#check out my man's killer routine

[redtsundere-writes]

Ghost x ghost!reader

Ghost finally purchased his perfect home. A cozy cottage in the countryside, with no annoying neighbors, and a good backyard. The best of all? The price. It was ridiculously cheap. One third of what that type of cottages usually cost. He felt the luckiest man with a bargain like that when the house was in great shape, he personally checked, like three times.

Ghost moved immediately, not that he had much either way. He was arranging the simple white IKEA bookshelf in the living room, showcasing his favorites books and medals he had received on his time at the SAS. He just took a small break to grab a glass of water. Less than a minute unattended, and when he returned, there was a girl admiring the shelf, a total stranger.

You turned around to look at him. Ghost was about to say something to spook you away, but froze almost immediately when he saw the bullet decorating your forehead. He knew that type of scar very well by first hand, no one recovers from that.

“Oh, wow, you are so tall,” you whispered to yourself, going close up to inspect the new owner of your former house.

“Who are you?” Ghost asked you, backing away.

Your eyes shot wide open when you realized he could see you. You jumped back, and covered the bullet scar with your hair the best you could out of shame, since you weren't used to people see it, like at all.

“You can see me?” You stuttered, still in shock.

“What are you? A ghost?” Ghost answered. Even if he was stunned, he didn't show it. Corpses didn't scare him, ghosts even less.

“Yes. I was killed in this house, my house.”

“Oh, so that's why this place was so cheap,” Ghost muttered.

You were killed by a serial killer. One night you were making dinner and the second you turned around, BOOM! Perfect headshot. It was so quick you didn't have a chance to process it. You didn't who they were, why they did it. Nothing. They just went for the kill, and now you were stuck in your home, thinking you were going to be alone forever.

You shared your tragic story with him. He listened, really listened, his hazel eyes never leaving yours. For the first time in what felt like forever, someone truly saw you. Heard you. Made you feel alive. Ghost absorbed every word without judgment, which only made you trust him even more.

Ghost killed terrorists for a living, so coming to terms that he would have to live with a ghost was rather easy. He adjusted faster than most would. After all, death was no stranger to him. And you? You were calm, kind… and, in his private thoughts, very cute. That certainly helped.

The first couple of days passed with the clumsy rhythm of strangers-turned-roommates. You orbited each other cautiously, but then you decided to talk to him more. Day by day, your quiet courage chipped away the unfamiliarity between you. And just like that, a friendship began to bloom.

Ghost started to make room for you in his routine, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You'd chat while he cleaned his weapons or folded laundry, sit shoulder-to-shoulder gaming late into the night, or binge movies until late. He even gave you a room of your own. With each passing day, your presence became less of an anomaly and more of a comfort. A constant he found himself reaching for.

Then he had to go back to work.

Ghost was gone for over a month. The mission had been tough, grueling. When he finally returned, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. The door creaked open into darkness. No warmth, no sound, only shadows. His teammates were returning to partners, families, soft beds and warmer arms. Ghost came back to silence.

He exhaled a long, tired breath and flicked on the light.

“Welcome home.”

His head lifted sharply. There you were, descending the stairs, silent as ever. Before he could speak, you wrapped your arms around him in a hug that was real, grounding, and meant only for him.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” you murmured, voice muffled by his chest. “I was starting to worry.”

Ghost melted beneath your touch, the walls he’d carried back from the battlefield crumbling. He dropped his duffel with a soft thud, pulled off his mask, and crushed you to him like he’d been starved for this, for you. He lifted you into his arms, holding you tight to finally heal.

“Sorry, luv,” he whispered, his voice rough with feeling. “Won’t happen again.”

Masterlist.

[zalayni]

𓂃 💫 ੭ ᝢ SUGAR ༉

spendin' all my nights alone waiting for you to call me. you're the only one I want by my side when I fall asleep 💤

�� pairing: earth42!miles x reader

❛ summary: after a long day there's nothing better than having your lover help you as you do your night time routine, no matter how girly it might be.

❛ warnings: the lower caps are intended. reader uses she/her pronouns.

❛ author's note: this is supposed to be longer but I lost everything and had to restart it from scratch. also this isn't proofread what so ever. I live like a warrior i'll die like a warrior 🫡🫡(I'm too lazy to read alat)

if anybody told Miles from when he was new to being prowler that he would be sitting in his room, wiping a girls makeup off specifically HIS girls makeup off he'd just tell them. “man you're buggin.”

yet here he was.

after a long day of standing around with music blasting in your ear while people laughed in the background you were finally back alone with Miles. it was silent but at the same time it was comforting. Miles was there kneeling infront of you, wiping your makeup off as you sat on the vanity chair he had bought and installed in his room along with the hello kitty mirror he saw people hyping up on tiktok.

don't get it mixed up though Miles would never use that vanity, he bought it for you. he filled up the drawers with makeup and products he'd see you use just for you. he did all of this because all he wished was for you to feel at home with him.

he went through the hard work of building and putting up the parts by himself as he was too embarrassed to ask uncle aaron or his mom for help. what would uncle aaron say if miles would randomly come in his home saying “help me build this pretty pink and white vanity I just bought.”

you always crashed at his place or miles would crash at yours. either way he always insisted on helping you with your nightly routine.

