him. Arthur glares at them both before either ignoring them or leaving the room.

No. Nope. Certainly not. He will try to hide from you. He knows very well what he is feeling, and also what happens to the people he feels this way towards. He just managed to get rid of his curse, he is not about to risk getting on a murder rampage again ! Every time he would see you, he would pretend to be busy or hide. One time, he even jumped out the window to get away from you. It is very odd since Michael is normally the most chill and calm out of all the patients. But one look at you ? And he becomes a panicking mess. He has to get away. He doesn't want to hurt you like he hurt everyone else close to him, like he hurt his family..

" Me ? Having feelings ? Ah !"

One word: denial. He doesn't want to hear about things like feelings. He saved you ? Bah. It was only because he was bored. He will deny everything, but still follow you and pop up out of nowhere to see what you're doing. He enjoys talking to you, even if he doesn't want to admit it.

" Pennywise..You're staring again."

Penny would gently warn him as his big brother would pretend to not have done such a thing.

" Can't an old clown appreciate to look at nice things sometimes ?"

Penny frowns, not understanding his big brother's words until Freddy intervenes by popping next to him with a huge grin.

" Let it go, kid. Your big bro is just too much of a chicken to go talk to her.."

Pennywise growls in annoyance at Freddy before raising his middle finger at him.

" F*ck off Freddy ! At least I don't watch her sleep like a total perv !"

That would result in a fight that you would have to break. Again..

" Pennywise..I think I'm sick.."

Pennywise would admit some day to Pennywise that would sigh in annoyance.

" Stop saying stupid sh*t. You know very well that we can't be sick."

But, upon seeing the devastated face of his brother, Pennywise sighs loudly before turning towards him to focus his whole attention on him.

" Fiiinnneee...Tell me."

Penny's mood seems to lit up as his brother seems to be willing to listen to him.

" OK, so it concerns the nurse, Y/N. Everytime they are near me, I feel things in my stomach, like a million kids were kicking me in there..Everytime they touch me, I feel as if a part of me in my chest is about to burst and I feel warm, very very warm. And then, I feel very very bad when they talk to anyone else..It's horrible. I want it to stop..Should I eat them ?"

Pennywise stays silent for a while before saying with an unusual straight face.

" Penny.."

He starts, but Penny starts panicking as he sees the sour look on his brother's face.

" Oh ! It's bad, isn't it ?! What is it ?! How long do I have ?!"

Pennywise rolls his eyes dramatically at his brother's exaggerated reaction before cutting him off in his worried questions.

" Shut up, you idiot ! You're not dying. You're just feeling.."things" for them."

Penny stops talking and frowns in confusion, his eyes diverging in deep concentration, as if trying to understand Pennywise's words.

" Things ?! What things ?!"

He finally asks with his eyes wide open in obvious loss and Pennywise face-palms himself before answering with a loud sigh.

" You're falling in love, you dumb f*ck !"

At the word, Penny's face freezes and his smile goes downwards as he realizes that his older brother is right.

" Oh, sh*t.."

He curses and Pennywise frowns, as Penny hates curses.

" Language ! I'm the only one allowed to use curses, remember ?!"

Penny nods before asking in a worried tone.

" How do I get rid of it ? I don't like it.."

Pennywise can't help but feel sorry for Penny, as he knew better than anyone that there was no turning back..

" I'm sorry kid. But if it's really love ? You can't..like I can't.."

Penny's eyes widen at his brother's confession.

" You..You..love her too ?"

Pennywise seems to realize what he just said and groans before walking away. He didn't want anyone to know, even though Penny is his brother. Penny understands the wish of his brother to be left alone and starts walking out in the garden to think over what his older brother said..Could it be ? Could he really be falling in love ?

Bonus : The deal

The Horde is blindfolded and dragged to another room where a man and a woman are waiting for them. At first look, he can already tell that this man is one of the unworthy. The unbroken. The weak..His interest is cut short and he then turns towards the woman sitting next to him. Now, this one was interesting..Her eyes betrayed a much deeper complexity and she had a scar running from her forehead to her left cheek that proved she was worthy.

" You..You are broken. Rejoice.."

The woman smiles, but before she could start talking, her partner does it for her.

" Mister Wendell Crumb, we have a mission for you."

But Kevin only grits his teeths at the man.

" You are impure..I want to kill you.."

The man arks an eyebrow, but ignores his threat.

" Fine. Whatever. But first, I want you to be my spy. We didn't get you out of this prison for nothing, mister Wendell Crumb. We want you to be our little spy in the facility. We want you to find out how a certain miss L/N managed to control the patients outside of the facility. Do that, and you'll be as free as a bird..Do we have a deal ?"

He frowns, they wanted him to spy on a nurse ? She must be quite special for them to go to such lengths, to use him as a spy..Yes, quite the unique prey. The Beast was already impatient and Kevin licks his lips before nodding.

" Fine, but on one condition. When you're finished with her, I get to eat her heart.."

The request seems to take the man aback, but it is the lady that Kevin is looking at. She smiles coldly before nodding in agreement.

" Deal."

Kevin finally smiles widely and can't help the excited giggle that gets out from deep within him. Then, the dark and low voice of the beast makes itself heard as the smile grows almost ferocious as he announces. .

" Let the hunt begin.."

#fandoms #fanfic #imagine #slashers #pennywise 1990 #pennywise 1990 x y/n x pennywise 2017 #pennywise 2017 #pennywise x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #number five x reader #arthur x reader #the joker x reader #jason voorhees x reader #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

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But with you, it’s different...

So, I’ve combined two of my great obsessions: Criminal Minds and Taylor Swift. Pretend the reader is Taylor Swift in the sense that she wrote and recorded the songs, but that’s it. Also, the songs are all out of order and not from the albums so just pretend that’s okay. I don’t reference the albums, but individual songs and yeah. It’s honestly kind of a mess, but also makes me happy. This is part 1! I have most of it written, so I should be able to post the other parts pretty soon. I think there will be 3 actual parts and then a short epilogue! Last thing, Spencer is a little out of character. I (try to) explain that later!!

Summary: Reader is a famous singer with a murderous stalker. Spencer has to go undercover to protect her.

warnings: mentions of murder, anxious reader

Word Count: 7940

You weren’t expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen tonight. It was just the usual Saturday night. Honestly, you were looking forward to having a boring two weeks off. You absolutely loved touring and performing and seeing your fans, but it was going to be great to have some time just to write again. Writing music has always helped you de-stress and get your emotions out, and you were supposed to finally have a chance to do just that. However, the universe had different plans. Plans that involved the FBI.

This was your second night in DC. It was the first of some of the bigger cities on your tour where you were doing two shows, so you are even more exhausted than normal. You really only just started the US leg of your tour, but the two weeks off was well earned from the Europe, Asia, and South America legs.

As you begin to perform the second to last song, you start to feel the familiar sadness you get when finishing a show. It’s almost as though the adrenaline rush from the excitement of so many screaming fans is wearing off and you can’t help but feel a bit sorry that the fun is coming to an end. After so many performances though, you’ve learned how to hide the emotions and give the audience your best fake smile. The last song is where you have some real fun, so just make it there.

As you duck off stage to change for the final performance, you can’t help but notice the small group of people conversing, quite tensely, with your security team. They don’t look like the normal fans who would try to sneak backstage, too official. You make eye contact with one of them. He looks to be about your age, but you’ve never been great at guessing. There’s something about him that makes you want to find out exactly who he is right now, but you can’t.

You’re left wondering about his identity as you run back onstage for the grand finale. You feel a genuine smile appearing as you feel the heat from the fireworks and listen to the happy cheers from the crowd. You’re last song goes off without a hitch, but you’re exhausted. There’s nothing you want more than to just shower and sleep, but there’s always a buzz about the cast and crew that prevents anyone from leaving right away.

“Thank you for a great second night DC! Goodnight!” You shout into the mic as you duck back offstage to ride out the post show high. You are still chatting with some of the dancers you’ve become friends with when Carrie, the head of security, comes up with one of the men you saw arguing with her earlier.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you for a minute?” You turn, surprised to see the stern man standing behind Carrie. “Yeah, sure.” You turn to excuse yourself from the dancers, wishing them a goodnight before turning back to Carrie.

“We can go do your dressing room, that’s where the others are waiting.” Carrie says with a nervous smile on her face.

“The others?” You ask confused, jogging to keep up with the brisk pace she has set for you and the stern man. “Who are we talking to?”

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions. We will explain everything as soon as we meet up with the rest of the team.” The stern man spoke quietly, but with confidence as he followed behind you and Carrie. Before you could ask anything else, you were being ushered into your dressing room, coming face to face with the other two people you saw arguing with Carrie earlier. The first one you notice is a woman with jet black hair and fierce eyes. The other is the tall, lanky man you made eye contact with.

You’re a little excited to get a closer look. He looks a little awkward at first glance, but you can tell he’s a sneaky sort of attractive underneath the perfectly placed tie and the comfy cardigan. Before you can get too caught up in how good looking these three strangers are, you turn to the stern one and ask “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Your tone clearly indicates the confusion you’re feeling.

“Ms. L/N, my name is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. I am the Unit Chief for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI.” You can feel your eyes go wide as he shows you a badge with his picture and title. Before you can respond, he begins talking again. “These are SSAs Emily Prentiss” the woman gives you a reassuring smile and slight wave, “and Dr. Spencer Reid.” The sneakily attractive one nods his head in your general direction.

The woman just introduced as Emily chimes in “we are here because we believe there is a killer targeting fans of your music. We have been tracking murders for the past two weekends. The first was in Louisville, Kentucky, then Columbus, Ohio, and then two right here in D.C.”

“I was just in Louisville… and Columbus.” You feel yourself beginning to get dizzy as you try to comprehend what the agents are telling you.

“Yes, and now you’re in DC.” The boss man is talking again. “We made the connection this afternoon as you had two shows here in DC.” The room is starting to spin as you listen to the man talk. “After more digging, we found each victim had purchased a ticket to your show. Additionally, they all had social media accounts dedicated as fan pages to you.” Agent Hotchner continues speaking as you nod along, trying to comprehend how this was happening. You don’t even realize you are tuning him out as you begin to sway on your feet. You can see his mouth moving, and the growing look of concern on his face is the last thing you see before the world goes dark.

You can hear a faint beeping as you begin to wake up. For a moment, you are blissfully unaware of the murders before the memory of meeting the three agents comes back to you. You instantly sit up and look around, trying to figure out where you are. You can see a very muscular bald man through a window, talking to someone in scrubs.

Scrubs. A nurse. You are in the hospital.

Your heart rate begins to calm down before skyrocketing again when you hear “Ms. L/N?” from the other side of the room. Turning with wide eyes and a scared expression, you throw your arms up to defend yourself from the unknown voice.

“Sorry! Sorry, uh- I didn’t mean to scare you! I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” Instantly you relax again at the familiar face. You drop your arms back to the bed, shifting into a more comfortable position before asking “Okay, Doctor. What’s wrong with me? Why am I in the hospital?”

He looks at you with a sheepish expression, rubbing the back of his neck before he admits, “Oh, I’m not that kind of doctor. I’ll go get a nurse or someone. Try to think back on what you remember before waking up here.” He shuffles out of the room as you try to replay the conversation with the other agents.

Well, it wasn’t much of a conversation with them doing all of the talking, but still. The unknown man from outside your room window and the nurse he was talking to come into the room with Dr. Reid. The nurse begins checking your vitals as she asks you some questions.

“Hi there. It’s good to see you up. How are you feeling?” She wears a small smile.

“Oh, um, I feel fine. I think. I’m just confused about how I ended up here. I remember talking to the agents at the arena, but that’s it.” You close your eyes as you try to remember more, but nothing comes to you.

“That was only about 45 minutes ago, dear.” The nurse’s kind voice helps settle you. “You fainted while the agents were talking to you. They brought you here. You should be good to leave in a few minutes as long as your vitals are good.”

“Thank you.” You return her kind smile as she marks information on your chart before leaving the room.

“Ms. L/N, this is SSA Derek Morgan.” The Doctor Agent is talking again.

“Please, call me Y/N.” You rub your head, continuing to try to remember more about your condition. Before either man in the room can speak up, a new thought occurs to you. “If I fainted, why doesn’t my head hurt? The floor in my dressing room is not soft.” You look between the two men for an explanation.

The doctor shifts his weight from foot to foot a blush appearing on his face as Agent Morgan speaks up. “That is because Pretty Boy over here” he claps a hand onto the doctor’s shoulder “caught you before you hit the ground.” “Oh, um… Thank you.” You can feel the blush beginning to form as you think about his arms being around you.

“It was no problem, really. Can we ask you a few questions?” He moves on quickly. “Oh sure thing Dr. Reid. Or Agent Reid. Agent Dr. Reid?” You can feel the blush growing as you ramble.

“Just Sp-Spencer is fine.” He cuts you off before you can continue suggesting different honorifics. “What do you remember from what Agent Hotchner was telling you?”

“He said someone was mur-murdering fans of me.” Tears spring to your eyes as you think about it. “That someone was killed in Kentucky and Ohio and then two people here in DC.” You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall.

Get a hold of yourself.

You feel a new weight on your hand before hearing Spencer begin talking again. “Take your time.” You open your eyes to see him patting your hand delicately. He moves back after you take a few deep, calming breaths.

“I’m sorry. I just feel awful knowing people are dy-dying because of me. Is there anything I can do to help?” You choke on the words a bit, realizing the full gravity of the situation.

“Do you recognize any of these people?” Agent Morgan pulls out photos of three women and one man, handing them to you to sift through. He seems to be staring at Spencer, but you just focus on the pictures. You can feel the tears building again as you realize who they are.

“I do.” You take another breath before continuing. “I haven’t met them before, but they are all really active on different social sites. I try to talk to as many fans as I can ya know? They are why I am where I am. Is that why they were killed? Oh god. No no no no.” Your breathe increases in speed as you think about everything that is happening.

“Hey, hey, hey, none of this is your fault.” Spencer is patting your hand again as he tries to calm you down. Just then, the nurse comes back with some paperwork for you to sign in order to leave.

“You are free to go Ms. L/N. Just sign these forms and hand them in at the desk on your way out.” She exits the room swiftly.

“Would you mind coming back to our office to finish talking?” Agent Morgan asks.

“Of course not. Anything I can do to help.” You turn in the forms before following them to a black SUV. Spencer opens the door for you to get in the back before he slides in next to you. You don’t even have the brain power to consider why he isn’t sitting in the front. You just grab his hand and squeeze it, unable to get the thoughts out of your head that this was all your fault.

“This is not your fault. You had no idea what was happening, and now that you do you are trying to help.” Spencer looks at you reassuringly as he squeezes your hand right back. You simply nod back. You don’t trust yourself to speak without crying. You just need to calm down before you get to the office.

About 15 minutes later you pull up to the FBI building that houses the BAU. They must’ve brought you to a hospital near Quantico. They lead you through security up to the fifth floor. You walk through a set of glass doors, passing a few desks before entering a conference room. “Do you need anything? Coffee, water?” Spencer asks as Agent Morgan leaves the room.

“Oh, um, no I’m okay for now.” You stare at your hands as you go to sit down. “Actually, could I get a jacket or something?” You gesture to what you’re wearing as you ask. You haven’t had a chance to change yet, meaning you are wearing a black, sequined romper that is basically a leotard with how short it is. Perfect for performing, but not exactly FBI attire. “Of co-course! I’ll be right back.” He practically runs out of the room.

A few minutes later, he pushes the door back open. “Here’s some clothes you can change into if you want. Or just a sweatshirt.” You look up from your position in the chair, rising to take the clothes.

“Thank you.” You look from the clothes to him realizing you need to change, but are in a room full of windows in an unfamiliar building.

He catches on a few seconds later, leading you out of the room. “The bathroom is this way!” He squeaks out as you both walk down a hallway outside the glass doors you came in. “I’ll wait here to show you back.” You smile as you brush past him, whispering thank you as you close the door.

You instantly take off the romper, sliding on some FBI sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt that smells like vanilla and new books. The scent is oddly comforting. You would think a standard FBI sweatshirt would smell new, but this scent is calming your nerves. You fix your makeup as best you can before heading out of the bathroom. Spencer is a few feet away talking to a beautiful blonde woman. She looks effortlessly gorgeous. She smiles as she notices you, waving you to join them.

“Ms. L/N, it’s lovely to meet you, although I do wish it was under better circumstances. I am SSA Jennifer Jureau, but you can call me JJ. The rest of the team is waiting for us to join them.” She smiles kindly, but you are frozen in place. You feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

Spencer grabs your arm lightly, pulling you out of your trance. “It’s okay. Just breathe.” He whispers as the three of you start walking back toward the conference room you were in earlier.

He lets your arm fall back to your side before guiding you back into the room behind JJ. You freeze again upon entering the room. You recognize Agents Hotchner, Prentiss, and Morgan, but are surprised by the other two faces. There is an older man with salt and pepper hair smiling kindly at you. He reminds you of your father. Then there is a very bubbly blonde, in a very colorful dress and matching glasses.

They introduce themselves as SSA David Rossi and technical analyst Penelope Garcia. The unit chief begins to describe the case again, going slower this time given your earlier episode. “We believe the unsub is targeting fans of yours who he believes is unworthy of your attention. He worships you and views his victims as people who are not devoted enough to you.”

You can’t decide how to respond, so you wait for another agent to continue. “Do you know of anyone who might be overly obsessed with you? Maybe they sent you letters that were a bit more personal than normal?” At this point, you decide you are done being controlled by this situation. What happened to those people is awful, but you can’t change it. You need to be strong to help prevent it from happening to anyone else.

“I haven’t finished my fan letters from this week yet. I try to go through as many as possible, but there is only so much time in a day.” At this point you are pacing. Walking around has always helped you with thinking things over. “There is one letter that sticks out from three weeks ago. That was before the murd-” you stutter on the word. “Before anything happened though. Could that be relevant?” You ask, looking hopeful. If the agents are surprised by your change of attitude they don’t mention it.

“It might be. What did it say?” Agent Hotchner asks, the same stern expression adorning his features.

“I don’t remember all of it, but it looked like it was written on a typewriter, so it stood out. It said something about how they wondered if my hair smelled like peaches after I finished a show. I thought it was weird because my shampoo is peach scented, but how could they possibly know that? I figured I must have met them in passing, you know. I meet a lot of fans just walking around the different cities. Something just felt weird about this letter though. Like a bad feeling. I mean, my hair doesn’t really retain the scent of my shampoo all that much. So how could he know that unless he knew what shampoo I use? But actually, I use a personalized shampoo so I can change the scent every time I but it- it must’ve been a lucky guess, right? Maybe I just look like I would use peach scented shampoo” You feel like you are talking a mile a minute, but you can’t get yourself to stop. You practically fall back into your chair as you finish rambling about the letter, looking up to see unmistakable expressions of concern on the agents’ faces.

“What? What does that mean? Oh god- How does he know my shampoo smells like peaches?” You look between all the agents as they seem to be communicating with just their eyes. You resort to taking calming breaths again. They’ll fill you in eventually, you need to breathe. You drop your head between your thighs as you push your chair away from the table. Breathe in for 7 seconds, hold for 7, and breathe out for 7. This always helps calm you down before a show.

You choose to ignore the agents quietly talking to each other again as you focus on slowing your heart rate back to a normal pace.

“Ms. L/N?” You look up exasperatedly, “Please, just call me Y/N.”

“Then you can call me Penelope!” The woman has such a kindness to her that you can’t help but smile back at her.

“What can I do for you Penelope?” She seems a bit surprised, but she responds in kind.

“I just wanted to ask if you wanted some coffee. Or water or anything?” You smile at her kind gesture, rising from your seat.

“Actually, some tea would be wonderful. But, please, let me come help you. These guys seem like they need to talk and it would probably be easier if I wasn’t in the room.” You smile as you walk out the door, leaving the agents slightly stunned at your observational skills in your distressed state.

Penelope follows you out and leads you to what you assume is the break room. “We don’t really have much tea, but I know where the good doctor keeps his private collection.” She whispers conspiratorially as she searches through a small cabinet. “Aha! Here it is.” She presents you with a pretty impressive collection of teas. You opt for the simple peppermint. You have always found peppermint tea the most soothing.

She hands you a mug before gesturing to the Keurig on the counter. You place the teabag in the cup, selecting the largest cup on the machine, and brewing hot water for your tea. The two of you don’t say anything while it steeps. Penelope speaks up when you move to sit down at the small table.

“I just have to say, I am a huge fan of yours.” You can’t hide the smile that forms on your face. You have always loved meeting fans. They are just so sweet and you appreciate them beyond belief.

“Thank you so much!” She seems a bit relieved at your response. “That’s honestly so nice to hear right now. I kind of feel like a mess.” You gesture to the oversized clothes you’ve got on.

“Please, you look so gorgeous right now. It’s amazing. Your music is amazing too. I absolutely love Begin Again! It’s so romantic!” She gushes over the song.

“Honestly, that one took me forever to write. I was in a pretty bad place after a bad breakup, convinced I would never love again. Dramatic, I know.” You roll your eyes at yourself. “But then I saw these two people in a café, and they just looked so happy. The idea of a new love forming so casually right in front of me was beautiful.” You smile thinking about the couple, wondering if they are still together.

“Wow, so you can really right about anything?” She looks while asking the question.