"all done Mami, now go wash up. I'll get your pajamas from the laundry." Miles attempted to get up before getting stopped by your hands pulling him down to peck his cheek. you pulled away while muttering a thank you.

Miles smirked at you while getting up.

"yeah, no problem. anything for my girl."

miles was the sweetest person to ever come into your life. who knew Brooklyn's number one killer would be such a lover boy? maybe it's because of the fact that he's always been a mamas boy growing up.

you finished up your shower, wrapping the towel around your body before a knock echoed through the bathroom. "ma, can I come in? I've got your pajamas." you quickly opened the door to see Miles standing there with your pink pajama set in his hands.

he stared at your figure watching as water droplets still slowly rolled down your body.

"Morales you're staring at me." you playfully said while side eyeing before taking the clothes out of his hands. Miles huffed and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you closer silencing your giggles with a kiss.

"whatever ma you're trippin' I wasn't even staring you're just reading into it too much. even if I was can you blame me? I bagged such a pretty girlfriend."

Miles eyed you down once again before leaning close to your ear. "maybe even future wife."

ugh what a tease. yet everytime he did this you felt butterflies in your stomach.

he chuckled before exiting the bathroom leaving you there staring at his back, stunned. you shook it off with a laugh and got dressed so you could be back in his arms.

you brushed your teeth and did your skincare that Miles would always restock on. you felt bad as they were pricey but he would always insist on buying them for you.

you hanged the towel on the rack to dry and exited the bathroom, practically speed walking to Miles room. once you opened the door you were met with Miles laying comfortably on his bed with nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants on. He had his arms up with his phone in his hands scrolling on whatever socials he was checking up on.

you closed his bedroom door before crawling in between his arms, laying your head on his chest. Miles sighed and put down his phone, wrapping his arms around you. He pecked the top of your head making you look up at him. "long day?" you asked him making miles suck his teeth.

"tch. ma you were there with me, yes the function was fun but of course my mom had to make us stay till past midnight talking about some ‘hold on we'll leave after I'm done talking.’" you laughed at him mimicking his mom's voice whole repeating what she would keep saying during the function.

mrs morales loved you so she told Miles to invite you to their family's function as his date which you gladly said yes to.

the day was long and your feet might've ached from all the standing as every seat was taken up, your stomach might've hurt from all the aunties insisting on you to eat more but at the end of day you got to see Miles smile, and it wasn't because of you. for some that was the rarest sight to witness.

after the death of his dad Miles drifted away from everyone but here he was laughing and bickering with his favourite cousins. he was actually playing his favorite sport, basketball for once and laughing whenever he'd steal the ball from his cousins.

you witnessed Miles grow as a person and slowly pick up broken pieces. it was truly heart warming.

here you laid in the dead of night, ear on Miles chest hearing his soft heartbeat with your eyes closed. you were calm yet your head was racing with thoughts. you decided to break the silence after awhile of listening to his breathing pattern and heartbeats. "hey Miles, I'm not sure if you're asleep but I have a question."

it was silent for awhile making you think Miles fell asleep before you could ask it but then he answered. "go ahead Mami, I'm listening."

"would you give the world to me?" you looked up at him only to see his half lidded eyes staring down at you. "mhmm no."

your heart dropped at his answer, lips close to quivering, but the hard beating of your heart slamming against your chest was calmed down with what you heard him say afterwards.

"hermosa, why would I do that when there's other planets too?"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

please do not steal, copy, translate or put my work on any other apps. thank you for reading 🫶

artwork in header made by koscribbls on instagram

[mist-see]

Pairing: Ghost x Tall Black!Female!Reader

Imagine hating your boss. And he definitely doesn’t like you back.

⚠️enemies to lovers, slow burn undertones, dominant!reader, Ghost being annoyed (and aroused), mutual antagonism, height proximity tension⚠️

Setting: Off-mission base in some cold, miserable part of Eastern Europe

A little au im dabbling in, I am still taking asks and Drabbles btw 👀

You were trouble the moment you landed.

Not because you were reckless. Not because you were new. But because you didn’t flinch.

Not when bullets cracked past your ears. You’ve heard gunshots since you were a kid.

Not when Captain Price barked orders. Your mom was scarier it felt like, suffering from bipolar disorder.