“Pretty much. I mean, they won’t all be good. It could be the tiniest moment or a huge thing in my life. Inspiration comes from everywhere. A lot of songs actually draw from multiple experiences, not just one thing. I could totally see myself writing a song about you.”

“No way! That would be insane.” You smile at her enthusiasm.

“I’m serious! You just give of this energy that is so positive, it’s hard to remember ever being sad. I think it would be about how confident you are. Something like…” you trail off as you begin to hum, setting up your phone to record. “You’re the only one of you, baby that’s the fun of you. And I promise that nobody’s gonna love you like me!” You hum a few more bars before ending the recording.

“That was insane. How do you do that?!” She has a wild kind of excitement in her eyes.

“I don’t know. You just inspired me.” You grin at the shocked expression in her eyes.

“Sing it again!” And you can’t help but give her what she wants.

You hum a bit more of a melody that could work before jumping into the words you already said. You add a few more here and there, but nothing concrete. In your focus on singing, you don’t hear the door open behind you.

“I’m the only one of me, baby that’s the fun of me. Oh oh oh. You’re the only one of you, baby that’s the fun of you. And I promise that you’ll never find another like me.” “I don’t doubt it.” You turn in shock to look at the person behind you, seeing none other than Spencer Reid in the doorway. You don’t notice the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks that you heard his comment, just like he doesn’t notice the matching expression on your face. Penelope though, she notices. And, she can’t wait to tell Derek.

Spencer clears his throat before speaking again. “We’re ready for you to come back in if you’re up for it. We want to talk to you about a plan to keep you safe.”

“Sure thing.” You grab your tea from the table before you and Penelope follow Spencer back to the conference room. You sitting cross-legged in your seat. You feel much calmer after chatting with Penelope. Song writing has always been cathartic for you, and it is reassuring that hasn’t changed.

The agents waste no time getting down to business. “We believe the unsub has broken into your tour bus. If the letter was from him, it would explain how he knows about the peach scent.” Agent Rossi starts.

Agent Morgan continues, “It’s an easier target than a hotel room or your personal home since fewer people would be securing it.” You nod along with them. You are determined to stay strong through this.

“We want to completely ensure your safety, so we think it best to send an agent to stay with you while we work on the case.” Agent Prentiss chimes in. You feel like you’re going to get whiplash looking between all their faces.

“Since we haven’t ruled out people on the crew, we want this to remain as secret as possible. We will inform the head of security on your team, but other than that the agent will be undercover.” Agent Hotchner, stern as ever, appears to be studying your reaction.

“Okay.” You sigh. “Okay, I can handle this. I’ll be fine. I’ll have an agent with me. Who’s going undercover? Do you have a cover story planned?” You look at Agent Hotchner with nervous eyes.

“We wanted to plan the cover story with you to make it as believable as possible. What are you planning on doing for the next few weeks?” You consider what your plans consist of. Honestly, nothing but songwriting.

“I plan on mostly working on songwriting. I usually go to cafes, parks, or anywhere really with people for inspiration. If I already have an idea, I’ll write from my hotel room or from home if I’m there. If any of you have any musical experience, then we could make up a cover story about a new writing partner. Nobody would really question it because I write with new people all the time.” You glance around the room to see if anyone is willing to take you up on your offer. Nobody says anything for a minute. They are communicating with looks again.

Penelope chimes in “Reid knows how to play the piano!” You can’t help but latch on to the statement as you turn toward Spencer.

“Really, that would be so helpful! I normally write to piano or guitar and then add any additional instrumental later in the studio. If you can play, then the story would look even more believable!” You are actually getting excited about this idea working out. You finally feel like you’ve helped them with something. They probably could’ve figured it out without you, but still.

“Yes, I can play. I mean, it’s just mathematics if you think about it.” Spencer responds quietly, like his mind is somewhere else.

“Reid, if you feel comfortable with it, that story sounds like great cover.” Reid nods at Agent Hotchner. “Great. You can go to your place and grab some clothes and anything else you’ll need.” He says to Spencer before turning his attention to you. You watch as Spencer walks out with the rest of the team before turning to meet Agent Hotchner’s eye. “It’s best if we stick to your plans as closely as possible. If the unsub is someone who works with you, he will likely notice if you start changing your behavior too much.” You nod in response, mentally going through everything you do from day to day.

“Agent Reid will stay with you in your hotel room if you are comfortable with it. That is the safest arrangement since he will be close by if anything happens. We will also have agents tail you when you go out in public. We’ll have a rotation of agents in the rooms around yours each night to allow Reid to rest as well. He knows how to contact us, but we will program our numbers into your phone as well for backup. Do not hesitate to call any one of us if something feels even remotely wrong, no matter the time. Do you understand?”

Again, you nod in response. It’s a lot of information to take in and honestly, you’re still thinking about sharing a hotel room with Spencer.

“We will need to see the letter you mentioned earlier if you still have it. We would also like to go through the fan mail you currently have and any new mail that comes in. If you see anything else that feels off or seems suspicious, tell Reid or call one of us. If you remember anything else, tell Reid or call one of us.” He gives you a questioning glance to ensure you are following.

“Basically, tell Reid everything. Got it.” You try to remain lighthearted even though Agent Hotchner’s serious expression hasn’t waned in the slightest.

“It’s good to see you’ve got a good attitude about this. It’s hard to remain calm, but it will help limit any suspicion on the part of the unsub. We don’t want to escalate his plans. Do you have any questions for me?” He gives you a reassuring look as you contemplate everything he’s told you.

“What does unsub mean?” you blurt out, surprising both of you. “Sorry, that was loud.” You cringe. “I just meant, why do you call the criminal, unsub?”

You can see the faintest of smiles on his face as he replies, “Right, we can get pretty wrapped up in a case. It stands for unidentified subject. We try not to assign nicknames or anything to the perpetrators as it can affect their behavior.”

“Right. Behavior.” You try to sound like you understand, but honestly this is so much different from all the detective shows you’ve seen. Apparently, Agent Hotchner notices and explains more.

“We catch criminals by analyzing their behavior and trying to predict what they’ll do next.”

“Like psychology? Nature vs. Nurture and mental disorders?” You ask, suddenly very curious about how this all works.

“Yes, just like that, although we normally go a little deeper.”

“So what can you tell about this unsub? That way I know what to look for.” Agent Hotchner seems pleased with this question.

“The unsub is a man, likely 25-40. Age is the hardest thing to predict, so don’t follow that guideline too strictly. He likely suffers from antisocial personality disorder stemming from negligent parents and has always had trouble interacting with people. He is highly organized, which usually indicates high intelligence, but in this case could be due to the time he spends alone planning. His lack of social skills has resulted in him only working menial jobs. He won’t have worked anywhere for more than a few months before finding a new job since people find him odd or off-putting. He has always felt as though he deserves more because of his self presumed high intelligence. It is possible you met him in passing and any act of kindness toward him resulted in an obsession with you. He doesn’t have the courage to approach you, so he watches from afar or online. That’s how he found his earlier victims. Since you don’t have any shows in the next few weeks, his MO might change slightly. That’s why we want to be so cautious and make sure we can ensure your safety.” You sit quietly for a moment, trying to picture anyone who fits the description. You try to meet the people who work with you, but you certainly don’t know everyone. You were honestly hopeful the description would point you toward a suspect, but you’ve got nothing. “I can’t think of anyone like that, but now I know what to look out for. Thank you Agent Hotchner.” “Please, call me Hotch. Do you have any more questions?”

“Just one, you said earlier that maintaining a sense of normalcy will prevent us from escalating his plans. What plans exactly?” You were nervous to ask this question, wondering if you really wanted to hear the answer.

“We don’t know exactly. It is possible the unsub has been trying to work up the courage to talk to you, but since you won’t be doing shows, it is unclear how he would make contact. Reid and the other agents will be looking for anyone who appears to be in a lot of the same places you are. If you notice anyone more than one time in a day, don’t hesitate to-“

“Tell Reid or call one of you. I got it.” You smile at him again. “Thank you again.” He nods as you both exit the room. Spencer isn’t back from picking up clothes yet, so you aren’t sure exactly what to do. Penelope notices you searching the room and waves you over to her. She is talking with Agent Morgan.

“Y/N! I was just telling my Chocolate Thunder about the song you started earlier. I just need to know, what does this fine specimen inspire you to write?” She sounds so excited you can’t bear to let her down. You study the man in front of you, searching for something to sing. You don’t know why, but there’s a certain sadness in his eye. He hides it well with his masculinity and the clear smirk on his face, but you know he’s been through some shit.

You don’t want to kill the mood though, so you stick to something a little lighter than past pain. “Well, Pen, I have to say he looks like a heartbreaker.” This only encourages the smirk on his face. “The type to love ‘em and leave ‘em.” You have had a song in the back of your mind for a while so why not break it out now. Penelope shrieks as you start humming, drawing a crowd. Again, you set up your phone to record. The rest of the BAU agents crowd around Morgan’s desk as you start singing.

“Magic, madness, heaven, sin, saw you there and I thought, oh my god, look at that face. You look like my next mistake.” That draws a few chuckles as you continue humming. More words pop into your head as you think about past relationships and what the media loves to say about celebrities. “Screaming, crying, perfect storms. I can make all the tables turn. Da dada da da, Keep you second guessing like, Oh my god, who is she. I get drunk on jealousy.” You hum some more, really getting into the flow of the song. “Cause darling I’m a nightmare, dressed like a daydream.” The group claps as you end the recording.

“That was actually pretty impressive.” Agent Morgan smirks at you some more.

“Well, to be honest I’ve had the melody in my notes for weeks, but I just couldn’t think of the right words.” Yet again, his smirk grows.

“I guess I’m just that inspirational.” You choke back a laugh as you roll your eyes. You hadn’t realized the size of the crowd you had garnered. You can’t help but knock him down a few pegs.

“You know what, I changed my mind. Agent Morgan’s song would be called I Knew You Were Trouble.” The entire group laughs at that one, but all the sudden you actually have another idea.

Before long, Penelope is asking you what songs you would write about the entire team.

“Start with Hotch!”

“Well, Hotch is so serious. So it’s kind of hard. His face just screams ‘I’ve been through it and dealt it out’. Maybe something like… your string of lights is still bright to see oh, who you are is not what you did, you’re still an innocent.” Even as you half sing it, the one line feels like it could lead somewhere big. It’s not quite right, but it’s a start.

“That’s so cool. Do me next! And please, just call me Emily.” You nod at her as you think back over your previous interactions.

“Alright, don’t get mad but something just popped into my head and I can’t un-hear it. They say I did something bad, then why’s it feel so good. Most fun I ever had, and I’d do it over and over and over again if I could.” The smile on her face told you everything you needed to know, but so did JJ.

“You absolutely nailed it. That is Emily to a tee.” JJ chimed in. “I’m kind of scared to see what you can come up with for me!” Your head is swimming with lyrics and melodies, but it has been so long since you’ve had this much fun writing music with a group of people. It’s become such a solo activity for you, but these people just have so many stories to tell.

“Okay, let me think.” You pause as you observe JJ. You can tell that she is such a sweetheart from the few hours you’ve known her, but you know you would be intimidated if you went to high school with her. “Sorry to be blunt but, you’re so gorgeous, I can’t say anything to your face. Cause look at your face.”

“Why thank you!” JJ smiles as you defend the lyric choice.

“I know you are so sweet and I of course don’t mean to say you are just a pretty face, but you really do have a pretty face.” The group chuckles again and nods in agreement. “Oh, wait! I’ve got another one. You took a Polaroid of us, then discovered, the rest of the world was black and white. But we were in screaming color.” That one came out of nowhere, but it felt right.

“Beautiful. Okay, okay! Rossi’s turn!” Penelope says right as the man walks out of his office.

“My turn for what?” He looks skeptical of the group, but in a loving way.

“Y/N is coming up with song ideas for everyone! She just did Morgan, Hotch, Emily, and JJ! She did mine earlier. So it’s your turn!”

“Well then by all means, be my guest.” You close your eyes as you think through the words swimming in your head.

“While, Rossi, you have a kind aura. You seem like a parent to this group of rowdy children. Reminds me of my dad.” Again, the group laughs. You begin humming, lightly patting the desk in front of you as you think back on memories of your own parents. “I don’t know why all the trees change in the fall, but I know you’re not scared of anything at all. Don’t know if Snow White’s house is near or far away, but I know I had the best day with you today.” This tune was softer than the rest, more emotional. Everyone stops laughing as they listen to the soft melody you created.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood.” You feel slightly awkward with the new found silence.

“Please, bella, that was beautiful. You really know how to read people.” Rossi hugs you as you blush, thanking him for the compliment.

“That only leaves the resident genius. What would you write about Reid?” JJ poses the question and suddenly all eyes are on you. In all the commotion with the other songs, you didn’t notice Spencer exit the elevator. He walked in soon enough to hear the question. Deciding not to interrupt the conversation, he hangs back to listen to your answer.

You can feel the blush heating up your face, subconsciously hugging the sweatshirt he gave you to wear earlier. After all the short melodies and lyrics you’ve come up with, you are way too tired to put your feelings toward Spencer into words.

“I’ll be honest, it’s been in my head all night.” You begin to hum, knowing this would be a song about how you felt when you first saw him backstage, to when you spoke to him in the hospital room and all the little moments since then. “Your eyes whispered have we met…” you fill in for lyrics you’ve yet to write by humming. “All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you.”

“That was beautiful.” Spencer says from behind you. You jump in surprise, nearly falling out of your chair. You didn’t even realize he was in the room.

He looks sheepish as he apologizes for scaring you. “Are you ready to go?” He asks, reaching out a hand to help you up. The rest of the profilers share a knowing look as you rise from your seated position. They all wish you a goodnight as you and Spencer enter the elevator to head to your hotel. The ride to the parking garage is quiet. You keep humming that same melody, looking for the right words to fill in the blanks.

Spencer leads you to another black SUV opening the passenger side door for you to get in the car. He tosses his bag in the back before getting in and starting the drive.

“Penelope said it was my turn, did you do songs for everyone?” Spencer beaks the silence. You turn in your seat to look at him before responding.

“Kind of. Mostly just ideas of songs. Morgan’s was the most put together, only because it was a song I already started. I recorded the whole thing though. That way I won’t forget any ideas. I can play it for you when we actually start to write some music!” You are honestly surprised by the range of ideas you have.

“Wh-what? You actually want me to help you write songs? I th-though that was just a cover.” All of the sudden Spencer seems nervous and shy. You put the ideas swimming through your head on pause so you can devote all your attention to him.

“Spencer, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to come up with any profound lyrics or brand new chord progressions. But, since we are going to be spending a lot of time together, you do have to talk to me. Otherwise it would just be weird.” You try to lighten the mood. You can tell by the way he relaxed his shoulders it worked a little. He nods in agreement as he parks the SUV in the garage dedicated to the hotel you are staying in. You take the elevator straight up to the 11th floor. It’s honestly reassuring to be able to lead him somewhere after everything that happened in the past few hours.

You dig around in your bag- that somehow followed you on your journey from the arena to the hospital to the FBI building and now back to your hotel- to find the room key. No matter what you try, you can’t seem to slide the key card into the slot in the right way. Every time you try, the little light glows red before beeping indicating the door is still locked. After the fifth try, you are about ready to scream.

Suddenly, you can feel the heat from Spencer’s body as he slides up behind you to take the room key. He slides the card into the door, wiggles it around, and then slides it back out. To your surprise, the light glows green and the door unlocks. You must be exhausted to be this shocked at the fact he opened the door. You can’t even seem to force your feet to move. You just stand there like a fool, mouth agape.

“Why?” Spencer turns to look at you with a confused expression. “Why couldn’t I… How did you…?” You just point to the door. He places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you into the room. He places his bag just inside the door before he turns around to close the door and lock the deadbolt.

Even after he led you into the room, you turned around so you could keep staring at the door. You don’t even realize you started crying. Spencer guides you to the bed and tucks you into the blankets. You know that you are going to wake up in an hour because you never sleep in pants, but you just don’t have the energy to fight him on it. He turns off the lamp, but before he walks away, you grab his arm.

“Can you stay?” You have never heard yourself sound so frail. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. Spencer looks conflicted, but ultimately sits down next to you, his back against the headboard. You lay next to him in the dark, not quite touching. Once your breathe calms enough that you can talk without bursting into tears, you ask “how do you do it?”

“Do what?” You smile at the sound of genuine concern in his voice.

“How do you deal with this kind of stuff all the time? I feel like I’m falling apart. I want to be strong about it, so I can help. But then all of the sudden I can’t keep it in anymore. I just… how do you make it seem so easy?” You feel sniffly again, but you try to focus on your breathing.

“It’s not easy. I hope it never becomes easy. It’s gotten easier, of course, but the minute I stop feeling everything is the moment I let them win. To feel pain in situations like this is human. Somebody wise once told me our best defense is our ability to empathize. It’s a completely natural reaction to experiencing something so traumatic. 70% of adults in the U.S. have experienced some type of traumatic event at least once in their lives. That's 223.4 million people. It would be...” He trailed off.

“It would be what?” You angled your head up to look at him even though you couldn’t see him in the dark.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I tend to ramble. I’m sorry.” He sounded so dejected, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for his hand. You had to shift on the bed a bit to reach his arm, so you ended up leaning your cheek against his thigh, tossing your arm over his lap in a sort of make shift hug.

“I like it. It’s calming… and informative.” You couldn’t help but smile into his leg. “People who complain are just jealous.” That actually makes him laugh, but it doesn’t sound like a happy kind of laugh. More like a self-deprecating one. “I’m serious. You are clearly smarter than everyone else is, and you are sneaky attractive. There is a lot to be jealous about.” You dig deeper into his lap as you squeeze his hand in yours. The last thing you remember before falling asleep is the feeling of Spencer running his free hand through your hair.

You wake up slowly, eyes adjusting to the dark. You can just make out the numbers on the bedside clock to be 4:37. You must have fallen asleep talking to Spencer. Your head was still resting on his lap, his hand in your hair. You untangle yourself from the sheets to rid yourself of the extra layers that woke you up. It takes a few minutes of digging around in the dark to find one of the t-shirts you normally sleep in. In that amount of time, Spencer, still sleeping, rearranged himself to be laying on the bed rather than leaning against the headboard. You stopped for a minute to observe his sleeping form. He looks so at peace compared to the furrow of his brow and the glint in his eye that normally mean he’s thinking too hard.

As soon as you lay back down in the bed, Spencer gravitates toward you. Before long, your head is resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around you. You breathe in the scent of vanilla and new books; the rhythmic pattern of his chest rising and falling lulls you back to sleep.

Part 2

tag list:

@mac99martin

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #Criminal Minds #spencer #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds x reader

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quietlyimplode · 3 years

Note

for those angsty/concerned prompts: clintasha and # 20. “Do you have someone who can look after you?” pls? psst I really like your writing dnbdbsnfnd

Hey Anon! Thanks so much :). I really like this prompt and just bleeds angst. So here we go! It’s gonna sit with other one shots here.

“Ma’am, can you follow my finger?” The nurse holds her hand up and Natasha tries, she does, but her head hurts and the doctor is pulling stitches from her forehead to her ear.

“Ma’am, follow my finger.” Natasha huffs in annoyance.

They did this already. There’s a faint ringing in her ears that hasn’t gone since she got hit in the head with the butt of the Ak47, the long handle stronger than her head, breaking the skin open.

She would have forgone medical, but it was one of the conditions of her release on this assignment, Fury making her visit medical after every mission after what happened after Argentina.

This was her ticking this off, even though her head is pounding, despite the copious amounts of lidocaine and anaesthetic pumped into the wound. It’s not the worst injury she’s had but it is one of the most annoying she’s had recently.

The doctor ties off the last of the stitches and gives her a pat and a smile.

“Only 7 stitches.” She says proudly. “Any nauseousness or vomiting, come straight back.’ She says, looking at Natasha in the eyes. “Do you have any questions?”

Natasha shakes her head and regrets it instantly. He vision is now doubling, a whitish tinge covers her peripheral vision and it makes her head pound more.

“Okay. You’re good to go.” She hears her say. “Nadia here, will go through your medications.” The doctor leaves, and Natasha is thankful. One less person to fool.

She hops off the bed and leans, making a show that she doesn’t need to steady herself, her vision is off, almost double vision. It’s like she’s been dosed with the old KGB drugs back in the day.

She stops herself laughing at her own joke, the nurse, Nadia looks at her and says.. something.. Natasha can’t quite attend to what it is.. was.

“You need to take this in 2 hours, that’s when the pain killers will wear off. I suggest you take it then, if you wait, it will hurt more.”

Natasha nods as she’s supposed to. Takes the drugs from the nurse, as she’s supposed to. Walks towards the door, and remembers to thank the nurse, as she’s supposed to.

She want’s to get to her room. Wallow. Pass out. Stop her ears ringing and close her eyes to the double vision.

The nurse stops her at the door, and she tilts her head, confused.

“Ma’am, do you have someone who can look after you?”

Natasha smiles. “Of course,” comes the words from her mouth, the lie is the easiest one she’s told today.

The nurse steps aside and Natasha almost stumbles out the door, suddenly her feet feel too big and her body is at odds with her movement. Fatigue pushing in.

She makes it to her room. She strips off her clothes, the clingy polyester feeling like daggers in her skin.

She forgoes the shower, wanting the water to wash the mission off her skin but knowing that she would most likely pass out if she were to do so.

Naked, she finds a towel and wets it, rubbing it first over her face, cringing at the blood that comes away from her neck. She continues down her body, wiping away sweat and marking the bruises for cover up later. Finally she looks in the mirror, she sees a small child with a cut on their head, and almost cries out at the visions her mind places instead of her reflection.

She’s had this injury before, last time it was a makarov pistol but the cut and subsequent concussion is similar.

‘Push through.’ She tells herself now, as she did last time, moving from the bathroom to the bedroom, laying down naked on the bed.

She loses time.

She’s sure of it.

The towel that she wiped her body down with, is on the floor.

Maybe she slept?

She’s naked.

She hates waking up naked.

She sits up and regrets it. Her dizziness is back with a vengeance and she pushes down nauseousness, bile moving up her throat into her mouth. She waits to move until it subsides and then takes a deep breath. Makes herself get underwear and pants to pull them on. She opens her drawer and sees the glint of her hand cuffs, sitting pretty on her pyjama top. She fingers them and wonders if it would help. Help ground her, push this unsettling feeling and tension away, push her into a deep sleep that she can just…. float away.

She closes the drawer again.

Stands.

Can’t stop the nauseousness this time as it’s caustic taste fills her mouth. She’s forced to spit it into the bin, the quick movement makes her vomit again and the smell permeates the room.

Her head is pounding. She pulls the pyjama top over her head, and pain lances through her head.

“Ow.” She moans quietly, allowing herself the acknowledgement of pain. Natasha looks over to the bottle of painkillers.

She has no idea how long it’s been since she was at medical. She hates medication - the one they’ve given her making her tongue loose and loopy.

Deciding against them, she throws them on the floor, the bottle popping open and spilling the contents everywhere. She doesn’t know why she did that.. the throbbing in her head manageable is she just..doesn’t…move.

She lays down tentatively, almost sitting up so that she doesn’t have to move her head.

Maybe the hand cuffs aren’t a bad idea. The more she thinks on it, the better it seems. She pulls them out, encloses it on the bed post and then around her wrist. As the metal touches her, she breathes down panic.

This is good, she tells herself strongly.

This is needed.

Duty and the discipline of the old days.

Madam says it’s tithing to Red Room.

Madam says it will give her a blank mind.

Madam says…

Clint shuts down his computer, sighing softly at the monotony of paperwork. His brain hurts more now than it did when he started, this kind of work way harder than fieldwork in his mind.

If it was just field work he would be done in less time than typing out a damn field report.

Clint stretches as his phone goes off, he looks at the number, confused to see Shield Medical pop up.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Barton?”

“Speaking.”

“Mr. Barton, you’re Agent Romanoff’s emergency contact. We’ve tried to call her after she came in this afternoon with a severe concussion, she said that she had someone who could take care of her, but no one is picking up on her cell.”

Clint swallows down worry. She didn’t call. Natasha has no one except him. She doesn’t trust anyone. Not with pain, not with injury. It’s a miracle she’s been going to medical after missions, but he suspects that’s only because of the threat from Fury.

“Yes?” He asks.

“Are you with her Mr. Barton?”

“Thanks, I’l check in on her. Do you need anything else?” He doesn’t answer the question.

“Yes, if you could call us to let us know if she needs anything? More painkillers, or a higher dose?”

Clint shakes his head at the phone. He’s doubtful thats she took the first lot. He moves as fast as he can to the dormitory levels.

“Ok. Thank you, I’ll call back on this number.”

“Thanks Mr. Barton.” The lady says and hangs up.

Clint is almost running. Panic infusing his movement. He falters with his phone, dialling Natasha’s number, and cursing when it rings out.

He picks the lock to her room, and opens the door. He smells the acrid vomit smell and curses under his breath.

“Natasha?” He announces his presence, as he moves to her bedroom. Louder now, he looks around for her. He hopes she’s in the room. Hopes she hasn’t run away.

“Oh no no no no no.. Nat…” the words just fall out of his mouth when he sees her. She’s on her side a trail of bile coming from her mouth and her hand handcuffed to the bed. The cut above her eye stands out, large and red against her pale skin.

He squats next to her, unsure what to do. He thinks he should wake her, but what if that’s not right?

He finds a towel on the floor, covered with bright pink blood, he folds it over and wipes the bile from her face.

“Tasha.. Tasha?” he moves next to her, their faces level.

“Nat?” Firm hands hold hers, he unlocks the handcuff from the bed and off her wrist, places it on the floor.

“Tash,” he touches her face and she flinches, closer to awake than asleep now.

He sits back on his heels and waits, speaking softy as she rouses.

“Hey Tash, why you always gotta do this alone? Huh? Why not call me? I’d’ve come. I would’ve sat with you. Annoyed you, and made sure you’re not in this alone.”

She orients to his voice but he keeps talking.

“You’re not alone. You have me. I’m sorry you think this is the only way. Sorry you had to go back to the old ways and the old patterns of coping. But you don’t gotta any more.”

She’s watching him now. He smiles at her.

“You hear me?” He asks her, a genuine question.

She dips her head, pain crossing her features.

He looks around for the pain killers and finds them spilt on the floor. Eyes watch as he he picks them up.

“No.” She tells him. The first thing she’s said.

“Ok.” He holds up the handcuffs.

“Do you need these?” Her pale face flushes red with embarrassment and her eyes look up away from his.

“No.” She whispers.

There’s silence in the room, and Clint moves slowly to the other side of the bed, lays next to her and takes her hand.

“You’ve got me.” He whispers. “You’re not alone.” Her head drops to look at him.

“You have someone to look after you, if you need it.” He tells her firmly.

“Ok?” Natasha looks over him from head to toe, breathing slowly.

“Ok.” She concedes.

#clintasha fic #clint/nat fic #clintasha #injury tw #whump fic #ask away #my fic #hurt/comfort #marvel fic

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youranxiousnerd · 3 years

Text

Second Chances Thoughts

bc what

spoilers below

i have...thoughts

ah no chaotic intro, f in the chat

it’s still a nice intro, tho

IM SORRY ARE THEY NOT SHOWING THE TRANSFORMATION?!?!

WHAT

THIS IS A HATE CRIME /j

i used the thingy

no bows either?!?!

this is called high school musical: the musical: the series not high school musical: the backstage drama: the series

wow they got changed fast

“Passable!”

I’ll be the judge of that oh wait i cant bc they didnt show us

YES QUEEN ASHLYN GETTING THE LOVE SHE DESERVES

ashlyn is such a queen

the perfect belle, stunning

“A couple letters, actually” it’s a sign (literally)

flower touch

AWWW REDLYN

STOP THEY’RE ADORABLE

they love each other so much

east high kids be snooping

not me thinking about carlos’ hand on seb’s back we were robbed im taking what i can get

“You were the perfect Belle tonight. I was really proud”

“Evil genius”

they’re so happy

AWWW A REDLYN KISS WHOOP WHOOP

kourt and howie are so awkward

“drumroll?”

howie and seb would get along

weird little playoff, maybe he is lying?

they’re cute, tho

sad that they didn’t really get any build-up

“happy now?” “yes”

“If it’s with you, always” MY HEART

just like a fanfic

kourtney just invited north highs beast to east highs cast party

OH MY GOD MAZZARA IS ACTUALLY GETTING A STORY ABOUT HIM

i was not expecting that okay

ej and mazzara are the best

gina is so happy too bad it wont last

gina is an actress

gahhhh portwell drama

oh god rini let the drama begin

that was very calm, did someone possess nini and ricky?

i really like them as best friends. i was a hardcore rini shipper last season but with all their constant conflict i realized how much fun they are as friends

“we are literally on the same page”

“just for a moment” I LOST MY SHIT

miss jenn no

oooo seblos please be good

Seb calling Miss. Jenn out on her bullshit since idk when

“That’s a hard never mind now” okay wow

Miss. Jenn is Carlos’ godmother

This is theatre, not football

CRYING GINA

gini

GINA SUPPORT DAY IS A THING PEOPLE!!!!!

oh wow a plot line actually being addressed

season 1 callback im not ready

gina and nini people!!!

very sweet scene

ahha jamie callback we all knew it

i would really like to see miss jenns batb audition notes

“I’m in a great place, mentally” if you were you wouldn’t be saying that

OMFG IS SHE NOT GOING TO APOLOGIZE!?!?!

like that was a big deal, a big effing deal and then nothing?

you told a kid to jump off something high and you can’t even say “sorry”?!?!

back to the miss jenn love triangle

“I think I’m happy, or gettin’ there”

ricky you don’t have to be there yet it’s okay

that line hit

SEASON 1 OUTFITS

CORE 4 SONG

killer harmonies

sofia giving us that alto rep!!

portwell duet! audition outfits

very good, very very good. this song kinda screams autotune but it still sounds very good.

last song of the season NOOO but very fitting

Is it just me or does “Second Chance” look like a music video they show in Justice (the teen store) in 2014?

cast bonding yay!

PAUSE THE ONLY SEBLOS MOMENT WE GOT THIS EPISODE WAS A WRIST HOLD?!?!!

DISNEY WTF

LIKE EVERY COUPLE GOT THEIR MOMENT AND ALL THEY GET IS A WRIST HOLD

BFBLBFIWGFSDMBF

shit why does my favorite ship have to be the gay one on a disney show?

east high booing the lily and french boi has me on the floor

“Big Red, you were also in it” BEST LINE OF THE FINALE OMFG

i missed antoine

sorry carlos has glitter on his face

seb’s smile and wave at north high why am i laughing?

off topic but i have unintentionally started doing the seb wave (you know the one) (with the fingers) in real life.

also gay chair sit

e.j is also doing the gay chair sit

lily what

you have had like one conversation

she says she likes his face but not his personality?

im calling bullcrap

pause didn’t lily steal the harness? are we just going to forget about that

probably, the writers did forgot to develop seblos

Let Ricky be single challenge

ANTOINE MY LOVE

REDLYN I LOVE YOU

SHUSH EJ’S SPEECH TIME TO SOB

ummmm

so this season has been for nothing?

all the shit they went through (the self-doubt, relationship problems, the injuries, the death threats) is for nothing?!?

since when does Miss. Jenn not care anymore about the Menkies?!?!

I actually get the kids side of this, but not Miss. Jenn’s.

I was surprised they took this route with the Menkies, didn’t even cross my mind

“It was five”

Big Red x medicine

bet your ass ashlyn would have gotten a nomination best actress

“We got a pizza oven” THE EAST HIGH KIDS ARE COMMITTING ARSON

is mazzara staying for miss jenn? they could do long distance but it doesnt have the best rep in this show

gini

ashlyn is the captain of the portwell ship and nini is her right hand man (or whatever second best is called in sailing)

NINI MAKIN THE DEALS

RICKY WHY ARE YOU CALLING HER

WHYYYYYY

“Will you be my first kiss” smiles

OH MY GOD

WAIT NOTHING

WHAT

OMFG THEY CUT IT LMAO

“this summer is about to get hot” SUMMER SEASON 3?!?!

ANTOINE

OMFG HE BETTER COME BACK

I LOVE ABF

WAIT THATS IT

FWBEGLEWG

THATS IT

hey they ended with andrew barth feldman what more can you ask for?

Thats...it?

Oh wait some cast stuff...brb ima cry. The ending has some very series finale energy...I’m scared. Natalie wouldn’t have done the “buckle up wildcats” if there wasn’t a season 3, right? But the bloopers at the end...

The cast ending was great. “You are the Music in Me” was so heartfelt and I’m a sucker for bloopers.

Wait so no Lily home? It was probably a cut scene.

If we got Lily home, can we get an album with the cast singing all the BATB songs?

I have so many mixed feelings about this episode. Here is the thing, if you love the core 4 then this was your episode. If you’re like me and prefer the side leads then this was probably a little disappointing since we barely saw them. This episode felt rushed and a little messy, but there were some great moments. Season 2′s writing has felt a little weird. This season lacked the chaotic theater kid energy season 1 had. It was one of the reasons I fell in love with the show. If/when we get a season 3 I really hope the writers find that energy again.

Let’s all give a round of applause for the cast and crew who filmed majority of the season during a global pandemic. That could not have been easy. They gave us a pretty good season under crazy conditions. They definitely had to change some things to fit the current climate. Overall, hats off the the cast and crew because you guys killed it.

I’m really going to miss this show, hopefully it gets renewed. It has become a comfort show these past several weeks. My sanity says “no, don’t go” but my sleep schedule says “leave.”

To second chances!!

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kenmascat · 3 years

Text

|| tear in my heart || wangxian threadfic ||

out of all the things lan wangji thought he'd end up doing at 4 in the morning, picking up wei ying from a party that nie huaisang threw on a weekday is not one of them. wei ying called him up at 3:33 am, clearly drunk and asked his dear roomate to pick him up from the said party, because nie huaisang is mad drunk passed out on the floor with jiang cheng on top because, there no because two drunk people wanted to have a wrestling match which they were too intoxicated to go with in the first place and ended up sleeping halfway through the slow, lazy, joke of a 'wrestling match' and therefore none of his friends are in a state to drive him home. lan wangji did not need to know any of this information to agree to pick wei ying, but drunk wei ying talks a lot.

so that is why he is now driving him and wei ying back to their shared apartment.

"lan zhan", wei ying's voice muffled by the oversized jacket lan wangji made sure to bring along to wrap wei ying like a burrito.

"Mnm"

"im sorry I ruined your sleep schedule", he hears

a soft voice that sounds it is drifting off to sleep slowly. lan wangji looks at the passenger seat to find wei ying's eyes shut, head leaning on the seat and face turner towards lan wangji who is driving. he looked soft, beautiful, almost surreal even with his hair a mess, scent of alcohol surrounding him, and his red eyeliner smudged at the creak of his eyes. this image makes lan wangji's stomach twist and turn, his body would often feel this weird sensation regardless of wei ying's state.

" if it's for wei ying, I'd ruin anything"

lan wangji says, with his eyes softer, and a warm almost of smile forming on his lips. he wished he could be this bold when wei ying's sober enough. lan wangji is a skilled driver and people assume he's one of the calm one's, which he usually is, but not when the love of his love is trying to sleep and there are holes on the road that are trying to mess with that. he curses internally for these holes on the road and the government for not using some tax money to fix them all. you see, lan wangji doesn't usually cuss, but being in love with wei wuxian has its consequences, you start to hate anything that may make wei ying sad, upset, annoyed, angry, cry. lan wangji has even had the urge previously to punch wei ying's brother in the face for yelling at him and making his wei ying cry once.

lan wangji avoids all road holes and drives gently over them so that wei ying's sleep is not disturbed, which is one of the reasons they finally reach their apartment by 4:30, double the time it usually takes, but he doesn't mind.

he pauses after parking the car in its spot, to figure out how to do the next task without waking wei ying up. lan wangji feels his heart starting to race a bit, at the knowledge that he'd have to carry wei ying in his arms, probably bridal style, no way in hell he's doing it any other way. Lan wangji slides his one arm around wei ying's shoulders and one under his knees. this is not hard for lan wangji, and he's not carrying wei Ying for the first time either, wei ying has been carried countless times on his request, "lan Zhan!" he'd say with a dramatic tone and pout on his face and arms wide, asking to be carried when he doesn't wish to walk large distances like from the kitchen counter to his room, couch to his room, sometimes even his desk which is five feet away from his bed. lan wangji would obey all his requests in fear of seeing wei ying's sad face, he cannot stand wei ying sad even if it's fake.

"you'd make a great boyfriend lan zhan!" wei ying would say with a cheeky smile and teasing eyes, to which lan wangji would turn away and do the walk of shame to his room with his red ears

clenching fists, his teeth grinding against each other, annoyed at wei ying, the audacity he had to consider lan wangji would make a a great boyfriend?? no! a great husband, wei ying, I can be your great husband as well! If only you'd understand.

so no, lan wangji is not unfamiliar with how wei ying's body feels like to be carried, so he gracefully carries him up to their apartment, kicks the door open with his foot, as his hands are currently pre-occupied and rests the sleeping boy in his arms on his bed.

lan wangji pulls out wei ying's shoes off and puts covers up to his chest. he then takes a glance at the condition of wei ying's room, desk scattered with papers and books, a chair drowning in a heap of clothes, and a wall covered in anime posters, nothing unusual. although

a familiar object is hanging from the wall, a creme coloured bunny beanie that lan wangji had gifted wei ying last Christmas, omitting the information that he had knitted it for wei ying with his own hands making it according to his comfort. he vividly remembers wei ying's surprised expression at receiving the gift, he had jumped into lan zhan's arms, and hugged him so tight as if he's clinging onto dear life to avoid falling down a cliff at the moment. Ian wangji doesn't like being touched much, but wei ying had always been an exception so he had also bent down and rested his chin on top of wei ying's head, avoiding the urge to lean and kiss him right there. now he watches the very kissable face sleeping peacefully in front of him. he tucks away the strands of wei ying's long hair behind his ear, and leans to place a kiss on his forehead. If this is all he can get right now, then this is all he will take happily. Lan wangji goes to sleep after placing a pain killer and glass of water on wei ying's night stand in case he suffers a hangover in the morning.

maybe someday he will get the opportunity to finally have wei wuxian in his bed, in his arms, forever where he belongs. someday

-end-

#what am i doing at 5am #mo xiang tong xiu #mdzs #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #mxtx #the untamed #wangxian #mo dao zu shi #wangxian au #wangxian hc

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holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

Savior or devil? – Part 2

Summary: Only days after Rick found you in the woods and takes you in, you end up surrounded not only by walkers but his worst enemy too.

Pairing: Negan x Reader

Characters: Simon, Sherry, Amber, unnamed saviors, Dr. Harlan Carson

Warnings: angst, language (it’s Negan ladies and gentleman), blood, violence, threats, innocent reader, sick reader, bullying, a hint of soft Negan, reader is a ray of sunshine (maybe a bit naïve too but we love her)

Thanks go to @firefly-graphics for the wonderful text dividers.

<< Part 1 here

A few days later…

“I bet that hussy believed she’s someone special. Even the wives complained about her occupying Negan only for her to get kicked out,” you can hear the words, but you decided to ignore that most of the women at the Sanctuary seem to hate you.

“Wonder if she’s too plain and boring for Negan,” Amber snickers at the woman’s words. She doesn’t attack you herself but whenever someone talks low about you, Amber is not far away.

“Don’t you have a job to do?” Sherry grunts, glaring at Amber. “None of us is with Negan on free terms, Amber. I think you forgot about your place. You should be a good example and not waste your time with gossip.”

Whilst you scrub the floor, ignoring the woman who was making fun of you yet again, she kicks your bucket, floating the ground.

“She should know better, girl. Life at the Sanctuary can be rough when you do not fight back.” Sherry gives you an apologetic look.

“She’s right,” you look at the floor, rubbing the brush over a splatter of blood. “I’m not made for life within these walls. I should’ve stayed with Rick. At least he and Daryl respected me,” voice bitter you ignore Negan when he walks toward Sherry to squeeze her ass.

You don’t know if he even recognizes you but for your sake, you decide to not look. It’s too painful to feel like you are just another mouth to feed or a head to split.

Two weeks later…

“Bitch,” you dodge the attack of one woman only to feel a fist collide with your face. Blood runs down your cheek and you must close your eyes when another punch hits your left eye. “Did you believe you are going to become one of his wives?”

“I’m no one. Why don’t you leave me alone?” you kick the woman’s chin, making her gasp in pain. “He didn’t treat me differently, okay. No one wants me or sees something special in me. Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“AMBER!” Simon yells, dragging two women off you. “What the fuck is wrong with all of you? Didn’t Sherry tell you to leave the girl alone? Negan didn’t intend on making her a wife too. Stop acting like jealousy bitches.”

Simon watches the women reluctantly leave. “Thanks, but I…,” you shrug, looking at your hands. “They believe Negan likes me, but the truth is he gives a shit on me just like anyone else. I don’t know how to tell them I’m nothing but a lost girl.”

“Shit, you’re bleeding. Let me talk to Negan. Maybe he’ll give you a room,” Simon offers you a bandana, looking worriedly at the cut above your eyes.

“No, I’ll handle this. I know you have better things to do than listening to a pissed Negan,” huffing you silently walk out of the room. “But thanks for trying, Simon.”

Another three weeks later…

It’s been a long day like any other day since you started to help at the infirmary. Luckily, Dr. Harlan Carson, a former prisoner and now physician at the sanctuary is a kind man. He took you in, telling Simon you are useful as you wanted to become a nurse before the world ended.

“I can’t thank you enough,” you mumble, giving Harlan a sly smile. “At least here I can do something useful without being bullied.”

“You must understand the dynamics within the community. I was an outsider once, a prisoner even. I still do not belong to them, but at least I’m not a prisoner any longer. Those women, they dream of becoming one of Negan’s wives for the longest time.”

“I heard none of his concubines is with him on free terms. Why do the others want to become a wife that desperately?” you blink, watching Dr. Carson check on the remaining medicaments.

“The wives, they get better food, have a nice room and, that’s most important, protection. No one dares to touch them,” Harlan explains.

“No reason to attack me, tho. Negan never once mentioned he wants me to become one of his wives. He was grumpy and cold. I don’t think he even likes me. Like anyone at this place, he hates me,” you sigh, sitting on a chair. “Well, except for you and Simon.”