And definitely not when Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley threw his weight around like his skull mask gave him divine authority.

You were 6’3 of no-nonsense, broad-shouldered command. Black girl from South Side Chicago, taught to bark back, fight first, and survive always.

So when Ghost tried his usual ice-and-intimidation routine, you looked down—literally—and said:

“If you want me to follow, you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

He hadn’t liked that.

Not one bit.

It was always you and Ghost, forced on the same unit like someone upstairs had a twisted sense of humor.

Mission after mission, you clashed like two tectonic plates—grinding, shifting, making the rest of the team brace for the inevitable quake.

Tonight was no different.

Eastern Europe. Ice in the air. Mud in your boots- how the fuck did mud get in your boots. You just got back from a recon op and were stripping off gear in the shared safehouse.

He leaned against the wall in that usual brooding-ass pose—arms crossed, eyes shadowed by the mask, like he was trying to make the air tense just by breathing. It wasn’t working. You didn’t see yourself less than him.

“You went off comms,” he muttered.

You peeled off your tactical vest slowly, deliberately, like you weren’t just stripping off gear but defiance.

“Had to reroute. Signal was jammed. I made it out, didn’t I?” You had already known that this was going to start an argument, but what you trying to figure out was… are you gonna be the bigger person or irritate him even more. But when do you ever back down.

“Barely,” he said, stepping closer. “You don’t take orders. You don’t check in. You act like this is your op.”

“No- I act like I know what the fuck I’m doing.” You said matter-of-factly, strictly and irritatingly.

You closed the distance, chin tilted up—not that far. Just an inch between you. Enough to let him know: I’m not backing down, I couldn’t care less if you’re my lieutenant.

“You gonna try and muscle me next?” you smirked, a challenge. As if you actually wanted to finally get physical. “Or just keep hiding behind that skull like it scares me? That shit don’t scare me.” You shrugged in indifference, your brows pushed together as you looked between his light brown eyes.

He looked at you long and hard. You could feel it behind the mask, that simmering burn—annoyance, challenge, something heavier.

“You’ve got a death wish,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Only if you’re offering.”

That did it.

In a second, he pushed you up against the wall, not rough, but with enough force to show he could.

Could, but didn’t.

Didn’t because something in the way your hands stayed at your sides made him hesitate. You didn’t bother fighting back.

Didn’t because you looked amused.

“You always this hands-on, Lieutenant?” you murmured. Don’t you feel embarrassed?

His breath hitched. Just once.

Your hand slid up his chest, slow and steady, pausing right over his heartbeat. It wasn’t sexual, but it was intimidating. No one ever touched him.“I think you like the fight, Ghost. I think you need someone to push back.”

His jaw ticked.

“I think…” you leaned in, voice dropping to a low purr, “…you want to know what it feels like to be handled for once.”

You felt him flinch. Not fear. Not disgust. Restraint.

The man was a soldier, a killer, a shadow—and yet his pulse stuttered under your fingers.

“I could make you beg,” you whispered, so close your lips almost brushed the side of his mask. “But you’d bite your tongue just to keep the pride.”

“…You don’t know me,” he rasped.

You finally pulled back, slow and smug.

“I know enough,” you said, walking past him with a purposeful brush of your shoulder against his chest. “Next time you pin me, make it worth it.” Punch me or something.

Pt 2

COD Masterlist

[cupidkenji]

ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves -  I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet. 

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach.  Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good. 

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask. 

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis. 

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.” 

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist. 

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents. 

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him. 

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out. 

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?” 

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.” 

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it. 

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up. 

No, it wasn’t. 

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.” 

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room. 

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.” 

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job. 

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost. 

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder. 

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.” 

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.” 

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.” 

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

– 

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling. 

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed. 

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team. 

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.” 

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.” 

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.” 

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.” 

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief. 

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human. 

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours. 

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place. 

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass. 

“I’m Matthew.” 

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area. 

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink. 

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.” 

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.” 

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed. 

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored. 

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.” 

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.” 

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core. 

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke. 

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.” 

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately. 

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless. 

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden. 

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

 “He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if  I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past. 

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.” 

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes. 

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought. 

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive. 

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own. 

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car. 

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car. 

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to. 

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you. 

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels. 

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

[methylholicbm]

CHAPTER 1 | FIXATION | BRIAN MOSER

Description: Crime scene cleanup isn’t glamorous, but it pays the bills—and it keeps you close to the mess. When you're called to a lifeless body in a pool, you're expecting a routine assignment. What you get is Dexter Morgan: unreadable, clinical, oddly magnetic. The scene is sterile. No blood. So why does it cling to you? Word Count: 1k (a little over)

༺♱༻

"You're all standing around debating the head wound, and no one thought to check the pulse?"