“Simon is not a nice guy, okay. Just like Negan, he’s a killer and not to be trusted,” you nod thoughtfully, remembering the way some of the newer members of the Sanctuary looked at Simon. “That man is the second-in-command of the Saviors and the personal right-hand man of Negan. All I can tell you is that even Negan seems to be careful around Simon.”

“You think he’ll hurt me?” Harlan huffs, sitting opposite you, waiting for another patient. “Harlan?”

“If Negan tells him so – yes, without thinking twice. Maybe Negan told him to keep an eye on you or he has selfish reasons to be nice,” you don’t like the sound of Harlan’s words but for now – you can only be careful and watch your back.

“I don’t think Negan asked him to watch over me, Harlan. That man gives a shit on me,” the door to the improvised infirmary opens and you swallow thickly watching Amber waltz inside, a grin on her face.

“Sorry for coming so late, but do you have a plaster for me?” she coos, and you roll your eyes, deciding to ignore her boring looks or the way she flirts with Harlan.

“Here, put it onto the hole in your head,” you place a dirty plaster onto her hand, narrowing your eyes. “If you are seriously injured, come back. We don’t treat dumbness in here.” Harlan fights hard to not laugh at your words.

“If you are in pain, tell us so, Amber,” Harlan says instead of bursting into laughter. He knows better than to piss off one of Negan’s wives. “If not, we are busy counting the supplies.”

“I see you around…girl,” Amber spats, turning on her heels. “Hussy…”

“That wasn’t smart, Y/N,” you sigh, nodding silently. “I know, Harlan but she just pisses me off…”

Your shift finally ended and all you want is to lie on your old mattress and find some sleep. But when you come back to the common room, your mattress is gone. Only your bag lies abandoned on the ground, your few belongings dropped to the floor.

“This must be a nightmare,” you are too tired to look for your mattress, so you fold your jacket to use it as a pillow. “Fucking bitches…”

Two weeks later…

Coughing you rub your sore eyes. Today you are too weak to get up. Sleeping on the concrete for more than two weeks took a toll on you. The coldness is in your bones and you’ve got the feeling you have a fever.

“Y/N? Doc said you didn’t…,” Simon gasps, seeing you on the ground without a mattress. “What happened? Where is your mattress?”

“Got stolen or so,” too tired to argue you curl into a ball. “Looked everywhere but they are hiding it well. Dr. Carson wanted to look for one.” Your eyes flutter shut again when Simon presses the back of his hand against your forehead.

“Kid, you are burning up. Your forehead is hot as a pot kettle, but you are freezing. I’m gonna get help,” Simon runs off, leaving you alone once again…

“Someone stole her mattress,” Simon rubs his chin, watching Dr. Carson check on you. “How bad is it, doc? It was my job to keep her safe but I was outside for longer than I thought. Negan will kill me if she dies...”

“Her fever is higher than expected,” Harlan covers your trembling body with a blanket. “I gave her a pillow and blanket, but the next night, it was gone too. Happens every night. I got none left.”

“Those bitches again?” Nodding Dr. Carson pours you a glass of water. “What can we do now?”

“She needs a warm and safe place. Silence, the medicaments I got over there and protection,” Simon nods, looking at the tears run down your cheeks.

“Just let me die, doc. It’s not worth it…I’m not worth it,” you drift into unconsciousness, ignoring Harlan calls your name or that Simon storms out of the room…

“Doll?” Someone whispers into your ear but you are too exhausted to blink your eyes open. “Any girl on my bed should at least pay me attention.”

“Negan, she’s in a bad condition, I’m sorry,” Simon nervously cups the back of his neck, rubbing the skin until it’s sore. “Amber, she was a bitch. I tried to talk to her, Sherry did too.”

“Didn’t work out, huh?” Negan, dips one knee into the mattress, pressing one hand against your forehead. “Girl got a fever, but not the good kind.”

“She slept on the concrete for more than two weeks. Doc said someone, the girls I assume, stole her mattress. When Harlan gave her a blanket and pillow, they stole it too,” Negan’s features darken when you whimper in your sleep.

“Get Amber, the girls you remember, and Doc. I will have a serious conversation with my people. They are not Negan if they do not respect you and your orders,” Negan grasps for Lucille, ignoring you called out Rick’s name, “they will pay.”

“Here you are, lying straight into my face, Amber,” Amber whimpers, looking at the bloody baseball bat in Negan’s hand. Two of the women attacking you lie dead on the ground, coloring the concrete with their blood. “We are all Negan here, but you decided to go against my orders.”

“Simon said,” Amber tries but Negan’s slams Lucille into the wall behind her and she whimpers silently. Urine runs down her legs and Sherry scrunches up her nose in disgust.

“I told her to leave the girl alone. We all know you never asked her to become one of us or you would’ve told us so,” Sherry clears her throat, glancing at Negan. “The girl tried so hard to ignore the people harassing her.”

“She works hard at the infirmary,” Harlan stammers, still intimidated by Negan’s presence. “Y/N is a good girl.”

“Good girl,” Negan groans, remembering the way you used to whimper his name in your sleep. “Sherry, Dr. Carson, you can go.”

“I told her more than once to leave the girl alone. Even though Amber never laid a finger on Y/N, she was the one behind every attack,” Amber glares at Simon, hating he rat her out. “I kept an eye on your kiddo.”

“I hope you kept it in your pants,” Negan grunts, eying his right-hand man warily. Even to Negan, Simon is a brutal and unpredictable man. He always keeps an eye on him. “She’s mine.”

“Heard Rick asked about her, sneaked around and all,” Simon grins, fueling Negan’s anger. “You should lay claim on her before someone snatches the girl out of your hands.”

One moment Negan threatens Amber and the next he pushes Simon against the wall. His hand wraps around Simon’s throat to keep him under control.

“No one threatens my claim on that piece of ass, Simon. No one,” voice low Negan holds Simon against the wall, not letting up. “Anyone who tries will die.”

“She’s a bit better but will need a lot of rest and someone taking care of her. I can bring her to the infirmary and make sure Y/N gets better soon,” Harald doesn’t like the way Negan looks at you on his bed. “If you want me to, Sir.”

“She’ll stay here, in my room. You will come every morning and in the evening to check on her. Tell the kitchen bitch to bring me two plates to my room from now on,” Negan shoves the doctor out of his room, slamming the door shut.

“What? Where?” startled you jolt up in the bed. Your head spins when you look around the room only to find Negan staring at you.

“You’ve got to fucking kidding me, kid,” Negan grumbles, kicking his shoes off. “Lie back down and shut your mouth. Can’t believe you are back to square one.”

“I…I’m sorry,” you try to leave the bed, but the moment you set foot onto the floor your legs give in. Negan catches your fall but not without giving you piece of mind. “I’ll go back and do better…promised.”

“Shut the fuck up. Hell, you can’t even stand, doll,” your body falls against his chest, simply not able to carry your weight your legs won’t obey your mind. “Back on the bed. You’re Negan, which means you’ll have to become a killer or one of my wives.”

“No wife,” you cough, shivering as Negan picks you up to drop you onto his bed. “I’m tired. Tomorrow I’ll do better. I’m a nurse…” your eyes roll back, and you lose consciousness once again.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, you snuggled closer to Negan. He didn’t wake you when you rested your head onto his chest, nor did he push you away.

Negan prefers to observe your reaction to his closeness like a predator.

His smirk grows anytime you whimper his name and hold tight onto him. He knows to you he’s a savior, a saint even. Even though anyone else knows better.

“Rickaroo won’t get you back, doll,” Negan grins. “The moment you feel better I’ll show him whom you belong to. I’ll give him the best show he’ll ever see…”

>> Part 3

Savior or devil? Tags

@vicmc624; @aubageddon91;

-----------------------------------------------

All works Tags

@yolobloggers

@shikshinkwon

@miraclesoflove

@mogaruke

@shatteredabby

@soryuwifeyxx

@letsdisneythings

@i-love-superhero

@psychicforest

@thevelvetseries

@deanmonandnegansbitch

@sabascio

@goodgodimaweirdperson

@that-place-called-middle-earth

@trumpettay

@zxph-yr

@belovedcherry

@matsumama

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@emoryhemsworth

@buckybarnesplumwhore

@wonderlandfandomkingdom

@kitkatd7

#Savior or devil? – Part 2 #twd #twd fanfiction #Negan x Reader #negan x you #negan x y/n #negan fanfiction #angst #tw: bullying #The Walking Dead masterlist #the walking dead

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mulderist · 3 years

Text

Wicked Game

Previous chapter || Read on A03 || tagging @today-in-fic

CHAPTER 8

Details were scattered but I remember Skinner ushered me away from the crime scene. I argued that it was my investigation, he said that there was nothing more I needed to do. I stumbled towards the elevator and saw Byers exit, holding his medical satchel. He placed a hand on my shoulder and I saw him mouth the words: you look terrible. The room felt like it was spinning in slow motion, like the sensation you get when you’re falling in a dream. Delirium had set in. Too bad my one vice was alcohol otherwise I’d swallow an upper to get myself back on course; my liver could hate me later. I rode the elevator down and managed to get out to the curb. I hailed a cab since I couldn’t remember if I drove myself. By the grace of God, and an honest cabbie, I made it home alive.

The sleeping pill did a mediocre job; I felt groggy and sore, hungover minus the whiskey. I rolled over and squinted at the alarm clock. About twelve hours had passed since I left two dead bodies in the precinct interrogation rooms. Afternoon sunlight radiated through my window and I knew I had to get the day started. I found a small bit of food in my pantry to calm my angry stomach and some water straight from the tap to rehydrate. My clothes should probably be tossed in the incinerator but then I would be down one dress shirt. I stripped and stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as I could stand. It sputtered at first but soon rushed against my chest. I scrubbed my hair and switched to the soap, finally feeling clean for the first time in two days. A layer of grime swirled down the drain. I stood firmly under the spray and let it beat mercilessly against my upper back and shoulders. Hands braced the shower wall and my eyes closed heavy.

Scalding water and steam tried to purify me. I stayed under until the temperature cooled. A deep exhale and I cut the tap, hearing the ancient pipes shudder. I pushed the curtain aside and grabbed the towel from the hook, drying off then wrapping it tightly around my waist. I wiped away the thin layer of fog on the small medicine cabinet mirror above the sink. My reflection was certainly worse for wear. Bruises were now that off-shade of yellow and dark circles carved unappealing lines under my eyes. The shaving foam canister and my straight razor looked lonely on the shelf. I walked into the bedroom and pulled open the dresser drawer to retrieve a pair of boxer shorts and an undershirt. I tossed the towel onto the bed and as I dressed the phone rang from the bedside table.

“This is Mulder,” I answered, reaching for the discarded towel.

“It’s Frohike,” he cleared his throat, “I was trying to reach you earlier but there was no answer.”

“Sorry about that. These sleeping pills pack a wallop.” My voice sounded ragged, like I had swallowed gravel.

“Remind me to get the brand name,” Frohike said. I maneuvered the phone and dried my hair,

“I hope you’re calling with some good news.”

“Good is a relative term, my friend. Byers and Langley did a fine job on Mr. Lodi’s autopsy and came to the conclusion that cyanide was the poison of choice.”

“A cyanide capsule? He did himself in?”

“The poison was definitely ingested but not from a broken capsule, we didn’t find any residue. He might have had something to eat or drink that was laced with it.”

I thought for a moment.

“The water cup. There was an empty cup on the floor in the room when I walked in.”

“There’s those fine detective skills.” Frohike jabbed.

“Sharp as a tack. Although I sure as hell didn’t suspect a mole in the precinct.”

“An inside job. The plot thickens.” His intrigue was so palpable I could taste it through the phone.

“This all has to tie back to Spender somehow,” I began, “Someone higher up was steamed that we were getting too close to solving this case and took out our suspects. There are more pens in the inkwell than I thought.” I picked up the phone and walked to sit on the bed, “Could you find any prints?”

“The doorknob had a myriad including yours and Captain Skinner’s but nothing we could go on. And the only prints on the paper cup belonged to Lodi. Our culprit must have used gloves.”

“He most likely added the poison while at the water cooler. Essentially slipped him a killer mickey,” I sighed heavily, “Did you get to work on Theo?”

“Getting ready to sharpen my scalpel, though I’m sure to find much of the same as we did on contestant number one. When I’m done I’ll send him and Lodi over to Washington General.”

“Alright. I’ll finish up here then hit the precinct.” I hung up and left the phone on the bed then returned to the bathroom sink. My hand hit the faucet right as a sharp loud knock hit my front door. I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. I really wanted to ignore it but they were persistent. Instinct told me to grab my Browning from the bedside table. I checked the safety and cautiously approached the rapping at my door. To my surprise there was a petite figure in a white uniform on the other side of the peephole. I flipped the lock but kept the chain intact.

“What are you doing here?” I asked through the crack in the door.

“Something happened,” Scully said tentatively and leaned closer, “May we talk inside?” I looked down the hall and closed the door to undo the chain then gently ushered her in. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and quickly looked away as I placed my weapon on a nearby table.

“Scully, what happened?” I questioned, trying to think of what possible reason she had to come to my apartment. It felt different seeing her in her nurse’s uniform and not being a patient. The standard crisp white dress with sharp collar, matching nylons, and patent shoes were a polar opposite to the flattering outfit the last time we met. I then felt her eyes search me and I straightened up.

“Mulder, would you mind getting dressed first?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. I glanced down then nodded and went to the bedroom. Personally I never really bothered with modesty.

“You talk, I’ll listen,” I called as I found a pair of trousers. The sound of her heels soon echoed on the hardwood floor and she hovered near the doorway, careful but curious.

“A body came in last night that washed up near one of the marinas on the Washington Channel. The pathologist was short-handed and I was made conveniently available to assist on the autopsy.”

“Is that out of the ordinary?” I asked as I tucked in my shirt and zipped up.

“The body or the task I was given?” she playfully retorted.

I chuckled. This one is razor sharp.

“I only ask because I thought you worked in the emergency room.”

“My training is versatile,” she countered, inching a little more into my bedroom. “Sometimes I’m pulled in other directions if there’s a need. Also it’s a nice opportunity to learn.”

There was an underlying tone in her voice that she wanted to do more than her position allowed. I could picture her taking charge during the war; delegating to fellow nurses, keeping a cool head, spreading herself thin to help whenever and wherever she could. But fate can give with one hand and take with the other. After the men returned home, a lot of good women were forced out of those opportunities. My sister went through something similar after pulling swing shifts at a shipyard in Boston. So I suppose I’m a little biased.

“Anything strange about the stiff?” I asked, getting my train of thought back on the rails.

“From the license in his wallet we found he drove a cab. I’m surprised you didn’t get a call about it.”

“Honey, thanks to some Grade A sleeping pills I didn’t hear that phone ring until about an hour ago.”

Scully shook her head and continued,

“Well, this poor cabbie was stabbed repeatedly.”

“Could have been a robbery gone wrong,” I offered as I pulled on my socks and shoes, “Was there still cash in the wallet?” She considered the question.

“I can’t remember, I was taking notes on the condition of the body. There were about six deep stab wounds from a medium blade. Standard bloating and decomposition from blood loss and being in the water for a few hours. Certainly looked like a murder to me.”

“Do you mind if I shave?” I asked while pointing towards the bathroom. She raised an eyebrow at my strange interjection. Frankly I was trying to lighten the mood a little, keep her at ease while she recounted events.

“Go right ahead,” her head tilted slightly, “you certainly could use it.” Scully tacked that on as she coyly rubbed her upper arm.

I offered a smirk then turned on the faucet and lathered up. She was within eyeshot, watching and waiting to continue..

“Tell me what happened next.”

“The pathologist and I completed the autopsy and as I left the morgue I was confronted by someone. He asked my name but didn’t give me his. I waited for him to show me an ID or badge but he never did.”

Scully paused and I turned my head to see she had boldly entered the room and took a seat on my bed. I could tell from where I was standing her demeanor changed, her brow furrowed. My focus turned for a moment back to the mirror so as not to slice open my upper lip.

“Scully?” I prompted after a precision scrape.

“Yes...sorry. The man asked if I knew you.”

“What did you tell him?” I asked as I finished an area under my chin.

“I played dumb of course.”

“Smart girl.” I said to myself before splashing water on fresh skin.

“Apparently that was the wrong answer because he grabbed me by the arm and pushed me into the first open room.”

I stepped out of the bathroom, suddenly taking great interest in busting this assailant’s kneecaps when I found him.

“I was warned,” Scully continued, lacing her fingers together, “he said to stay away from you, Mulder. He said that if I was stupid enough to talk to you then he and his associates would come after me for what I know.”

“Describe him,” I said harshly as I moved closer, feeling the remaining drops of water prickle against my cheeks. She closed her eyes for a moment. Those baby blues blinked open and she stared through me, developing a picture of him on the wall.

“Fairly young, maybe late twenties. Brown hair I think...he was wearing a hat. Dark eyes, sharp nose, oddly perfect teeth. His smile was broad and gave the impression of being pleasant, though I could tell he was a sleaze.”

My hand went to the back of my neck to damper the bubbling rage. I couldn’t blow my stack yet. What the hell game is he playing? How much did he know? I ran my hand over my face, collecting moisture then drying my palm on my hip. I needed to get her somewhere safe until I got some more answers. Her gaze met mine and I touched her shoulder.

“Did you drive here or take a bus?”

“The bus. I came straight from the hospital, why?”

“I want to make sure you weren’t followed. We’re going to the precinct.”

“Mulder, no.”

“Scully, listen to me.” But she was already on her feet and heading out of the room.

“I don’t need protection.” She stiffened as I followed her.

“Then why did you come here? You could have easily flipped open a telephone book and given me a ring instead.”

“I was frightened,” her voice broke and she tried to hide it, “In a moment of fear you don’t make wholly rational decisions, but I knew I could trust you.

I stepped closer, moving through a cloud of uncertainty and tenderly cupped her cheek. Scully closed her eyes and softened against my touch. A pang of guilt resonated in my chest, her exhale hummed through closed lips.

“Let’s go.” I said softly.

She nodded and I collected my weapon, my grey fedora, and showed her out. Once in the hallway we walked towards the elevator.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I began before pressing the button, “You are going to take the stairs down and head out the back door, through the alley, and over to the next block. Then take a cab to the 3rd District precinct…”

“Mulder…”

“Look, I don’t care if they know where I live. I don’t want them to follow you home.”

Her lips parted as she tried to say something but I kept going,

“Once you arrive at the 3rd, ask for Melvin Frohike and wait with him until I get there. He might have his colleagues in the lab but don’t worry they’re harmless.”

“What are you going to do?” She asked with concern.

“I’m going down the elevator and straight out the front door, hoping to catch a glimpse of this guy.”

I felt her fingers brush against my hand. To my surprise she lifted her heels and quickly planted a soft kiss on my lips. I held the back of her head and returned the favor.

“Be careful,” she said as we separated.

“You too, angel.” I replied and adjusted my hat with a wink.

#i wrote this #historical au #mulder pov #wip #xf fanfic #fanfiction #yup i'm still writing this thing

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

Not Your Average Love Story (SPN x CM)

Sam Winchester x Spencer Reid

Word Count: ~3490

Warnings: Show-level violence, but that’s about it! It’s bizarrely fluffy.

A/N: My first square for @cmbingo: “meet the parents.” This is essentially a rewrite of Supernatural 12x01, “Keep Calm and Carry On,” except Spencer and Sam are adorable dorky murder boyfriends.

Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67 for the read-through!

When Spencer realizes he’s in love with Sam, he’s on a plane, hoping to make it to Kansas before the sun goes dark.

He looks out the window at the too-orange light, thinking, this is a weird twist for a love story. He turns that thought over in his mind and realizes: love.

Oh.

It takes him by surprise, for some reason, but only for a second. He’s starting to get used to surprises.

* * *

Spencer has always been self-aware enough to realize that his intellect and his lack of social skills would not make it easy to strike up a traditional relationship. Then, of course, you factor in his obsessive tendencies, his attachment issues, and the stresses of his job, and it’s not actually surprising that he made it past the age of thirty before he fell in love for the first time. Considering how that ended, it’s definitely a surprise — if not a minor miracle — that he’s made it this far with Sam.

Then again, nothing about their relationship has been predictable. Spencer never guessed he’d meet his future partner while dissecting a dessicated brain.

Ever since Spencer Reid met Sam Winchester, his life has been one surprise after another.

* * *

The third unanswered call makes him nervous, but he figures Sam must be asleep, or at least he should be asleep. If Spencer finds himself doing ninety mph in his tiny rental car, it’s mostly because Kansas highways don’t seem to follow the usual laws of physics. They’re flat and endless and eerie in the grey pre-dawn light.

The moment he opens the door, Spencer knows something is wrong. He spares a wishful thought for his Kevlar, and then he draws his gun, falling automatically into the too-familiar stance as he silently descends the stairs.

There’s blood on the floor.

This doesn’t surprise him in the slightest.

* * *

Spencer tends to spend a lot of time visualizing hypothetical problems and their solutions. He’s good at imagining all the potential outcomes of a particular scenario and calculating their likelihoods based on given variables. He frequently does this at night, instead of sleeping.

In other words, he worries a lot.

If he were in a normal relationship he would probably worry about normal things. For example: whether Spencer was misreading the situation, whether it was okay to run a thorough background check on them, and what to wear on a date. What would their first argument be about? What would their parents think of him? What would his mom think of them?

About thirty-six hours after they met, Sam saved Spencer’s mom from a wraith; first impressions don’t get much better than that.

The normal worries were rapidly eclipsed by Sam-specific worries. For example: what if he got cursed, what if he got possessed, and were there angels or demons after him this week. Why couldn’t Dean either drive a little slower or get a car with less antiquated safety features? How would Spencer help if Sam got hurt on the job? Should he tell the B.A.U. what he’s been learning about the supernatural?

He does end up telling them everything; Sam and Dean show up at a crime scene, Hotch almost arrests them, and it turns out that one of the serial killers they’ve been hunting for a decade is actually a skinwalker.

But the point is that when Spencer sees blood on the floor, he isn’t surprised. He’s visualized this scenario — and several hundred variations on it — before.

* * *

He hears a raised voice in the library and takes the steps two at a time. There are two complete strangers there, a blonde woman aiming a gun at a man, and Spencer’s training kicks in before he can figure out why she looks familiar.

“Federal agent, hands in the air,” he barks.

He can see the split-second when the woman thinks about turning her gun on him, but she seems to think better of it, and she sets the gun down slowly before putting her hands in the air.

“Who are you?” the man demands. “What did you do with Sam?”

“What — Sam?” Spencer asks, panic rising in his throat. “Spencer Reid, FBI. Who —”

“You’re Spencer?” he asks, brow furrowed.

Spencer realizes: “You’re Castiel.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, gun down,” Dean interrupts. “It’s okay! She’s okay, Spence!”

“Dean? You’re alive?” Castiel grabs him before he can say anything else.

Spencer lowers his gun slowly. He’s starting to hyperventilate. He wants to know how Dean is still alive, yes, but he’s watching the way they embrace, the smile on Cas’s face and the way Dean’s shoulders seem to drop like he’s relaxing for the first time in a long time, and all he can think about is —

“Can somebody tell me where the hell Sam is?” Spencer asks, voice cracking embarrassingly.

“He’s not here,” Castiel says.

The woman looks between Cas and Spencer, eyes wide, and it’s not clear who she’s talking to when she asks, “Who are you?”

“He’s my —” Dean starts.

Cas cuts him off by saying, “He’s Sam’s —” at the same time Spencer blurts out, “He’s an angel.”

“Come again?” the woman asks, and when she sees the way Dean shifts nervously, she adds, “Not that, I don’t care about — you said angel?”

“Angel. You know. Wings, harp.”

“Not actually,” Spencer tells her, just as Cas scowls and says, “No, I don’t have a harp.”

“Cas, Spencer,” Dean says, and he pauses, swallowing hard. “This is Mary. Mary Winchester.”

Spencer and Cas speak in unison again, Cas in a gruff monotone as Spencer’s voice goes squeaky: “Your mother?”

Of all the things Spencer has worried about, he never thought he would never have to worry about making a bad first impression on Sam’s parents. Sam’s parents are dead.

Except… apparently not. Apparently Sam’s mom has been resurrected, and Spencer just pulled a gun on her.

“Nice to meet you,” Mary says softly, with a tentative smile.

For a second he freezes, staring at her, and his mind starts racing, recalculating, replanning, getting his worrying done after the fact, and Spencer has no idea what to say. He never made a plan for this.

“Nice to meet you,” he responds, flushing. “Um. Sorry about that.”

“I’d have done the same thing if I were you.” She smiles, and she doesn’t look much like Sam, but the kindness in her eyes is so very familiar. Spencer’s breath catches.

“She’s not kidding, shoulda seen the way she pinned me when I tried to introduce myself,” Dean grumbles. Then he turns to Castiel and says, “Tell me what happened to Sam.”

As Castiel starts to explain the details, Spencer calls Penelope.

“FBI, office of the brilliant but under-caffeinated,” she says, slightly less chirpy than he’s used to, and Spencer realizes how early it is. Oops.

“It’s me.”

“Oh! Boy genius! They did it, huh? Hotch called us back in, like, as soon as the sun came back on, because apparently criminals don’t stop just because the world is ending, or whatever, but he wanted to give you a day at least — hey, are you okay? How’s that handsome lumberjack of yours?”

“Sam’s missing,” Spencer says without preamble. “I need your help.”

It takes Penelope approximately a minute to find the car and identify the driver, but the identity of his passenger is a little more elusive. She types away, keys clattering ceaselessly in the background, as Spencer yawns.

“Got it! Okay, I have a cell number. If you call her, I can track it. You ready?”

“Dean, give me your phone?” Spencer asks, holding out a hand. “You stay on the line with Penelope. She can tell you as soon as she gets the address.”

“I can make the call,” Dean says. “I want to have a word with this bitch.”

“Dean,” Spencer snaps. “First of all, I’m the only person here who’s trained in hostage negotiation. Finding people is literally in my job description.”

“This isn’t a fuckin’ bank holdup, this is my brother,” Dean retorts. “It’s my job to take care of him.”

“If you call her a bitch and start in on your threatening macho bullshit, she’s going to hang up, or worse, she’s going to believe you, and then she’ll be trying to get you before you can get to Sam. I know how to talk to people like this. If I can convince her I’m scared, that I’m not a real threat, she might give something away.”

“But —”

“Secondly, the only people who know you’re alive are in this room right now, which means you’re our best chance to take her by surprise when we get there, so shut up and let me do my job.”

“You really think you can find him,” Dean says, and it’s not a question. He holds out his phone with a look of begrudging respect.

“Yes.”

Spencer thinks, I have to.

* * *

People aren’t all the same, but if you could quantify the concept of normal, if you could look at it statistically, most people would fall within the standard deviation. Most of their lives take an even, predictable shape, Spencer thinks. There are plenty of other people like them, and they seem to fit with each other, too, interlocking in an easy way that Spencer has always envied.

Spencer’s got all these awkward uneven edges and strange angles. He’s not normal, and he’s always known that.

For a long time, he doesn’t think he’ll ever find someone who’ll fit easily, not without changing him, trying to reshape him in some way. He doesn’t want to change, but he gets lonely. Most people (friends, let alone lovers) don’t last long before they get sick of his quirks. Some try longer than others, but one way or another, there’s always some jarring part of him that doesn’t match what they want.

What if they like to sleep with the windows open, even in the winter? Or if they sleep with the air conditioning cranked up in the summer? Spencer knows he should be better about compromising on little things like that, but he really prefers things a certain way. He knows it’s neurotic. He can’t help it.

Spencer is used to people staring blankly when he starts talking, but at what point will it drive someone away? When will they stop pretending to care about his Doctor Who opinions? When will they get bored of his info-dumping?

And then there are the really difficult questions. How does he tell someone he used to be an addict? What if he doesn’t want to tell them about being kidnapped and tortured? What if he does, and then they start asking questions? How does he explain his PTSD, or his nightmares, or his bedtime routine of triple-checking every lock and setting his gun within arm’s reach?

At first, when he met Sam, Spencer worried about arguments and parents and all the other normal things, but more importantly, he worried about himself. He wondered which of his irregularities would finally make Sam give up on his attempts to fit Spencer into his life.

Neither of them sleep much, but when they do end up sharing a bed, Sam has his own routine; while Spencer checks the locks, Sam draws warding symbols, lines each window and door with salt, and sets his gun within reach. He likes the windows closed and the thermostat above 68, because, he explains simply, “Lucifer runs cold.”

Speaking of Lucifer. Sam understands addiction, kidnapping, torture, PTSD, and nightmares, and he doesn’t ask Spencer to tell his stories before he’s ready. Sam has stories of his own.

Sam also has his own Doctor Who opinions, and those opinions were the cause of their very first argument. Sam is wrong, but Spencer loves that he cares enough to argue.

The first time Spencer started rambling about serial killers, he noticed Sam frowning and cut himself off, embarrassed, ready to apologize. Sam just pulled out a journal and asked him to repeat what he’d said, so that Sam could do more research on the subject later.

Sam doesn’t expect him to change. He doesn’t try to re-shape Spencer. His life is just as weird, and by all logic they shouldn’t fit, but they do. And Spencer doesn’t feel any less himself, but suddenly he realizes that he must’ve changed along the way, because he can’t imagine his life without Sam any more; if they can’t find him, his absence is going to tear Spencer apart.

* * *

It’s a tense car ride, to say the least.

Hell of a first impression, Spencer thinks again, glancing at Mary’s pale, worried face in the rearview.

Castiel and Mary are in the backseat, and they’re trying to make small talk, but Castiel seems to be about as good as Spencer at the whole “casual conversation” thing. Sam’s told him so much about Castiel, Spencer feels like he knows him, but they’ve never actually crossed paths before.

And then there’s Dean, who’s got his jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. Spencer gives him directions, and he grunts or nods, but he doesn’t say anything else.

Dean intimidates the hell out of him, but they’ve always gotten along fine, maybe because Spencer’s never yelled at him before. He’s very aware that arguing with Dean Winchester is usually fruitless at best (and deadly at worst), but he’s never been good at holding his tongue when he’s upset.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer manages to mutter eventually.

“Huh?” Dean looks at him, frowning.

“About earlier. I didn’t mean to — um.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Dean says gruffly.

“I was upset. I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugs, and he hesitates before adding, “You were right.” He looks as surprised to be saying it as Spencer is to hear it.

Spencer blinks at him a couple times before hurriedly saying, “Turn left. There.”

Cas and Mary are having a quiet conversation about the weirdness of technology, and Spencer is about to join them when Dean speaks up again.

“Garcia — she said something funny.”

“Uh oh.”

Dean snorts. “Nah, not like that. Before she hung up, she told me not to worry. Said of everybody she knows, Sam probably has the second-best odds of escaping any poor sap who tries to abduct him.”

“Second best?”

“That’s what I said. But apparently that title belongs to you.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. All I can do is talk myself out, he’s stronger.” Spencer gives him a crooked attempt at a smile; it feels awkward on his face, but he means it when he says, “He’ll be okay.”

* * *

The funny thing is, Spencer has been in this situation before.

When it was Maeve, though, he panicked, because all he could think about was how she must feel: scared, helpless. Spencer has too much empathy sometimes. Imagining Maeve’s helplessness made him feel like he was drowning.

This is different. He’s not exactly zen about the whole situation, of course; it feels like a piece of him is missing, but he’s clear-headed, because he knows that Sam is anything but helpless. He trusts Sam to take care of himself.

Aside from the supernatural element, Sam’s job is astoundingly similar to Spencer’s, and he’s astoundingly good at it. The Winchesters have consulted on a couple cases, now, for the B.A.U. (Spencer’s still not sure how Hotch manages the paperwork) and they try to find cases in the same general area as wherever Spencer winds up, so they’ve gotten to work together a few times. Sam’s sheer competence at his job might be the most attractive thing Spencer has ever seen.

Spencer used to imagine a quiet, mundane romance. He always just assumed he’d find someone whose life was more normal than his, and he was resigned to the stress it would cause in a relationship. He’d forget to call, he’d miss dinner, he’d have to cancel plans and be absent from so much of what constituted a normal domestic life, and his partner would be left at home, alone, all too aware of how much danger Spencer could be in, helpless to do anything about it.

Instead, Spencer found Sam. Spencer never has to feel guilty about missing dinner, because Sam isn’t at home worrying about him. Sam is out there saving the world.

Sam is not going to wait for Spencer to rescue him; he might not even need rescuing, at this point. Instead of worrying about what Sam is doing and whether he’s scared, Spencer can focus on his own plan.

* * *

He and Dean circle slowly around the house. They spot the entrance to the basement, and Dean almost runs right to it, but Spencer grabs his arm and points to the sigils around the door.

Spencer notices movement through a window next to the back door, and when they creep up to get a glimpse inside, he sees two women. One is the blonde — the brains of the operation — and the other is stockier, clearly the muscle.

After a quick conversation in whispers and gestures, Dean sneaks around to the side of the house opposite the basement, and a second later Spencer hears him shout. He waits a couple seconds and glances in the window again, and sure enough, the bigger woman is gone while the blonde is watching something on a computer monitor, looking agitated. Security cameras, maybe.

Spencer is about to go inside when he sees the blonde start, look around, and grab a cattle prod. Then she’s hurrying toward a door, sliding back a heavy deadbolt, and Spencer sees a dark stairwell that must lead to the basement.

He slips through the door and follows her.

For a split-second, the scene in the basement almost stops his heart. Sam is lying on the floor, completely still, his head surrounded by a puddle of blood.

But before Spencer can really process what he’s seeing, let alone react, Sam is in motion: lashing out, grabbing her by the throat, shoving her against the wall. Spencer descends the stairs quietly with his gun at the ready, trying not to make any noise that might distract Sam right now.

Sam doesn’t need his help. There’s blood on his damp clothes and his arms are shaking as the blonde goes limp in his grip, but he’s alive; he doesn’t need Spencer’s help, and Spencer isn’t the slightest bit surprised.

When Sam turns and sees him, he doesn’t look surprised either. He just smiles, all dimples and sparkling eyes in spite of his obvious pain as he limps over.

“Sorry that took me so long,” Spencer says casually, trying to control his grin. He doesn’t want to holster his gun yet, so he keeps it trained on the woman and hugs Sam one-armed.

Sam wraps his arms around Spencer, holding on tight. Spencer rests his forehead on Sam’s shoulder, taking a second to breathe as he feels missing pieces sliding neatly into place.

“Love you,” Sam says, and the words sound like a sigh of relief. He pulls back, and he looks surprised, like he didn’t actually mean to say that out loud.

Spencer’s about to reply when he sees the woman struggling to her feet, reaching for her cattle prod, and so instead he says, “Look out.”

Sam steps sideways to give him a clear shot. Spencer shoots her in the thigh and she screams as she falls to the floor.

“See how you like it,” Sam tells her, with a vicious little smile.

“I love you too,” Spencer blurts out.

For a second they both pause, grinning at each other like idiots, their surroundings forgotten.

Then there’s a sound from overhead, and Sam asks hurriedly, “The other one. Did you take her out already?”

“Dean’s got her,” Spencer tells him. “We should check on him, then we can come back down and deal with — Sam?”

At first he can’t figure out why Sam’s mouth drops open like that, shocked and disbelieving. Then he remembers.

“Dean’s alive?” Sam asks, a smile spreading slowly over his face. Spencer nods, wrapping an arm around Sam’s ribs, supporting him as he limps gingerly toward the stairs. It feels like he’s forgetting something.

There’s another noise, and then Mary is in the doorway, looking down at them.

Oh.

Sam turns to Spencer silently, like he’s waiting for confirmation that she’s real.

Spencer nods. “Yeah. So — um. Surprise?”

Sam doesn’t actually seem all that surprised, because… of course he doesn’t. He blinks at Spencer a couple times and then he grins.

“You met my mom before I did,” Sam says, breathless and amused, and grabs the banister to haul himself up the stairs. Spencer laughs and follows him, smiling to himself.

It’s not your average “meet the parents” scene, but somehow, it fits Sam and Spencer perfectly.

Nothing about their love story has been normal. Why start now?

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds #supernatural #sam winchester x spencer reid #spencer reid fic #sam winchester fic

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bailey-reaper · 3 years

Text

The Lord of the Manor (4)

Summary: Barok refuses to let anything get in his way this time: today he will go to visit his brother and pay his respects...

Content Warnings: suicide references (specifically suicidal thoughts), angst + me taking artistic liberties re: the van Zieks family

Other parts: (1) | (2) | (3) |

At some point he'd fallen asleep in Klint's room, though he couldn't remember the precise moment. He was propped up against the footboard with his legs tucked up close to his stomach. The first thing he noticed when he moved was a stiffness in his shoulders and neck. Hardly the most sensible way of sleeping...

Suddenly a loud rumble of thunder echoed overhead, causing the windows of the ancestral home to rattle. Clearly a storm had rolled in overnight.

After stretching until his bones cracked pleasingly, Barok drew back the curtains that covered the large bow windows of the master bedroom and looked out at the landscape. Rain pelted the earth in torrential sheets and lightning lanced across the sky as if momentarily tearing it. This was a most severe storm.

If he were the superstitious or god-fearing sort, then he might have considered that some form of divine force was trying to keep him away from his brother’s grave. Thankfully he was not so limited in his thoughts. Instead, Barok was incredibly stubborn and he had resolved to visit Klint’s grave that day – so that was what he would do.

Of course, taking Black Gale out in such hideous conditions was out of the question. He’d have to go for a ride on a more pleasant summer’s day, perhaps to the orchard or along the coast...

For now, he went to his room to dress in simple clothes and sturdy knee-high leather boots. The path to Klint’s grave would be muddy, so practical footwear was essential. He knew full well his clothes would become drenched quickly, so he donned a shirt and jacket of reasonable hardy material and breeches of similar quality. Once he was dressed, he made his way downstairs to the Grand Vestibule.

“M-My lord!” Harvey hurried over looking deeply concerned, “Surely you do not intend to go out in middle of this storm?”

“I’m going to visit Klint,” Barok replied as he took his cloak from the row of hangers by the door.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but, surely it could wait until tomorrow? I’ve heard tell that this storm is merely passing on its way to Spain...”

“I appreciate your concern, Harvey, but you need not worry about me. I have to do this... I postponed my visit yesterday on account of factors outside of my control, I’ll be damned if I do that a second time...” an odious noble was one thing, a torrential storm was another. He had no qualms about leaving himself at the mercy of the elements.

“... If you’re sure, my lord...” the old butler had handled enough van Zieks’ lords during his tenure as a servant of the house to know that they were all of a similar stubbornness and driven by their sense of principles. If the young Lord had decided he must visit Klint’s grave then that is what he would do by hell or high water, “... Just do be careful out there and take shelter if the storm worsens....”

“Yes, I will promise you that much,” Barok said as he donned his cloak and opened the door. A sharp gust of wind violently tousled his hair as it howled through the air like a frenzied ghost. He lowered his head and stepped out into the squall, pulling the door shut despite the insistent push of the wind against him. Rain pelted down, taking but a few moments to soak his hair until it was clinging to his face. He ignored the hostile elements and pressed on in the direction of Klint’s grave.

By horse the journey was some 10 minutes away, on foot it was closer to 20 and his progress was slowed by the wind in his face and the unsteady earth beneath his feet. Despite that, he was able to navigate the familiar banks and pathways of the forest that had been a favoured haunt of his since he was a boy. Even with the gloom of the storm clouds over head, he knew the way like the back of his hand.

“Blast! Of all the times for a storm to hit!” he could hear Klint’s voice as his mind reflected on a time they’d been hunting and a similarly fierce squall had rolled in, “Come little wolf, we’ll need to find shelter!”

He nodded and followed behind as Klint led the way to a large bank that over hung like a roof, they crouched down and looked out from their semi-sheltered vantage point at the chaos, “It doesn’t look as though it’ll pass any time soon,” Barok observed.

“Mmmm, I think you’re right, so we might as well amuse ourselves in the meantime.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I heard that someone came home late last night in quite an intoxicated state,” Klint was grinning impishly, “Care to tell me about your debauched night of revelry?”

“. . . .” Barok coughed, “I discovered that I’m not much for mixing drinks...”

“Ah... and what did my little brother mix?”

“.... Well, I might have tried to see what all the fuss with beer is about, before switching back to wine,” Barok massaged his temples as he recalled just how rotten he’d felt first thing that morning, “...I’m firmly of the view that beers, ales and stouts are not for me.”

“That was a fatal error of judgement on your part, have you never heard ‘grape or grain, but never the twain‘?”

“Apparently I missed that particular sermon on the subject of drinking...” Barok replied dryly, which only seemed to amuse Klint further as he laughed harder, “I doubt I’ll forget it in a hurry, however...”

“Sometimes the best lessons are the practical ones, Barok.”

“... Yes, perhaps they are...”

A bright flash of lightning and sharp crack of thunder roused him from his daydreams and reminded him that his focus ought to be on the journey ahead rather than a trip down memory lane. It wasn’t far to the family burial grounds; a small mercy at least. He covered the rest of the distance briskly, passing through the cast iron gates and along the path of cobblestones and dirt to the mausoleum where his brother slept. He opened the door and stepped inside, dripping water all over the stone floor as he went; his first act was to light the candles that were dotted around the room, which he did by taking the box of matches that were stored in an alcove by the door and striking one.

Soft candlelight twinkled around him, casting shadows across the walls that danced and swayed deliriously; their movements slowed once he closed the door to the tomb over enough to block out the wind.

Finally he was here, with Klint once more.

“... I’m sorry for my tardiness brother,” he said softly as he knelt down before the stone where his brother’s name was engraved, “... I found myself in the talons of Lady Darlington yesterday, and you nowhere in sight to distract her...” he snorted to himself at the thought, “I dare say you’d have found my performance quite amusing.”

His gaze lifted to the ceiling of the crypt, “... No doubt you’d scold me for coming here in such a bedraggled state, well, not so much that as willingly walking out into a storm. You’ll have to forgive me for that...”