I dropped my bag with a dull thud beside the body, crouching low enough for my fingertips to press gently into the still-warm blood puddling on the tile. A broken mug lay nearby, soaked in wet shades of deep red.

"That's not your job, cleanup girl," Doakes snapped from somewhere behind me, his arms crossed like always, his voice heavy with whatever pent-up angst a cop like him would have.

I didn't look at him. Didn't need to.

"No," I muttered, brushing hair out of my face with the back of a glove. "I'd just rather not have a corpse lunge at me. That's normal, right?"

He huffed something under his breath about "goddamn weirdos" and stalked off, probably to go grunt at someone else who didn't deserve it.

I stayed there, crouched by the body, eyes half-lidded and dry, like I hadn't quite woken up yet. The man's face was still frozen mid-expression—shocked or scared, I couldn't tell.

I've seen worse.

Dexter passed me, staring down at his gloves, before someone's voice cut through the air. "Morgan L/N. There's a body at The Seven Seas Motel." Dexter pauses and looks down at me and back up at them before taking off. I shrug and catch up to him before he can fully leave the scene.

"Hey—Dexter, right? Mind if I catch a ride? Since we're going to the same place anyway." He looks at me for a moment. He's probably asking himself why I can't just drive there myself. I hope he doesn't ask. I can't tell what he's thinking, but something is turning his mental gears. "I won't talk, promise," I add jokingly.

He half smiles, I think, and leads me to his car. The car ride is eerily silent. I try to look around, but I'm afraid that he'll think I'm looking for something if I do, so instead I keep my eyes fixated on the road and rub my fingers against a small area of my throat.

Dexter glances over at me, but if he has something to tell me, he doesn't say it out loud. We whip past the slums of deep Miami, empty alleyways still managing to look haunting even during dawn, overweight older men flashing their gold teeth and rotten gums, slender sexy ladies flipping their hair or throwing themselves at the nearest Porsche, and finally, a big-ass crime scene at a tacky motel.

Dexter and I make our way out of the car and through the piling of cops outside, pulling black vinyl gloves on, until he's stopped by Vince, or as everyone else knows him, Masuka. "What are you doing here?" He says to Dexter, who looks at him pointedly, like he was waiting for Masuka to realize how dumb that sounded.

"It's a crime scene?" Dexter says.

"Yeah, but there's no blood."

For a second, I believe Dex zoned out, his facial muscles contorting ever so slightly before returning to normal, something unreadable beneath his calm exterior. "Are you okay?" I ask him, and he quickly looks at me and then back at Masuka, who leads both of us to the body. He and Angel lift the cover over the body, revealing pieces of flesh completely drained of all of its blood.

I look over the body parts that aren't fully wrapped for evidence yet.

"How does a killer get rid of all the blood..." Dexter says haphazardly out loud, like he meant to say it in his head.

"It's hard to say, especially since the body is in good shape." Angel retorts.

"No prints either," Masuka says, further adding to the confusion.

"It's very clean. Near surgical cuts... looks like he didn't have time to finish though." I say, pointing to the unfinished cut on the victim's upper left thigh.

"Right. Which means it's possible he was interrupted. LaGuerta's working on finding a witness." Angel says.

I look over my shoulder at LaGuerta fraternizing with other cops and some reporters just itching to find a way in. I walk away from the scene to go and look around the rest of the motel.

I peek into any window, seeing if it's possible that someone could've seen something from their bedroom, but all I'm met with are off-white, barely even white actually, blinds with untouched rings of dust on them. I get to a half-open door and push it open to see a taller woman that I recognize seeing once or twice but have never actually had a real conversation with. "Don't look at me like that. It's a disguise." She says. Officer Debra Morgan.

"I wasn't going to question you, Debra." I say, leaning on the doorframe. She's a little taller than me with her heels on and has this air of confidence wafting around her. She meets my eyes, at first with a snarky look, and then she laughs.

"Well, you never fucking know, you know?" She says, blowing an exhale of smoke out as she speaks. Her heels clack on the grimy, off-white linoleum as she switches her weight onto her other foot. "Who are you anyways? One of LaGuerta's?"

I crack a smile at her. "As if I'd be caught dead running orders for anyone at Miami Metro. I'm simply just a TCST. Y/N L/N. However, I've been working closely with you guys as of late; Miami is just more lively than my home office in Ft. Lauderdale." She ashes out her cigarette in an ashtray and comes to stand by me. I turn, and we both look out at the crime scene unfolding before us.

"I haven't seen you up until now." She says to me.

"I lurk. Quiet. I don't like drawing too much attention to myself, you know? It puts you in a position of vulnerability." I say coolly, not noticing how weird that sounds to just say out loud to someone. Instead of being thrown off, however, Debra just smiles at me and walks off to the rest of the officers.