For a while, he knelt in silence; his voice stilled in his throat as he wondered what had compelled him to come out in such hostile conditions. Eventually he found his voice, “I... no doubt I sound quite mad to you, but, I wonder if you’re still here with me... You know, there are rumours abound in the Capital that your ghost follows me wherever I go and exacts revenge upon those who escape my prosecuting them through some dint in the law.“

“It’s nonsense, isn’t it?” he looked down at the gravestone once more, as if holding out for some sort of sign, “... It has to be, surely, because I’d like to think if you truly were still here then you might show me by some means other than violence... And yet, I’m desperate enough that I’ll take it. I just can’t bear the thought that you’re gone.”

Klint had always been a symbol of what was right and just in his mind, so it did not sit well with him to picture his brother as a vengeful apparition whose sole purpose was to dispatch of the criminals who managed to worm their way out of the noose. Yet, when he first heard those wild tales whispered on the lips of the common folk and the nobility alike, how he wanted to believe it. No matter how much it cut against the grain of what his brother had embodied for him; it was better than accepting that he was dead.

Anything was better than that, surely.

“... Of course, the world goes on and the sun and the moon wheel through the sky as they always have, and those who once held you in such high regard slowly begin to forget you... but for me it’s as if time stopped five years ago. I... still cannot come to terms with the thought that you’re no longer here. So, if you are the Reaper, I hope you will stay by my side until my time comes...”

He’d contemplated joining his brother. Sometimes it felt like the only logical thing to do. The world seemed so cold and devoid of vibrancy without Klint in it. Like someone had stolen the sun. Of course, he couldn’t go through with it – at first he had to bring his brother’s killer to justice, it had consumed his every waking moment. He’d read the case file until he could recite it with his eyes closed; until he dreamt of the autopsy report.

Then, once he’d gotten some semblance of justice for Klint, his thoughts had started to wander to the notion that his purpose was now fulfilled and there was nothing left to keep him here; but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t what Klint would have wanted. If there were an afterlife, what kind of expression would his older brother wear when he arrived there prematurely? He could practically hear the disappointed words whenever he thought about it.

“Oh little wolf.... how could you?”

And it was that which stayed his hand.

Instead, he’d thrown himself into being a prosecutor; to following in Klint’s footsteps and maintaining his legacy. His brother had believed so deeply in justice and integrity, and he would honour that memory by doing his damnedest to hold the corrupt and evil to account for their crimes. It was all he could do.

And yet, he’d even failed at that. He ran away from the Old Bailey, too overwhelmed by the Reaper mythos and the gravity it put upon his shoulders...

“I hope you will forgive me, brother,” Barok murmured, voice strained as he tried to swallow back the desperate sadness in his core, “I’ve been a poor substitute for you... I was unable to save you from the Professor... and now I’m not even capable of continuing your legacy as a Prosecutor... Truth be told, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m at such a loss.”

“I’m so tired, Klint...”

#drabble #barok van zieks #angst #klint van zieks #cw: suicidal thoughts

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ssa-daddyhotchner · 3 years

Text

Undercover - Chapter 6

Chapter Selection

Everyone had the weekend off, we had just finished a case in New Hampshire. A man was killing couples in there cars.

He was a spree killer we tracked him with the type of gun he used and the rounds. It was relatively easy.

Hotch and I wanted to spend the weekend together so I could meet Jack.

I woke up and rolled over. Aarons side of the bed was cold, I smelt bacon from the kitchen. The smell made my stomach grumble, I got up and walked down the hallway.

I walked past Jack's room and his door was open; I peaked in and his bed was messed up.

I heard faint laughter coming from the Living room. I turned the corner and saw Jack laying down on the couch watching cartoons. While Aaron was making breakfast.

I walked up behind him and put my hands over his eyes.

"Guess who", he laughed. "Mom?", I put my hands down and smacked his arm. He grins and chuckles' turning to me.

Jumping onto the counter he uses his knee to separate my legs standing between them. His hands on my hips, and my arms wrapped around his neck; "Morning princess."

"Morning", I nod my head towards Jack who hasn't noticed my presence yet. "He got here early this morning...maybe a few hours ago.

I looked at the clock, "Its 8:30."

"Hayley had an early morning, I don't know.....all I care about is spending my weekend with my two favorite people.

I raise my eyebrows at him, "I'm one of your favorite people?"

Aaron nods, "Well I guess your my favorite person too." He smiles and kisses me; breaking it to flip the bacon.

"Jack, I want you to meet someone." Jack glances and jogs over.

"Who are you", I jump off the counter and kneel down to his level. Aaron putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Well....I'm your dads...", I look at Aaron and he nods letting me know I can tell him the truth. "I'm your dads girlfriend."

Jack stares at Aaron with an unsure look, I stand back up. "So you make my dad happy?"

"Yeah she does, and she's gonna be around more often so try not to be so hard on her okay." He pats Jack on the back, and he runs to his room.

We quickly eat the food and I walk away going into the bedroom.

Getting into the shower letting the hot water relax my muscles. I hear Aaron walk to the bathroom and get in with me. I close my eyes letting the water wash over my face.

He goes to wash my hair with his shampoo. "I'm not good at reading kids was that a good interaction?", He huffs. "It went well."

"Didn't look like it to me." I wasn't good with kids, they had a tendency to not like me. "Y/n he's 4 it's gonna take a bit to get used to you that's all...okay", I hum in agreement.

Washing Aaron now, "So Mr. Hotchner what are we doing today."

"Jack has to practice for his 'soccer' team, they don't keep score but I don't want him to be terrible."

I chuckle knowing that even though he's on a team that just plays for the exercise, Aaron is still gonna push him. He's a great dad, I though to myself.

Finishing the shower we step out getting changed for our day, I walked over to Aaron; giving him a long and deep kiss then I pull away.

As I was walking he grabbed my hand spinning me back to him. He pushed his lips to mine putting a hand in my hair. My hand running down his toned chest.

We jump away form each other when we hear pattering on the floorboards coming towards to bedroom.

Jack ran into the bedroom and jumped on Aaron. "Dad, I'm ready to go."

"Ok buddy." We walked to the car and drove to the field. Jack talked the whole time about school, his favorite food, and tv. He asked me if I also caught bad guys; when I told yes his face lit up.

It made me have the biggest smile on my face. Aaron noticed and smiled back putting a hand on my thigh.

We arrive to the park and Jack grabs the soccer ball running straight to the field. As me and Aaron take our time we watch as Jack places the ball down before taking a running start; kicking it into the goal.

We throw our hands up and cheer; Jack turning and flashing us a smile.

Aaron grabs my hand and we jog over. Jack wanted to have a practice game; there were only three of us.

I was up against the Hotchner boys luckily for me I knew my way around the game, but they didn't need to know that.

They kick the ball my way I spin around Aaron kicking the ball from between his legs launching it into the goal.

He looked at me with surprise, "What... Agent Hotchner there are a lot of things you don't know about me." I laughed and tapped his chest walking past him.

Jack ran towards me to congratulate me on the goal. I pick him up putting him on my shoulders cheering for myself. I set him down and we play another game.

I kicked it towards them and they kicked it to the end of the field. I ran from behind them; I dove and kicked it into the goal...again.

Aaron walked over to me out of breath, "You're cheating." I had a smug grin on my face and I walked away from them to catch my breath.

Aaron stepped away when he got a phone call, we had the weekend off we shouldn't be getting called in. He hung up the phone and walked over to us, "We need go now." I shot him a look.

He put Jack in the car and went to me. "Reids in the hospital...", he lowered his voice so Jack couldn't hear. "He overdosed", he could read the emotions on my face when he reassured me.

"They're trying to stabilize him, but we need to get over there."

Team POV

Morgan, Garcia, and JJ wanted to check on Reid. It had now been a week since his mom passed.

They were trying to check up on him but he wouldn't answer their calls. When they called the phone would go straight to voicemail.

It had been a few days since that last talked to him. They heard no movement inside the apartment; it was still. Morgan decided he was gonna pick the lock.

They walked in to find the apartment was in good condition. No books everywhere, there were no dishes everywhere, the trash was taken out; but there was no sign of Spencer

Garcia walked into his bedroom and saw a foot by his door in the bathroom. When she walked closer she called out for Derek.

Reid's skin was pale, he was cold, his lips were turning blue, pulse was weak, and he was barley breathing.

As Garcia and Morgan took Spencer to the hospital JJ called everyone else to let them know what happened.

Y/N POV

We dropped Jack off with Hayley; Aaron and I rushed to hospital. We were met with the team outside of his room.

The doctors had stabilized him but he just barley made it through. If Garcia didn't find him when she did he would've died.

He was unconscious for the time being. All of us sitting in the waiting room; there was still no word on how he was doing so far.

We only left the hospital to go get food or maybe some sleep. He was family to us and we were gonna get him through this.

The doctors finally let us into his room, they informed us it still might be awhile till he wakes up.

Reid's mom was all he had. When she passed a piece of him died along with her.

The team was in his room scattered around; when we heard something.

Reid had opened his eyes, "Where am I."

________________________

We all looked up at a confused Reid. He looked pinker but we was still pale. His lips were chapped, and he was sweating.

His voice was small like he was embarrassed, "Y/n, can you get me a trash can." I nodded. When I came back I gave it to him.

He sat up and held the bucket for a moment; then he started vomiting. It had been around 4 days since his overdose.

He was starting to withdrawal... again. We should have addressed his addiction the first time he started using then maybe he wouldn't be here.

My head started to fill with what ifs. Reid looked at around the room and we all frowned at him. JJ walked over and sat next to him; holding his hand.

"Spence... what happened", he avoided our eyes and looked down. He tensed up and pulled his hand away from JJ.

His voice was breaking, "I just wanted to fe- better, I didn't know I had taken so much. My vision blurred, and I hit the floor."

"Spence you could've talked to us." He didn't say a word; he laid back down, closing his eyes and going to sleep. We took the hint and left but JJ stayed behind not leaving his side.

Knowing that he was going to be fine physically helped a lot; mentally Reid was fucked up and all we could do was be there for him.

Aaron and I were going to leave and go get Jack. When we got to Hayley's she wouldn't let him leave the house.

"Aaron he's not a game that you can pass back and forth whenever you want, he's a child and I don't need him to feel overwhelmed."

She shouted at him sparking an argument, I stayed in the car not wanting cause any other problems. Hayley didn't even know I existed and that was an argument for another time.

She was furious at this point, there was a moment I thought she was gonna hit him; I would've gotten out the car but I left it alone.

Aaron came back without Jack; he was clearly frustrated. As we were driving to his place, I saw him gripping the steering wheel till his knuckles turned white.

His gaze was dead set on the road ahead. I reached my hand out and put it on his.

He broke his gaze and looked at me. "Baby it's going to be okay", his face rested and he dropped his hand into mine on the center console. His breathing slowed as he took deep breaths.

I didn't blame him for being so upset; his coworker almost just died, and now he couldn't see his kid because of his bitch ex wife. When we pull into his driveway he turned off the car but didn't get out.

He shifts towards me, "I'm sorry."

"For what?", his face dropped slightly. "We were supposed to be with Jack. It was your first time meeting him and we had to leave. Now I can't get him back until next weekend."

I held onto his hand and squeezed, "Aaron it's ok....for the time we did spend with him I'd say he enjoyed himself while he could. Especially when he made that goal."

That got him to grin a bit, he chuckled and I did with him.

"Yeah that was pretty good wasn't it."

"Somethings just happen that are out of our control. Best we can do is try harder next time." He looked at me.

"Thank you", I shrugged my shoulders. "What can I say", He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it.

Then we got out the car and went inside, closing the door behind us. "I'm ordering, what do you want." He sat on the couch; took a few breaths, "Pizza." I nodded and placed the order.

Aaron was watching tv when I walked over; curling up with him. I sat next to him putting my head on his shoulder; he kissed the top on my head and grabbed my hand. I ended up falling asleep and when I woke up Aaron was gone.

I walked into the kitchen and he was eating. "I didn't wanna wake you." He was still upset about the whole situation.

I went up to him and tightly wrapped my arms around him. He nestled his head into the crook of my neck. I pulled away when I heard sniffling.

I rested my hand on his neck and cupped his cheek. "Baby....", I said softly; he avoided looking in my eyes.

I used the hand that was on his cheek and used my finger to lift his chin. When he finally did look at me his eyes were red and there were tears brimming.

"Honey... what is it", he didn't have any words. He hugged me tightly without warning. I returned the hug; I wasn't gonna question him.

I knew he wasn't in the mood to talk, Aaron wasn't one for getting emotional but with me he was so different. I understood to not push him, that he'd tell me in his own time.

"Let's go to bed... okay", he nodded and walked to the bedroom. I put the food away and turned off the tv.

When I walked into the bedroom he was laying on the bed curled up with some sweatpants. I took off my pants and put on a pair of shorts and laid down.

I laid next to him; his head on my chest, my hands on his back and running my hand through his hair. His hands gripping my waist and thigh.

He was still crying; I could feel the tears going down my stomach. "Shh... baby it's okay."

He kissed above my heart and whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too."

I felt him drift off but I stayed awake the words "I love you" repeating in my head. That was the first time we had said it and honestly I wasn't scared or mad, I was elated.

He was the reason I wanted to get up in the morning. The man laying down with me brought me so much joy.

I had a hard time trusting after what me ex had done but he made it so easy. Aaron would never hurt me like he did; with my whole heart I do love him.

____________________

When I woke up Aaron was still holding on to me; breathing deeply. I felt fluttering on my chest. "Hey." I said and he hummed; he was awake.

"I don't wanna push you but.....can you tell me what made you so upset last night." He huffed and sat up and was staring at the bed.

"Everything." I had an unsure look on my face. "What do you mean everything." He took a breath, "First it's just work I have so much I need to do, it's so stressful. Second it's the overdose, I knew he had a problem and I should've addressed it when we was addicted the first time.

You know try and help him but I didn't, I ignored it. I should've seen this coming. Especially when he said his mom wasn't doing well."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Third is fucking Hayley", he started to raise his voice. "She goes and tells me that I can't see my own fucking son. She acts like I don't exist sometimes, like I don't need to have a relationship with him!"

I wasn't surprised to see he had a lot bottled up. All I could say was, "I know." I put my hand on his.

"Come on", he tugged on my hand; he brought us to the door and I stopped him.

"Okay one, its like 40 degrees outside; you only have sweatpants on and I have shorts." He jogged and got a me pair of pajamas and a quarter zip, he put on a sweatshirt and we went on a walk.

Holding on to my hand the entire time we walked into a park. There was a trail that went into the woods and we went down it.

We arrived at a clearing; nothing but trees surrounded the area. There was a view of the city, it was 4 in the morning; nobody else was around and the light illuminated the sky.

We didn't say much during the walk; just enjoying the others company. He sighed, "I needed this."

"Needed what." He looked around at the trees and the view, "A breather, just be alone for a bit."

"You're not alone." He threw his arms around me resting his head on my shoulder.

"I mean alone from everyone else, there's no way I'd leave you behind."

My heart fluttered; we sat down close to the edge. I sat in between his legs, my back to his chest. His arms around me keeping me warm.

_________________________

@marie1115 @appleblossoms-posts @mac99martin @donttellanyoneireadfanfiction

#aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner #reader x aaron+hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron #hotch x y/n #hotchner x reader #reader insert #fanfic #criminal minds #writing #story #hotch #hotch smut #smut

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slutforben · 3 years

Text

au! ben’s your dad now lol

Okay so when I used to have a wattpad account I wrote some parent scenario things, here’s one that I wrote for BEN. Will I be continuing this? no lmao anyways enjoy

word count: 1708

KEY:

(Y/N) = Your Name

Him/Her = Your pronouns

Line of ~~~ = Time Skip

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As I gazed at the teenage girl through the screen, I couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

A teen mother? She only looked to be 15 or 16, but she held a child in her arms that looked like a mini copy of her. I only made a quick connection.

The mother, a blonde with hazel eyes and light freckles and wet cheeks, looked like any other girl. The child in her arms cried loudly as crashes came from downstairs. Loud footsteps and banging of cupboard doors were heard, and the mother was sobbing quietly.

From where I watched, safely within her small computer screen, I watched her bundle up her young child and hide them inside her closet. She locked the doors quickly, then went to her dresser. Her room was in pristine condition, and the dresser had a small pocket knife on it.

I could hear footsteps barging up the stairs now. Though, they weren't just one pair. There had to be at least two or three people charging like bulls. The girl sobbed and her child cried through the closet door. Terror echoed through their cries, and to be honest, I'd be terrified if my home was barged into as well.

The clock below me ticked, and wires buzzed. It being 4 am, I didn't expect my victim to be awake, or even to be home alone and in the process of being robbed like a homeless man.

But that's exactly what was happening in front of my eyes.

I shivered as three large men broke down the bedroom door. The mother was huddled in the corner, tears of fear dripping down her cheeks and a small pocket knife held in her hand. Her young child cried and screamed, but the mother was unable to do anything.

I started to back away as the men advanced on her. Ski masks covered their faces, and they held large rifles. Those could do massage damage to a human, and even a ghost like myself.

But as the men advanced and the underage mother cried, I backed away from the screen, and back into the portal leading to the Mansion.

Her screams quieted down as I pulled myself away from the computer screen. I fell back in my small frenzy and landed back inside the living room of the Mansion. I looked around quickly, my blond hair flipping around and ruffling itself up. Looking around, I realized the living room was empty and smelled like something had burnt itself to a crisp.

I sat, the upper half of my body hanging out of the television, with actual fear plaguing me.

Why the hell was I afraid? It was just a simple robbery.

I thought about the girl and her child. It pained me, actually, to think about them. What would happen to them? I debated on going back for a little while, until giving up and pulling myself out of the small television, then dragged myself up to my room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can't believe that I'm back in this house.

I kept telling myself that as I walked around the now trashed house. Some things from before were gone or broken, or thrown around. The living room was thrashed and missing some furniture. The house was quiet, which gave me the chills along with an eerie feeling. The television was left on in static, and what was left was thrown across the room. As I continued to explore the house, I noticed that I could no longer hear the child's cries from earlier.

As I finally reached the staircase, I stopped.

What would I find up there?

Sure, I was a murderous virus that slowly ate away at my victims, and who had no sense of fear other than water, but this actually scared me a bit.

I took a deep breath and slowly crept up the stairs. They creaked under my lightweight, but they were relatively quiet. As I slowly climbed them, my breath started to quicken.

" What the fuck, " I whispered to myself. Why was my breath quickening? And why was I fucking whispering? I have no reason to.

I shrugged and continued to climb the stairs, reaching the second floor.

The second story of the house was just as disastrous as the first. Broken furniture littered the floor, vases were smashed, ripped paintings hung from the walls by a single tack, and the doors were all thrown open. Looking closer, I realized that small bullet shells were thrown across the floor.

" Oh my God, " I sucked in a breath at the sight of them.

I immediately looked back up and ran to a random room, looking for the mother and her young child. I tucked inside random rooms until eventually finding her closed bedroom door.

I wiggled the knob, but it didn't budge. I tried again, but the door seemed to be locked.

Had the girl somehow locked herself safely into her room?

That's what I hoped had happened.

I wiggled the knob again until backing up. I backed up against the wall opposite of the door, then ran at full speed and threw myself into the door. It worked in the Mansion, hopefully, it would work here.

The door stayed locked. I fell backward onto my ass, with a now sore shoulder.

" Fuck! " I yelled loudly as my shoulder ached. I looked up at the door, still in the same condition as before.

" Alright, door. Let's try this again, " I hissed and stood up with the help of a cabinet near me. I stood up again and faced the door again with grim determination. Hell, I haven't felt this way since first entering Majora.

With a yell, I ran at the door again, throwing all my weight against it loudly.

The door crashed down loudly as I somehow managed to knock it down. The door broke and crashed to the floor, closely followed by myself. I fell with a loud thud and layed for a second on the now broken door, clutching the shoulder I landed on.

"Ahh, shit, " I said, sucking in a breath. I sat up slowly and looked around. I was back in the room I was in before, only this time it was thrashed, being in the same condition as the house. Furniture was knocked over and items were thrown, and the room was strangely quiet. Looking around again, I realized that the teenage girl was no longer in the room and that her window was smashed.

I sighed sadly at that sight, but I didn't let myself dwell on it. I wanted to see if her child was still here, and hopefully not abducted.

I stood up, remembering that in a hurry she hid her kid in the closet. That was the first place I wanted to check.

I made my way over to the closet door. It was cracked open and had small items in front of it, and sent shivers up my spine for an unknown reason. I got on my knees and cleared the debris in front of the door, then opened it slowly.

The young boy/girl sat all alone in the closet. They were somehow asleep, and was bundled up in a small green blanket. His/Her cheeks were red and stained from crying, and they clutched at the blanket they were wrapped in as if they were having a nightmare.

I gazed at the small child as they slept and picked him/her up carefully. They snored softly and seemed so innocent in my arms that had killed hundreds of people.

I couldn't just leave him/her here. He/Her would starve, or the robbers would come back, or a fellow Pastas might find this house and end their miserable life. A bunch of different scenarios played in my head of what could happen if I left this child here, in this house.

I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I've was holding and looked at the puny child.

" Ya know kid, you don't deserve this at such a young age, " I whispered to them. " I really want to help you, but I can't unless I took you back. " I spoke quietly to the sleeping child. " Slender will kill you, then me. " I said with a frown. " I mean, maybe I could, but even if Slender allowed it, Jeff would get his hands on you and... do things... " I shuddered at that thought.

" But I can't just leave you here. Heh, Slender has been wanting me to get more responsible, but maybe this is a little too much... " I trailed off at that thought.

But, as I gazed down at the small child asleep in my arms, an idea formed in my head.

Maybe I could take the child.

Maybe they'd survive, and become a psychopathic killer like me and the rest of us.

Maybe I could be a parent to this child.

I looked back down at the child and let out another breath. I stood up and turned back to the girl's room and walked back to her queen-sized bed. The television that stood here before was now gone, along with her laptop and cellphone. My options were either walk or get a lift.

I frowned at the thought of walking back to the Mansion and pulled out my phone. I searched for Toby's contact and called him. I put it on speaker as the phone rang loudly. I was surprised it didn't wake up the kid, who I put in my lap and slowly rocked back and forth.

After a few more seconds, Toby answered my call.

" Hey BEN! What's-what's up? " He asked. In the background, I could hear the scream of a girl, so I guessed that he was busy.

" Is this a bad time, Rogers? I can call someone else. " I told him.

He chuckled. " I'm kinda-kinda bus-busy right now, but it-it's fine that you cal-called. What's up-up? "

" Well, Toby, it's kind of a long story... "

#hhhhh fifth grade writing #or something like that #i cant remember when i wrote this #ben drowned #creepypasta #creepypasta scenarios #parent scenario #daddy drowned

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jacks-jester · 4 years

Text

Silent Treatment

[Jerome Valeska x Reader]

Words: 1,675

Warnings: Murder, violence, attempted sexual harassment/assault

Requested: Yes / No

Request: “ Hello Beautiful Person! I'm your new follower. Requests are opened right? Not sure how violent or graphic asks can be so I just give it a shot ok? Can I get Jerome x reader in Arkham but no one knows why she's there cause she seems too innocent and totaly normal, but she's more dangerous then they think. After killing a guard in front of everyone for harrasing her, she confesses to being a serial killer but she only kills other killers? (I was watching Dexter) J has a crush on her from day one. “ - Anonymous

Summary: Jerome tries getting to know Arkhams newest victim, a young girl who seems too innocent to be stuck in a place like that. He is quickly proven wrong when her crimes come to light after attacking and killing a prison guard.

A/N~ Love Dexter, love this prompt. Thanks for the response, I hope you enjoy!

Arkham Asylum held the lowest of the low, that included the staff, inmates, and anyone else who dared venture into the shitty institution. Gotham held a lot of bad apples, most of which were comfortably tucked away inside of the padded walls of this penitentiary. Arkham Asylum was disgusting place, the city clearly not caring about the upkeep of the rotting building. The state of the building was laughable, mold growing in every shadow and crevice, rats and cockroaches littering the halls, half the food was rotting in the cafeteria, the guards had no repercussions or supervision, the walls were literally crumbling, and most locks were broken or malfunctioning. The only thing they made sure of, was that guards were armed at all times, assuring brutality between patients and guards, because lets be honest, who would care if an insane inmate of Arkham Asylum was found dead. It was easy for stories to be twisted where guards were the victims of the whole operations, the mentally ill always being the villains.

Arkham’s inmates mostly consisted of men, all ages, all sizes, all different types of fucked up. Arkham accepted anyone deemed a danger to them selves of society so Arkham became a big mixing pot of problems.Serial killers next to muggers, cannibals next to rapists, even some innocents mixed in with the bunch. The few innocents in Arkham never lasted long though, either being killed or becoming corrupted themselves. See that was the thing about Arkham, nobody got better by going there, if anything it reaffirmed their anger and resentment towards the corrupt city and its inhabitants.

Arkham was it’s own special breed of poison for the mentally ill.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You were fairly new to Arkham Asylum, only having been there a week so far. It was no surprise that several of the more lonely inmates had taken to trying to flirt with you,claim you as their property, you didn’t take the bait though. You opted to follow the same route as some of the other female inmates: stay the fuck away from any other inmate in this god forsaken hell hole. You weren’t crazy, you knew that, nobody else here did though. To guards an inmate was an inmate, all the other prisoners having the same mindset as the guards. To everyone in here, you were just another loony who got caught and locked away.

The only thing that seemed to catch people off guard, was your quiet and respectful nature. You never got in fights, never had a melt down, and always were compliant with the prison rules. Most people were the most defensive their first week here, you were the exact opposite of the usual response to being locked up. This had peaked the interest of a particular red headed carnie who had just been locked up himself. Jerome was a curious person by nature, a quick learner, and a very big people person - granted he despised most people though.

Your demeanor drew him in from the start, your physical attractiveness also helping though. Jerome had attempted to talk to you several times, each time being completely ignored or dismissed at the wave of a hand. You always had a book on hand, opting to sit in the far corner of the leisure room and read to yourself while the other inmates played amongst themselves. You were never one to snap easily at people, having learned to bite your tongue to avoid conflict.

Jerome still persisted though, every day opting to sit near you and talk to you, though her never got a response. You’d think a person like Jerome would get worn out and tired of the routine, but if anything he saw it as a game. He wanted to be the first person to get you to talk, he wanted to break your quiet, it helped that he had a bet going with Greenwood though. Greenwood said Jerome would never be able to crack the quiet girl, Jerome begged to differ, and Jerome was never wrong.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It was another day at the Asylum: same shit food, same worn out clothes, same awful staff members, same boring routine. You made your way towards the leisure area, relieved to get a break from your cell. The asylum ran in shifts: high security offenders had the third break of the day - the break you were taking now. You were growing tired of the sorry excuse of a bed the penitentiary gave you, a metal sheet, a blanket, and a flat pillow. It was impossible to get a good nights sleep on those cots, leaving you in an annoyed state for the day. You had gotten no sleep last night, between uncomfortable sleeping conditions and the loud screaming of one of the patients down the hall, it was impossible.

You finally made your way to the checking station, guards typically frisking down patients to ensure that they do not have any weapons on hand. More than once had you seen patients try bringing in pens, wires, sometimes even getting their hands on shards of glass. You approached the guard station, holding your arms out in a T position and separating you legs slightly so they could ensure nothing was tucked in your pants. You had refused to wear the Arkham dresses, not wanting to deal with peoples stares, specifically Greenwood and Sionis.

It didn’t take long for the newbie guard to begin frisking you, his hands gently patting you down to ensure there were no potentially dangerous items on your person. You watched him closely as you felt his pats becoming more prolonged, seemingly taking his time - most guards barely graze an inmate before allowing them in, this new guard seemed to be getting to familiar for comfort. You tensed slightly as he began running his hand up your leg. “Watch it.” You said it with a venomous tone, warning lacing your voice.

The guard only looked at you with a narcissistic smirk, “Mind your manners, you gonna do something about it?” You could feel the rage boiling over in your stomach, “Last chance, knock it off.” You snapped the moment you felt his callous hand brush over you ass, his finger groping lightly, “Try something, I dare you.” You closed your eyes and sighed, “I warned you.” Without another word you brought your elbow, crushing into his face, immediately snapping his nose. Almost instantly blood began gushing from his pig like nose, misshapen and red. He clutched over, his hands both going to his nose as blood freely poured from the new injury. “You fucking bitch!”

You watched as his hand went to grab his gun, the pistol hanging loosely off his left hip. His movements were clumsy however, his hands slipping anxiously off the pistol, you figured it was the shock of having his nose caved in, a headache more than likely forming. Your eyes widened as he went to reach for the gun, your instincts quickly taking over your rational thoughts. Your leg quickly slung over his arched back, getting in a piggy back position as your hands found the curvature of his neck, your hands quickly twisting in the most unpleasant way.

His body instantly slumped beneath you, falling ungracefully to the floor with a sickening thump, your legs catching you before he could pull you down with him. His head was jarred at a strange angle, his jaw slack, eyes wide with shock, hand resting against his holstered gun. Your eyes widened as you came to grips with what had just occurred, you’d broken your code, well kind of. You didn’t consider yourself a criminal, you simply took out the garbage, only killing criminal who were walking free. So in a way he did fit into your normal range of crime, he was obviously someone who delved in sexual assault and harassment so you didn’t feel guilty about it.

You only turned around upon hearing a low whistle from behind, a whistle you knew all to well. You swore under your breath before turning to face Jerome who took to slowly clapping his hands together, as if to show his gratitude for the act just displayed in front of him. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” He let out a laugh, kneeling next to the fallen guard, quirking his head to make ye contact with the security guards wide eyes. “Did quite a number on him, didn’t cha?” You rolled your eyes, your gaze flicking to the corpse. “Fucker got what was coming to him.” Your voice was quiet but loud enough for Jerome to hear.

He turned to you with feigned shock, his jaw open as he looked at you with wide eyes. He placed his hand over his chest as his mouth formed a wide grin, “I’m honored doll, finally got you to break after a week.” You rolled your eyes at the excited red head, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement, though there was a small hint of genuine surprise within his ebony pools. He circled you for a moment, “Maybe you’re not as boring as I thought you were, not so innocent.” You raised an eyebrow, “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

He only nodded with that same impish grin, “Not yet.... not yet.” He reached down, grabbing the keys from the guards body, opening the leisure room door for you. “After you, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” You looked at him for a moment before sighing, going with him for one reason or another. Death wasn’t uncommon at a place like this so after everyone was securely in the leisure room, the guards body was eventually dragged away and to be disposed of. You and Jerome had taken to sitting in a far corner of the room, a game of Candyland splayed between you two. He made his move before resting his cheek on his fist, peering over at you. “This is gunna be fun.Now then, I want to know everything.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Time: 2 hours 38 minutes (Mania made it incredibly hard to focus, I kept getting stuck)

#jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #gotham one shot #gotham #joker x reader #the joker x reader #cameron monaghan

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joa-quin-phoe-nix-fan · 3 years

Text

I AM ALIVE Charlie Sisters FF/imagine

I AM ALIVE

You had begun to worry. Charlie had been gone for 6 months, with only 7 letters even giving you any proof that he was still alive. You sat near your window, in the open prairie, worrying away like you did every day, thinking about how he could be dead, he could be lost, he could be kidnapped by one of his targets, he might not see his baby be born. You rubbed your belly sadly, the time was drawing close, and you really wanted your baby to see its daddy. More than anything you wanted Charlie to see his baby. You couldn’t imagine life without Charlie, who would take you hunting every Sunday that he was home? Who would make you the best baked beans in the entire west coast? Who would make funny, rhyming names for things like a Mean-Bean or a Dorsie-Horsie? Who would help you with the baby? Who would love you like Charlie did? You sat there silently, wracking your mind of reasons why he hadn’t written in 2 months. All of them more worrying than the last, when you heard a knock at the door.

You jumped up as fast as you could in your condition, rushing to the door, hoping and praying to see Charlie’s smug face looking back at you, holding the money he earned from the Commodore, ready to sweep you off your feet, covering your face with kisses. Sadly, it wasn’t him. It was Rex, a colleague of Charlie’s that you knew to avoid most of the time, Charlie said he was a sleaze who took married women away from their husbands while they were away. Normally, when he came over, you could almost smell the desire coming from him, but this time he looked genuinely concerned, his eyebrows furrowed close together. “Hey there, um...Missus Y/N. Hav-have ya heard from Charlie recently?” you moved closer to the doorframe, hoping it was one of his womanizing schemes “Uh...no Rex, I haven’t.” You started to panic, “Why do ya ask? Did somethin’ happen to Charlie? Oh Lord please tell me this is just another plot of yers!” Rex waved his hands in front of him, defensively, “Woah, woah YN, please don’t get ya bloomers in a bunch! The commodore has just been askin’ ‘cus he ain’t heard from him in a while...and the last thing we recieved from him was this...” he handed you a leaf, and your heart jumped you knew that even if he ran out of paper, he was known to send leaves with letters written on them. You turned it over and gasped. On the other side of the leaf was written, in now dried blood; ‘I AM ALIVE” Rex sighed and held your shoulder gently, “and I promise ya darlin’ this ain’t no plot...we’re all worried about him, and by association, you.” Your stomach dropped. This was the worst situation you could’ve imagined for Charlie, him MIA in the dangerous wilderness, after some bloodthirsty criminal, with the last message from him being vague and written in blood. You breathed in sharply to hold in the tears, “I-I ain’t heard nothin’ from him, Rex...I’m sorry.” Rex sighed sadly and shook his head, “I’m the one who should be sayin’ that to you, Missus...I’m real sorry...” he bowed slightly, tipped his hat, and left. Looking sadder than a dog left out in the rain.

You closed the door, putting your back against it when it had shut. Tears filling up your eyes as you held you hand up to your mouth in shock and slid down slowly to the floor, the weight of that news hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was one thing for him to not update you on what was happening, but he never forgot to message the Commodore. Where was he? Maybe he was too far to send letters...yeah maybe that was it. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be.

You woke up much later, still by the door, your eyes still stinging from crying yourself to sleep. It was dark out already. You grabbed the nearby stairwell railing to pull yourself up. You knew that the cows sure as hell were not gonna be pleased with how late you were but it’d be better if you milked them tonight, rather than have a cow-riot tomorrow morning. After you heaved yourself up again, you grabbed your gun, your bucket and a lantern, you walked outside, ready to vent to the cows about your day. It was a rather silly habit, but a habit that was strangely therapeutic and one that despite you being rather upset, seemed to calm the cows down...maybe they just liked hearing you talk.

As you walked to the cows, you saw what you assumed was a figure riding a couple acres away. You took no notice, thinking it was a lonesome hunter going back home after a long hunt. It was only after the first three cows that you realized that the sound of hooves hitting the dusty ground had gotten much closer. ‘It’s someone looking for Charlie!’ you thought as you jumped behind a bunch of hay bales, cocking your gun before they got close enough to hear you do it. You had no idea how much time had passed by the time you heard the hooves stop by the stables, the rider jump down, and hitch up his horse. ‘Why would a killer or a robber do that?’ you wondered to yourself, with your finger drifting off of the trigger as an impossible thought passed through your head, ‘is that Charlie?’

You heard him walk slowly and tiredly up on the porch, shuffling his feet as if removing them from the porch would mean that he would instantly tumble over. If this was Charlie, you had never seen him this tired and sad before. Then you suddenly heard the man drop to his knees, at this point you thought it wouldn’t hurt to just peek at the man, you looked up, seeing a man with significantly longer hair and a smaller build than Charlie, kissing your porch! At this point you knew for a fact that it wasn’t your husband so you jumped up, grabbing your gun and aimed it at the man as you quickly walked towards him. “You best be getting off ma porch! My husband’s a bounty hunter and if he were here, he’d kill you quicker than I gaddamned will!” You knew it was a bad idea to tell this stranger that you were home alone but because he looked so small and sickly, you knew you could hold your own in a fight against him. The man crawled back, his hands in front of his head, shaking like a leaf in a tornado. “please...listen to me. I ain’t who ya think i am...” he whispered, hoarsely. Even with the hoarseness, you knew that voice as if it was your own. You dropped the gun, running close to him and cupping your hands around his angular face, “Charlie? Oh my god, is that really you, honey?” Charlie nodded weakly, tears now running down his face like a waterfall. “yeah, it’s me darlin’...”

After a long moment of hugging each other and crying, you brought Charlie into the house, sure that he was cold and hungry. As he sat in his armchair, you truly saw the difference, the crease where the top of his head usually ended was miles above the small, unshaven man sitting in the chair. He looed like a tiny scared puppy in a doghouse built for a doberman. It would almost be hilarious if the situation wasn’t so serious. After giving him some bread, butter and chicken, that he scarfed down, almost choking as he did it, you started talking with him.

“W-where have ya been? I was worried sick...” you asked, hugging yourself and barely being able to even look at him in this situation, suddenly you remembered, reached into your pocket and pulled out the leaf letter and handed it to him, sitting down next to the chair, “and what...what is this?” he held the leaf weakly and sighed, defeated “I...was robbed...” he sighed, his voice only slightly less hoarse now, “My horse, my gun, my money, my paper and pens, my food, everything.” He stared off to space as he told his tale. “I barely begged hard enough to keep my clothes and the tiny shreds of my dignity that I had left. So I had to walk or crawl my way home. I ate wild animals and random leaves and berries I found. I got myself poisoned that way twice. I never took you out of my mind. When a man on a horse came past me and offered his help in exchange for my shoes, I didn’t ask for his horse, I simply asked him to send a letter to Oregon for me. That was the leaf. After he left me I realized my mistake and i kicked myself right there, but much further on I saw a horse lying on the ground, it honest to god looked dead. But it weren’t. I fed it half of the food I had scavenged and somehow it survived the last month of the journey. That’s the horse that’s outside, could ya maybe feed him? I named him Savior. He really helped me when I was at my worst.” This story was terribly sad, it rocked you to your core that he had gone through this all this time while you were at home, moping about how lonely you were. “I’m so sorry...if I had known I-” Charlie shushed you gently, stroking your hair, “You had no way of knowin’...I’m just glad you’re safe and alive, and that the baby hasn’t been born yet.” You giggled. Despite how sad the situation was, you were incredibly grateful that he was home and you loved how he could easily make a morbid situation even slightly humorous.

He stood up slowly, pulling you up at the same time. Once you were both standing fully (which took a while) he held you close to his chest. Despite him being much skinnier, he still stood quite a bit taller than you, he held your head up to his heart, it sounded much stronger and healthier than you expected. “It’s so loud...” you whispered to him, he chuckled lightly “It’s singing to you, ‘cause it knows you’re here...”

sorry if the ending is kind of short XD I still have no idea how to end stories correctly lol

#charlie sisters #charlie sisters x reader #joaquin phoenix imagine #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix charlie sisters

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spencersstrawberryjello · 3 years

Text

Potential Lead (Chapter Two)

Chapter Two - You Might Be Right

Previous Chapter < - > Next Chapter

Summary: After a four am call with Spencer, Lex rushes into the local police station to help him out with the case.

Warnings: Descriptions of graphic violence!!, swearing, mentions of the Tobias Hankel case (season two), and brief mentions of psychotic breaks and mental instability

Word Count: 3433

A/N: Here’s a link to the crime scene diagram that I drew up! (CW: More descriptions of violence, as well as a visual depiction of a map of a crime scene - no actual blood or gore, just red pen and a house floor-plan). On the side I wrote out some further information on cause of death that wasn’t mentioned in the chapter.

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I planned to call Dr. Spencer Reid in the morning to get an update on the case. He said they were speaking with Brian, and I was far too invested in what that scumbag had to say for himself.

What I hadn’t planned for, though, was to receive a call from the very same Dr. Spencer Reid, around four in the morning.

“Lex? Are you up?”

“What the fuck - Dr. Reid? What time is it?”

“Like four or something, I don’t know; listen, I’m sorry to wake you, but I think you might be right.”

“As much as I love to hear that, I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

“Right about Brian, about your sister, the murder, all of it. I think you might be right.”

“Well shit.” I was fully awake now, sitting up in my bed as I’m sure he paced in front of a whiteboard somewhere downtown.

“Can you come in? Like, to the police station.”

“Now? Dr. Reid, you are aware that it’s four in the morning?”

“Lex, please just call me Spencer. And I know, I know and I’m sorry, but you’re our best lead on this so far. You saw what your sister’s marriage did to the both of you, and you know what you’re talking about. Like I said, I think you’re right. But we need to prove it.”

“What does the rest of your team think about this?” As much as I was already dying to jump back into this mystery, I really didn’t want the wrath of the FBI on my ass.

“They’re at the hotel right now, I couldn’t sleep - I’ll explain everything to them in the morning, but right now I need your help.”

“Spencer… why is this so urgent? What aren’t you telling me?”

“We had to let Brian go.”

“What? That douchebag killed someone and you let him leave?”

“We didn’t have any cause to keep him in holding! We have to let people go after 24 hours -”

“I know how the criminal justice system works, Spencer. Do you think there’s a chance he’ll kill again?”

“I - there’s a chance. Based on some stuff we found at the crime scene -”

That was all I needed to hear. If there was a chance this asshole could kill someone else, I wasn’t going to go back to sleep. “Fucking hell - I’m on my way.”

As much as my exhausted body protested, I practically jumped out of bed, pulling on a t-shirt and some jean shorts before grabbing a jacket and gym shoes and heading out to my car. It was pitch black outside, the streets of Tallahassee surprisingly quiet for a Saturday night. The hot air hit me the second I left my building, and I internally groaned, speeding up my walk to my car so I could reach the safety of the air conditioning.

I sped out of the parking lot, air conditioning cranked despite the lack of sunlight outside. There was a little voice in the back of my head telling me that I should’ve spent more time on this outfit, or put on a bit of makeup, but I pushed it away, filling my head with thoughts of the case instead. Spencer wouldn’t care if I looked a little bedraggled.

Not that I cared what Spencer thought, of course.

The police station was about twenty minutes from my apartment complex, but I got there in fifteen, swinging into the parking lot and shutting off my car before making my way to the front door. I considered knocking, but I wasn’t sure who else was working this late. So I opted to text Spencer instead.

I still had his number from when he called me earlier, and I shot him a quick text to let him know I was here. No less than a minute later, he was at the front door, opening it up to allow me inside.

“Hey - I’m sorry about this, I really shouldn’t have called you so late. Honestly, if you want to go home, I’d understand; I don’t know what I was thinking, there’s no reason to make you -”

“Spencer. You didn’t ‘make me’ do anything. Trust me, if I didn’t want to help, I would’ve told you as much. I’m not one for secrets.”