"You're right." She says, not turning to look back at me, and then she disappears into the clutter of cops.

I catch Dexter before he manages to leave. "Could you drop me home?" I see his face; it says, 'Not really, I don't even know who you are.' But his mouth comes out with a different set of words.

"Sure," he says, but the hesitation in his voice sounds louder than the word itself.

༺♱༻

✦ ⛧ Masterlist ⛧ ✦

[pinkdaiisies]

Where’s your boyfriend? Dale Cooper x reader

Summary: Reader looks forward to Dale's routine morning visit to the Double R diner. The two have grown quite close and Dale finally has something to ask her.

Based off of this request Hello, I hope you are doing well! I was wondering if I may request a fic with Dale cooper where the reader (female reader please) is a waitress at the Double R Diner and he asks her out on a date! Coop definitely loves how she makes coffee and is absolutely smitten with the reader... anyway!

Notes: EEEEEE I haven't written anything in soooooooo long. I'm really proud of this and I love Dale so much!!!! I hope you enjoyyy

Word Count: 1285

Dale had been going into the Double R diner every morning since he had arrived at Twin Peaks. Even though the sheriff's department served coffee and donuts every day, Dale couldn't stop himself from sitting down at the same stool every morning for a cup of coffee. If someone asked Dale why he went there every day, he probably would've lied and said something about the quality of their coffee or pie, but deep down Dale knew the real reason why he went there every day. A certain waitress had caught his eye.

The day Dale showed up at the diner you had been quite frightened with the talk of murder going around town. When the tall man in a fancy suit told you he was an FBI agent and he was here to catch the killer you immediately felt a lot safer. You both introduced yourselves and started to chat while Dale enjoyed his cup of coffee. Your first impression of Dale was that he was very intelligent, extremely handsome, and his jokes were a little bit silly. There weren't a lot of guys like him in Twin Peaks.

It soon became Dale's morning ritual to wake up early and head to the diner before he had to go to the station. He heavily enjoyed your company while he drank his coffee. Being with you allowed Dale to escape the scary reality which the Laura Palmer case brought. Your conversations with Dale made you forget of the boring monotonous days the diner gave, each day fading into the next. Dale visiting you every morning gave you something to look forward to. If you got lucky, he would visit another time later in the day with the Sheriff and Deputies Hawk and Brennan.

Norma soon noticed that when you arrived at work in the mornings you were much happier and bubbly than you had been for a while. She also noticed when Dale Cooper walked through those doors, the other tables were not being tended to. Norma understood what was happening between you and the FBI agent. She didn't mind taking a few more orders and cleaning a couple more tables while you flirted away with Cooper.

One morning you had arrived at work earlier than you usually do. You had woken up extra early because you were looking forward to seeing Dale today. You knew your hair looked especially good today too because you kept checking your reflection on the side of the coffee pots.

You made a special pot of strong coffee just for Dale and continued to take customers orders. Even after serving their food and cleaning their tables, there was no sign of the agent. You began to feel disappointed. You had put so much effort into how you look this morning all for Dale to be a no show.

"Where's your FBI agent boyfriend?" Shelly teased while pouring a cup of coffee for a customer.

"I'm wondering the same thing! and he's not my boyfriend." You smirked at Shelly. Everyone could tell that the conversations between you and Dale meant a lot to each other. Dale Cooper had even gotten a handful of teasing from Sheriff Truman. The tension between you two couldn't go unnoticed by anyone.

Almost as if he was summoned, Dale Cooper walked through the diner doors. He immediately caught your attention, and you two smiled at each other. On instinct, you grabbed a mug from under the counter and poured the agent a cup of his coffee as he sat down in his usual stool.

"Good morning y/n! I'm sorry that I'm later than usual." Dale said with a smile on his face. You could tell his apology was sincere.

"That's okay Dale. You don't have to apologize." You said while putting the coffee pot back on the warmer, checking your reflection one last time.

When you turned back around to him, Dale was looking at you intently like he had something important to say. He made eye contact with you and didn't break it. Silence ensued.

"I'm sorry, how rude of me! How is your morning going?" Dale said after a second of awkward silence. He is such a gentleman you thought to yourself. No man in Twin Peaks has ever been so considerate of your feelings. Dale knew how to make you feel seen and heard.

"Better now that you've arrived," You smiled, "I thought you were a no show for a minute." Dale's nerves settled when he heard this. Knowing that you were happy to see him made what he was about to ask much easier.