He smiled a bit, and I offered him a reassuring one back. “Well, I’m still sorry,” He said, “But the case information is all in here. Follow me.”

He led me back through the main hallway that Penelope Garcia had walked me down yesterday, but instead of turning right at the fork to go to the interrogation rooms, he went left, leading me to a series of empty conference rooms. One of them had multiple large rolling whiteboards up against the farthest wall, most of which were covered in pictures and writing. That was the room that he walked towards, before he turned and blocked me from getting through the doorway.

“Ok. So, I know that you know your sister is dead. And I know you know she was most likely murdered by her husband. But… you haven’t seen the crime scene. You haven’t seen exactly why we were called in. We don’t just get called in for regular homicides. There has to be a specific behavioral element, something that would make the local police believe they’d have more luck solving the case if they had a profile on the killer.”

I knew a bit about criminal justice, and behavioral science, from a couple classes I took my senior year of college. But I didn’t know much about the BAU, and the dead serious look on Spencer’s face was making me uneasy.

“So what you’re saying is… this isn’t gonna be pretty.”

“In layman’s terms, yes, this isn’t gonna be pretty. So I want to make absolutely sure that you want to help, that you’re ok with seeing stuff like that. That you’re ok with seeing your sister like that.”

Yes, I fucking hated my sister. But I was still hesitant to enter that room. Spencer could tell, because he followed up with.

“If you’re not comfortable with that, if you’d rather not have those images in your head, you can go home right now and forget I ever called you in here. We’ll update you on the results of the case, and you don’t have to be involved. It’s up to you.”

I shook my head. As hesitant as I was, there was no way I could leave now. I was far too invested. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? 100%?”

“Yes, Spencer. I’ll be ok.”

“Ok.” He nodded, turning around and heading into the room, making a beeline for the boards. I followed him, trying to figure out what could possibly be so bad that he would need to give me that kind of warning.

Now, I consider myself to be a pretty tough person. There wasn’t a lot that could phase me, I generally took a ‘go with the flow,’ nonchalant approach to life. But when I saw the crime scene pictures stuck to that board, I felt my face pale.

“Holy… fuck - you really think Brian is capable of this? I mean, he’s a dick, and I can fully believe he’s capable of murder, but… god -”

The pictures in front of me depicted a brutal scene… honestly, I’d never seen anything like it. They centered around one image: my sister, dead, on the kitchen floor. Her body was slumped up against the island, blood pooling around her. The other pictures also showed most of the blood spattered on the lower cabinets across from her body, but it was still pretty much everywhere around her. She appeared to have been stabbed multiple times, and yet, despite all the blood, there wasn’t a single fingerprint, footprint, hair - nothing that could point to the murderer. Nothing that I could see in the pictures, at least. I felt my heart start to pick up as I studied the scene, and I turned away, steadying my breathing and trying to fight back unexpected tears that pricked the corners of my eyes. When I glanced over at Spencer though, he wasn’t even looking at me. He was reading a file in front of him, responding to my question as he read.

“Well, I know that our prevailing theory is that he killed her in a fit of rage. But based on the overkill at the crime scene, I feel like something inside him might’ve snapped when he committed the murder.”

I regained control of my breathing enough to ask, “Like, a psychotic break?”

“Something like that, yeah. Which is why I’m so concerned. With this level of brutality, there’s a high probability that he’s already mentally devolving, and he could potentially go on to target other women who haven’t been able to follow through with their pregnancies.” He put the file down and finally turned to look at me, noticing my expression as I steadied myself on one of the conference table chairs.

“Lex, are you ok?”

“I’m fine. It’s just more gruesome than I expected it to be. I’ll be ok,” I insisted when his face fell, “It just caught me off guard.”

“I know, that’s why I warned you - are you sure you’re alright? Do you want… a hug? Or water, or something? I don’t know -”

I smiled a bit, my heart warming against my will at his concern. But my mind quickly dipped back into a territory that was a familiar distraction, and I smirked.

“As much as I’d love your hands on my body, I think I’ll have to take you up on that offer another time.”

He blushed, and I laughed, taking in a deep breath before returning my attention to the pictures on the board.

“Ok. So, what all do I need to know? Like, what’s going on here? Because from what I can tell, she was stabbed, and this guy - assuming it’s Brian, of course - fucking knows what he’s doing. No fingerprints, footprints, anything?”

“Nothing. The CSI team searched the entire house. The only noteworthy thing that we found were trace amounts of the victim - Sarah, sorry - her blood in the bathroom sink, in the bathroom across the hall from the kitchen. But there’s nothing at the crime scene that can directly connect the crime to anyone specific.”

“So how the hell are we going to prove it’s him?”

“Well, we always try to come into every case with no suspects in mind, so that it doesn’t impact our profile at all. Brian was the police’s prime suspect, he has been since the beginning - the husband almost always is, in these scenarios, unless they have a really good alibi - and I think he looks good for it now, but we didn’t know that when writing this.”

He handed me the file he’d been reading, open to a page that was a written account of their original profile.

“This is where I feel like you can help us most; I mean, you met Brian, didn’t you? Like, you attended their wedding, at the very least?”

“I met him a grand total of one time, at the wedding. I wasn’t in the wedding party, but I met him when I was talking to Sarah. He pretty much avoided me the whole time, which in retrospect, should’ve been a red flag, but I guess I didn’t really notice. When I did talk to him though, he was really rude. Like, he’d give me curt, one word answers, and then directly after disengaging from conversation with me, he’d turn around and start whispering to some of his buddies that were in the wedding party - the best man and all that shit - and gestured towards me. I still have no idea what he was saying, honestly.”

“Perfect - I mean, not perfect that he treated you like that, of course, that’s awful, and I’m sorry; I said ‘perfect’ because it means you can confirm that he matches up with the profile behaviorally. My mind kind of jumped ahead -”

“Spence, calm down. I understood what you meant.”

I felt a blush creep up the back of my neck at the accidental nickname, and I saw the same thing happen to him as we both came to an unspoken agreement to ignore it.

“Right. Ok. Um, anyway, would you mind reading over the profile and seeing if you think it sounds like a good description of him? Since you have the most experience with him outside of an interrogation room.”

I agreed, turning my direction to the profile I had in my hands.

The unsub is most likely male, and based on the overkill at the crime scene, most likely someone with a personal connection to the victim. Based on the disorganized nature of the kill, he is probably younger - late teens to early twenties - and has probably never killed before. However, there is a high probability that he is someone with deep rooted anger issues, and that may have caused him some problems in his life before this. He may have a history of issues at work or school from lashing out over small frustrations, and it’s most likely gotten him in trouble throughout his lifetime. Sarah was small, so it wouldn’t be hard to overpower her, but based on the blood spatter patterns, we do know that the unsub is right-handed, and slightly taller than the victim.

I skimmed the rest of the paper - which just contained concluding notes and instructions for local police - before looking back up at Spencer, who was staring at me as I read.

“It definitely sounds like him. I mean, based on what I know about him at least. Like I said, he generally avoided me - though there was this one time when they first started dating, before Sarah cut me off entirely,” The memory came rushing back to me, and I was shocked I hadn’t thought of it sooner, “I had already gone to my room for the night when I heard her return from a date with him. She was crying. I was going to go ask her what was wrong, but my mom beat me to it, seeing as both of my parents were in the living room watching TV when she got back. I heard her telling them that her and Brian had gotten into an argument. I can’t remember what they were arguing about, but the gist of it was that it was something completely ridiculous. And yet, she was crying like he had really hurt her. My parents were consoling her, so I just went back to bed, but honestly it sounds like he could’ve been aggressive, and that’s why she was so upset - I don’t know anything for sure, I only know what I overheard. But it would make sense.”

“But you’re immediately making assumptions to make him fit the profile; that’s exactly why we don’t go into cases with any suspects in mind. It’s an interesting conversation, and I’m happy you remembered it, but we can’t assume he was being aggressive just because your sister was upset.”

“That’s true… so where does that leave us?” I plopped down in one of the chairs, throwing my feet up on the table and laughing when Spencer gave my action the same look of disgust that he did when I put my feet up in the interrogation room.

“Do you think that he fits the profile?” He asked. I nodded.

“The age is a bit off - he’s 27, so it’s more late than early twenties - but everything else fits what I know about him perfectly.”

“Age is the hardest thing to profile, so it would make sense if that’s a little bit off.”

“So you really think he killed Sarah?”

“I mean, all signs point to him - I feel like we at least need to find a way to keep tabs on him. If he is the killer, then he’s devolving. Despite the lack of evidence at the crime scene, the crime itself would still be classified as disorganized, and disorganized crime scenes usually point to the unsub being more unpredictable, unstable. Like I said, I think he might’ve snapped when he killed your sister. Which means that other people could be in danger.”

“Well if people are in danger, then why don’t you tell the police chief or something? We need to get Brian back in here, or at the very least we need to get someone to stay up to date on his location. I don’t know what you guys have jurisdiction to do.”

“I’m not sure we’re going to be able to get him back in here without any actual forensic evidence… I’m calling Hotch right now. Give me a second - hey Hotch,” He had his phone up to his ear, and he filled Hotch in on his thoughts about the case. He paused his profiling for a minute to defend why he was still awake and working, but after about five minutes he hung up the call, turning back to me.

“The team’s on their way.”

“And they know I’m here?” I had heard him tell Hotch that I was, but I wasn’t sure if he was going to tell everyone else.

“Yes; I’m assuming Hotch will fill them in, at least. Your confirmation of the profile is what made him agree to come in - having Brian as a confirmed prime suspect gives us grounds to move forward.”

I nodded my understanding before asking, “When do you think they’ll be here?”

“The hotel they’re staying at is only about five minutes away - we always try to stay in hotels near the police stations in the cities that we’re staying in, that way we’re able to move quickly if we need to. I mean, there was one time where the team stayed directly at the unsub’s house, but that was an… exception.” His face slowly fell as he finished the sentence, almost as if he regretted saying it, but I was too intrigued to wonder why.

“Directly at the unsub’s house? Holy shit - what happened on that case?”

“Well, uh, I actually got kidnapped?” He phrased it like a statement, but the way he said it sounded more like a question. Probably questioning whether or not he should even be telling me this.

“Oh my god, Spencer, I am so sorry.”

“No no it’s fine, it was about two years ago at this point,” He was trying to shut down the conversation, but I’d be lying if I said that finding out that the man in front of me had been kidnapped wasn’t concerning information.

“Two years is not that long… are you ok?”

“I’m fine. I mean, I’ve gotten counseling… there are still days where I - you know what? My traumatic past isn’t important right now. You - you don’t need to be worrying about me; I’m sorry that I brought it up, I was just talking and not processing what I was saying and -”

“Spence.” He was rambling now, his hands moving quickly as he spoke, anxiety clearly clouding his mind. I grabbed his hands to still them, stopping him from speaking. “It’s ok. I asked what happened, you don’t need to worry about me worrying about you. Honestly, I just wanted to make sure that you were alright, that sounds fucking awful.”

“It was.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but he glanced down at my hands holding his, and cleared his throat, a blush coloring his features as he pulled his hands from mine. “It was. But I really am ok now. Trust me.”

“Ok,” I nodded, trying to ignore the way that my heart stung when he practically ripped his hands from mine, “I’m glad.”

He gave me an awkward tight-lipped smile, something I’d noticed him do a lot, and I was about to start another conversation when I heard the conference room door open. Both of our heads snapped in the direction of the sound, and we turned to see the team pouring in through the door.

“Lex Raymond, I assume?” Hotch asked. I rose from my seat, nodding and accepting the handshake he offered me. The rest of the team took seats around the table, and I noticed multiple of them desperately chugging coffee out of disposable paper cups. Someone passed one up to Spencer, who was standing in front of the board still. I took my seat again, and a man sitting near the back of his table leaned back a bit in his chair before addressing Spencer.

“Alright pretty boy, tell us what you got.”

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originalhybridloverfics · 4 years

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Ch 2 Is Love Worth The Pain

Summary: Oliver meets a pretty blonde and is immediately enamored.

A/N: Sorry, I took a small break from writing. I've been caught up watching a new show. Sen Cal Kapimi. It's amazing and I'm hooked on the leads but enough about my new viewing obsession. I hope you like the chapter.

Oliver walked into the local coffee shop, his eyes taking in the occupants. There was an old couple in the back, a table of geeks near the counter more than one couple by the windows. His eyes caught sight of two leggy brunette’s sitting on a couch in the center.

Bingo. He walked forward just as the two girls looked over at him, their lips pulling into wide smiles at the sight of him.

He sent them his Oliver 'Ollie' Queen playboy smile, every intention of joining them with the intention of talking them into going home with him.

He had made it a habit of finding local coffee shops not far from campus to meet college girls and offer them a fun time. It was a great spot to pick up girls who wanted to have some fun.

He was almost at their side, when suddenly his skin felt hot, scolding hot. The laptop he carried clattered to the floor as he let out a surprise shout of pain.

“Oh, my god, I’m sorry.” The feminine voice that belongs to the person who bumped into him and spilled hot coffee all over him, exclaimed.

Annoyance flared in his chest as he looked down at his soaked shirt. “Maybe you should-”

He stopped, the words dying on his lips.

God, she was so fucking pretty.

Cream-colored skin, luminous blue eyes, long blonde hair with pink streaks, red-painted lips.

“I’m sorry,” the girl was saying as she reached over a table, grabbing a handful of napkins, wiping at his soaked shirt, her hands moved all over his chest and torso. “Please, tell me I didn’t hurt you. Wow. You have really hard abs.”

Oliver laughed in surprise. “Thank you and no you didn’t hurt me,” he looked down at his fallen laptop. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my computer.”

“What?” Felicity looked down and her eyes widen in horror. “Oh, you poor, baby!”

Oliver watched as she knelt down, getting a brief view down her green tank top. When she stood back up, the girl held his laptop to her chest, apologetically. He couldn't help but look her over.

She wasn’t his usual type. She wasn’t a brunette, she didn’t have an ample chest or long legs. Still, she was the prettiest girl he laid eyes on, she was short but curvy and the black jeans she wore did amazing things for her legs.

“I never meant to hurt you,” the girl said in the sincerest tone he ever heard.

“You didn’t.” Oliver was quick to reassure her.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Felicity’s eyes widened, realizing how rude that came out. “Not that I wouldn’t talk to you because, I mean, you're hot and you have what felt like really amazing abs underneath your shirt,” her cheeks reddened. “Oh, my god, someone please shut me up before I embarrass myself further.”

“I rather like the sound of your voice,” Oliver grinned. “And hearing about your admiration for my body.”

“I really am sorry.” Felicity apologized, choosing to ignore her awkward babble. She opened his laptop to find the screen wasn't cracked, still, it was sticky with coffee and sugar. “Oh, I am so sorry.”

Oliver had a feeling she was apologizing for more to his broken laptop than him but he was never one to miss a good opportunity. “We can forget all about it if you make it up to me.”

Felicity’s eyes shot to his, suspicion clear as day shining in them. “Make it up to you how?”

“Go out with me?” Oliver said,

“I don’t go out with guys I don’t know,” Felicity told him. ‘

“Then get to know me,” Oliver countered.

“And why would I want to do that?” Felicity arched an eyebrow at him.

“Because I could be a really great guy.”

“Are you?” Felicity asked.

“How about you tell me after getting to know me,” Oliver suggested.

Felicity gave a small laugh. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when I want something.” Oliver flashed her an easy grin but he could see that she was still hesitant. “Okay, how about I replace the cup of coffee you just spilled and we talk.”

Felicity nodded, slowly. “Okay, on one condition though, you let me fix your laptop? It’s killing me that I injured your poor baby.”

“The poor baby being my laptop?” Oliver asked amused.

“Obviously,” she ran her hand reverently over the laptop.

Oliver’s grinned widen. She was so cute.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Oliver sat across from the blonde, watching as she worked on his computer though he wasn't sure how she was going to fix the fact that she spilled hot liquids on his laptop. He was lucky the screen didn't crack when he dropped it.

She was so focused and the way she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth had all his attention.

He wanted to kiss her, to feel her lips moving with his.

His eyes moved over her, taking advantage of her distraction. The way her green tank top fit her torso, it drew his eyes, and the way her jeans fit her was so fucking distracting but those damn luminous eyes of hers were going to steal his soul.

Beautiful. Everything about her that he could see was beautiful.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” Oliver asked after a moment.

The girl looked up at him. “I didn’t give it to you already?”

“No,” Oliver shook his head. “You seemed to be more concerned with my laptop.”

“Oh, well, it’s Felicity.” she reached for her coffee cup but then remembered it was empty. “Felicity Smoak.”

“Oliver Queen.” He returned.

“I know who you are, well, I know of you,” Felicity said. “Kind of hard not to, I started working at QC just a few months ago and the media has an obsession with you and your family.”

Oliver winced, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment about how the media portrayed him. “I’m not really like how I appear on tv coverage or magazines?”

“No?” Felicity arched a brow at him. “You didn’t pee on a cop car or punch out a reporter or have awful serial killer hair at one point?”

“Okay, yes, I did do those things- hey, did you just imply, I looked bad?” Oliver asked, tilting his head at her.

“Caught that did you?” Felicity smirked. “Just so we’re clear the Serial killer look was not a good look for you.”

“And what about how I look now?” Oliver asked.

“You're pleasing to the eyes but you don’t need me to tell you that,” Felicity replied. “You know how attractive you are.”

Oliver nodded his head in agreement. “But it never hurts coming from someone as beautiful as you.”

“Smooth,” Felicity replied, returning her focus back to his laptop and the task at hand.

“What do you do at QC?” Oliver asked, wanting to keep her talking, not caring if he was distracting her from fixing his laptop.

“I work in the IT department,” Felicity answered.

“Oh, so you do this kind of thing for a living?” Oliver motioned to his laptop.

“You could say that.” Felicity nodded. “I like it,”

“You must be really smart then, right?” Oliver wondered.

That was an understatement. Felicity sent him a smile in response.

Oliver wanted to learn more about her. So much more. That one smile had him wanting to know everything there was to know. “Let me take you out to dinner?”

Felicity closed his laptop and slid it back over to him. “I’ll admit your charming and hot but I’m not your type and I’m not looking to have my heart broken by some guy whose been with more women than he can even remember. No offense.”

Oliver was so surprised by her words he couldn’t formulate a response before she was walking away from him. By the time he recovers and ran out of the cafe door to catch up with her, she was already gone from sight.

He frowned and went back for his laptop, he settled back in his seat and opened the laptop to find to his surprise, his laptop was still working even though the hot liquid should have fried its system.

“Hi,”

Oliver looked up to see the two women before staring at him with flirty expressions.

“Can we join you?”

Oliver frowned. Before he would have said yes in a heartbeat but now, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to talk to them.

The two girls took his silence for a yes, taking a seat on either side of him. He forced a smile, reluctantly accepting their advances, his mind however was still stuck on the charming blonde he just met.

Felicity Smoak.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Oliver tried to return to his usual pick up spots and go about his life like he always had, partying, making a scandal of himself for the cameras, and bedding any hot girl he wanted because why the hell not.

He was young, he was ridiculously good looking, he was rich. The world was his Oyster.

However, that didn’t stop him from subconsciously looking for Felicity in every blonde he saw. Comparing leggy model types to her small, curvy figure. Or looking for luminous blue eyes that can look inside him. Or lips that demanded his attention. Looking for someone who was the perfect blend of awkward, cute, and alluring when she talked.

He slept with women but it wasn’t as satisfying as it once was.

Was it possible to be so entranced by someone that they could change your outlook in just one meeting?

Was it possible for one person to turn your life on its head without even trying?

How could one stranger have such an impact on another person’s life?

After another night of not being able to stop thinking about Felicity, Oliver excused himself and called it a night.

He returned home. He paused at the foot of the stairs when he heard the tv in the viewing room going. He changed directions and found his little sister on the couch, eating popcorn, and watching some sitcom.

“Hey, Speedy,” Oliver greeted, walking forward. “What are you still doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Thea shrugged. “You're home early.”

“It’s after midnight, that's not that late,” Oliver correctly.

“I meant early for you.” Thea rolled her eyes. “Raisa says you usually don’t turn in till morning when your out with Tommy.”

Raisa wasn’t wrong but he just was not in the mood to pick up random girls or spend the entire night getting drunk. “I felt like calling it a night.”

“Do you want to watch tv with me?” Thea asked, patting the seat next to her.

Oliver moved and took a seat next to her, reaching in the bowl on her lap for a handful of popcorn. “What are we watching?”

“How I Met Your Mother but I’m starting to think it should be called How I Met Your Aunt Robin,” Thea said, her tone indicating her annoyance.

“Tell me about it,” Oliver said, leaning back against the cushions, propping his feet on the table.

“Okay, so the character Ted is supposed to be telling the story about how he met the mother of his children but instead…”

Oliver allowed the sound of his sister’s voice, and the television playing in front of him to distract him from his thoughts of a blonde with pink high lights, gorgeous blue eyes, a mouth that had no filter, and a tight little body that he couldn’t stop thinking about.

Tags: @mariestark

I can’t remember who all wanted to be tagged for this so just remind and I will add to my tag notes so I won’t forget next time.

#arrow #olicity #oliver x felicity #oliver queen #Felicity Smoak #olicity fic #fanfic #fic: I Love Worth The Pain

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