"y/n. I wouldn't miss your coffee for the world." He said while lifting his coffee in the air then taking a sip. You giggled, your coffee couldn't have been that revolutionary. He smiled and then put his cup down. The look that Dale's eyes had before came back. He looked into your eyes and suddenly seemed nervous. "Can I tell you something?" He said while not once breaking eye contact. You however did break eye contact. It was nerve racking to know that as an FBI agent, Dale has to know how to read people. He was probably taking in all of your micro expressions and analyzing them every time that you spoke to each other. Hell! He probably knew that you had a crush on him!

"You can tell me anything Dale." It was true. You both learned to trust each other throughout the short time that Dale has been in town. Every conversation with him felt easy, you felt like you could tell Dale anything as well.

"I've really enjoyed getting to know you throughout my stay at Twin Peaks. Visiting you every morning has been a highlight of my day." His words made your cheeks blush. You didn't think that Dale's feelings were similar towards your own. "I was wondering y/n, if you'd enlighten me with the pleasure of having dinner together tonight. That is if you don't have any prior commitments."

Your world stopped spinning. It felt like you and Dale were the only two souls in the diner. That was until you heard a giggle coming from Shelly who was close by helping another customer.

"Of course. I'd love to Dale! That sounds great." You flashed him a smile. It felt like the diner got 30 degrees hotter, but that was just the effect that Dale had on you. You were oblivious but you had the same effect on Dale too.

"Great! I can pick you up at your place at 5:30." Dale had a lovesick smile on his face. He could stare at you all day if was able to. Dale took one last gulp from his coffee and stood up from his seat. "I'll see you tonight."

"Goodbye Dale! I'm looking forward to it." You smiled and waved to Dale while he walked out of the diner while somehow keeping his eyes on you. He was about to walk out of the diner door when he stopped himself. He peered his head back through the door.

"One last thing!" You looked back at the agent. "Your hair looks beautiful y/n." Then he walked out and let the door shut behind him.

Shelly and Norma could've sworn that they've never seen a smile that big on your face ever.

"Well he sure does seem like your boyfriend now!" Shelly said. You and Shelly giggled and squealed together like schoolgirls. Norma watched the happy expression on your face from the cash register. She was glad that you found someone that made you that happy.

Dale walked outside to his car while pulling out his tape recorder.

"Diane! I have a date tonight!"

[fidenciocryptidcreechur]

IN MY CREEPY PASTA PHASE SO MORE HORROR ROMANCE AU

Family meetings~

Riddle’s mother is currently a phantom that Riddle avoids, like the killer’s regret sort of deal, when she sees Yuu as a suitor, she knocks EVERYTHING over and demands he kill them, how dare he try and replace her?! (JASON!! JASON VORHEES STYLE)

Ace’s family are currently survivors, once they find Ace and find out Ace fell in love with a human survivor makes them so happy! Being an undead plant still doesn’t affect the boy they raised.. much..

Deuce’s mom is OVER. THE. MOON! She is also a survivor, and adores Yuu to bits! She cups their face and smooches their cheeks. Practically begging for them to stay longer in the safety!

Trey’s parents run a cannibal cafe, at first they think Trey is starting seduction? To lure in prey? But then they see the way Trey swats away human meat off Yuu’s plate and keeps the sedatives away with a glare at his younger siblings before giving them the cakes do they realize… THE BOY IS IN LOVE !!! He never gets not teased about falling in love with a survivor ~

Cater’s sisters are like the Siamese twins, moving in unison, and they’re all over Yuu, doing their hair and nails, despite their gender, and gets so excited to share their own candies on magikill(magicam in this au)

—

Ohhh mama leech is so happy her boys are so happy on land!! Even a transformation potion to snuggle this little survivor!! It’s like watching two eels swim in the same tank as a shrimp and eat everything else that comes near. She is elated her boys found someone like their father (I hc their father is a survivor in this au, it’s a family trait. Dating the weakling)

Azul’s mama is a loving lady, she can’t contain herself!! Ohhhh her boy is all grown up! In the family business and, AND dating a little survivor!!

Yuu meeting the Fam!! I love all of these.

Pomefiore family meetings!!

I like to think Eric's incredible acting and charm abilities come from him being able to absorb skills, life force and personalities (inspired from how they say someone sold their soul for fame and the idea of "a man of many faces" but more literal and supernatural). Eric Venue is so happy his son is finally making some genuine real connections. He knows his son has very little opportunity to make genuine relationships. He's a celeb too and he gets it, it's especially tough since both of them have special rituals and routines to maintain their stardom so he's so pleased to see his baby boy find someone. I like to think when Yuu visits their mansion Eric has thousands of masks. For different roles, he says. You don't think you've ever seen a material like the one the masks are made of.

Epel's family are survivors and while Epel might be being trained by Vil to be on killer side, the Felmier family still loves him and are so happy their lil Apple has a sweetheart. Granny always keeps Yuu's plate full and knits sweaters and such for them. The little village loves to get updates from Epel about his lil sweetheart (and to check on his health).

Rook, our beloved forest wraith, and his family are unhinged and tend to be wide spread. Most guard forests and other wildernesses, trailing along paths waiting to pick off those who wander off the path (construction workers and path clearers in Twst Horrorland get some of the highest hazard pay just cause of the sheer amount of horror tropes they have to deal with and try to survive). Each of their forests bursts with excited whispers and shadows When the Hunt family hears that Rook truly truly has someone (and not him just being dramatic about a new beauty fixation). They can't wait to meet yuu, and yuu might just get whisked away to some woodland for an impromptu family get together.

Scarabia family meeting

Honestly both the Vipers and the Asims are incredibly excited to meet yuu. However they both have to do A LOT of cleaning. Not that it's super dirty or dusty at their place but because everything displayed and gathered has some rather shady suspicious background and some is straight up cursed and malevolent. However some of their best and most majestic decor are also some of their most cursed and bloodied (in terms of acquiring). As long as the yuu isn't the type to know their artefacts it should be fine.

The Asims are keen on keeping them in the manor. Their darling heir Kalim loves Yuu so of course the family is invested in getting them acquainted with their future home. The business can be hinted at (they firmly believe Yuu will be marrying into the family and is gonna take up the mantle alongside Kalim like it's not even a question to them)

The Vipers are more so invested in making sure Yuu doesn't fucking die by accident. While there's no outsider that can get past them (they are the top assassins and main method of acquiring business deals for the Asims) that doesn't stop a knife display from being dangerously sharp to the touch or a unique treasured poison from being deadly. The Vipers basically have to do their own version of idiot proofing but instead of the obvious stuff it's making sure Yuu doesn't get too close to a display that yearns for despair or a helmet that whispers madness. Jamil's family also make sure to subtly set up alone time for Jamil and Yuu. They care for him and want him to be happy. It's not often he gets to make a real connection and good things that belong solely to a Viper are few and far between so they encourage him to go for it as best he can.

[holdmytesseract]

Hi beautiful! I have a request!

Loki helping your through a high pain day! I have chronic pain and it would be great

Personal Painkiller

Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader

Summary: When you have a high pain day, Loki knows exactly how to comfort you.

Warnings: chronic pain, fluff, liiiittle bit of thirst

Word Count: 1,6k

a/n: My friend... Again, I'm so sorry you have to go through this pain. 🥺 I hope that I get this story right and especially that you like it. 💚

Also, have this quite sexy black suit Loki gif.

Tags |: @lady-rose-moon @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbsblr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @chennqingg @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @theaudacitytowrite @jennyggggrrr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @eleniblue @asgards-princess-of-mischief @vanilla-daydreaming @loz-3 @valencia-rou @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @bunny24sstuff @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovingchoices14 @linaax @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @glitchquake @lokidbadguy @icytrickster17 @gruftiela @lulubelle814 @mandywholock1980 @november-rayne @chantsdemarins @lou12346789

Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist

You already felt it when your feet touched the carpeted floor of your bedroom... The dull ache in your left hip. Oh great, you thought. It's not enough that today is Monday and it's raining pitchforks outside, no... The osteoarthritis had to kick in, too.

You sighed and got up with a wince. After stretching your muscles a bit, you made your way to the bathroom - quietly, not to wake your boyfriend, who was sleeping peacefully on the left side of the bed; hands buried underneath his pillow and breath quiet and steady.

The way to the bathroom already turned out to be a challenge. You groaned softly as you sat down on the toilet; burying your face in your hands and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. Today wasn't a good pain day.

It took you longer than usual to get dressed. Sure, it was a rainy Monday morning, six o'clock and you were without a doubt, tired - but the pain definitely didn't make it easier for you.

After getting through your morning routine, you had a few Lucky Charms for breakfast, packed in more pain killers in your bag than usual and then left the Avengers compound in order to get to work.

Working as a retail saleswoman was great, really. You loved your job. You loved the customer contact and everything else that came with it. Sure, it could get stressful from time to time, but you had a great boss and wonderful colleagues who made up for this.

You had early shift this week - meaning, a lot of groceries and other products the store was selling, which got through the arrival had to be checked and stowed away. That was, hands down, one of your favourite tasks - but not today. Today, it was rather torture. All the work your legs, back and hips had to do wasn't appreciated by your osteoarthritis. Normally, it wasn't a problem and you got along quite well, but when you had a high pain day it was awful - and this Monday was such a day...

So you went to ask one of your other colleagues - Benji, to switch. He understood, of course and was more than willing to let you cash, while he joined Alex. "Thanks, Ben." The blonde man smiled. "No probs. I hope you'll feel better, now that you can sit." "I hope so, too." "Fingers crossed!" Benji shouted while walking away.

"Hey, Y/N, you good?" Your shift buddy Alex asked, while ripping open another big package, which was filled to the brim with cheese. You shifted; trying to ease the pain by moving. "Not really..." Alex's brows furrowed, as she gave you a compassionate look. "High pain day?" "Yeps." You scrunched your nose as your hip told you that moving wasn't the solution either. "Like... Really high pain day. I feel like I can barely move." "Oh no... I'm sorry. Did you already take your pain meds?" You nodded. "Already took two..." "Oh fuck..."

You worked on for another ten minutes, but it just seems to get worse. Sure, the pain killers weren't probably kicking in yet, but nevertheless... It was not manageable. "Alex, do you mind if I try to switch with Benji? See if cashier likes my hip more?" Your buddy nodded. "Sure thing, Y/N/N. I hope it helps..." "Me too..."

Your colleagues good wishes unfortunately didn't work. The seating position was okay and welcomed for a little while; the pain ebbing away a bit, but after about and hour the dull ache came back full force.

So bad, that you weren't able to work any longer.

You smiled; trying to hide the pain. "Thanks."

Therefore, you spoke with your shift superintendent Diane and she sent you home. She knew of your illness and was very understanding and cooperative.

"Thanks, D. I promise I'm trying to go to work tomorrow. I know we have a lot of stuff to do and-" Your boss interrupted you immediately; lifting a hand. "Y/N... Please. You know I understand. Rest today, see if it is better again tomorrow and if yes, that's great and I'm happy to see you here - but if its not, don't worry. We'll make this a few days without you."

Diane smiled; gave you a nod and home you went.

The ride with the subway unfortunately made it worse. You had to stand, which stressed your legs and hips even more. It was honestly a blessing, when you saw the Avengers compound in distance. Almost there, almost there.

The moment the main door shut close behind you, you were utterly relieved. All you wanted to do, was curl up in bed now, with a nice cup of tea - and preferably sleep, so your brain didn't have to remember you every minute, that your hip was aching.

You slipped off your shoes and jacket, threw your keys on the little shelf beside the door and turned to walk the short hallway to the bathroom. But when you turned the corner, you collided with something firm, yet soft. You gasped - out of shock and pain.

"Darling?!" Two strong arms caught you from falling, so powerful was the impact. Loki. "Oh norns, apologies! Are you okay?" His concerned oceanic blue eyes wandered over your body; checking if the collision did any harm to you. But then his brows furrowed softly. "Why are you already back home?"

Only a few moments later, you felt the soft, comfy bedsheets of your bed underneath you. Loki gently let you down, before he worked on tucking you in. "B-But, sweetie, I-I'm still wearing my street wear." You mumbled in between sobs. The god just smiled at you lovingly, snapped his fingers and caused a green shimmer to run over your body; changing you into the most comfortable, fluffiest pyjamas you possessed.

At this question, you couldn't hold back your tears anymore. It was just a little bit too much. The pain, the frustration, that you had to quit work for today - everything.

"H-High pain day," was all you managed to say, before tears escaped the corners of your eyes. Loki reacted within seconds. He knew exactly what was going on and what he had to do. Without another word, he swept you gently off your feet and carried you bridal style towards your bedroom. That was at least what you anticipated, because your vision was blurry with tears. You clung to your boyfriend; wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your head against his black shirt covered chest.

Seconds later, you felt his soft lips press a lingering kiss against your forehead. "I'm so sorry your osteoarthritis is treating you bad again, my love. I'm going to take care of you." He whispered against your skin in a smooth, deep voice, which gave you the feeling of being utterly loved and protected.

"Tea, darling?" You nodded; trying to give him a smile. He knew exactly what you needed on such a day. "P-Please..." "Of course." He said; still smiling softly. "Did you already take some of your pain meds?" You gave him another nod. "Good girl." He leaned down to press another sweet, gentle kiss on your forehead. "I'll be back in a few minutes, okay? Try to get comfortable and relax." "O-Okay."

While you tried to get as comfortable as somehow possible, Loki made you a cup of tea; returning with it only a few minutes later.

"There you go, my love." The god gave you the mug carefully and breathed another kiss on your forehead, "Thank you." before he started to unbutton his black shirt.

Loki was about to roll his black slacks down his legs, when you suddenly remembered something. As if struck by lightning, you quickly took a look at your alarm clock; standing on your bedside table. "Sweetie, don't you have a meeting in, um... Now? Go, get dressed again! You have to leave, unless you'll be late!"

You just took a sip of the tea, as you watched him undress with wide eyes. "U-Uh, sweetie, w-what are you doing?" A low chuckle rumbled through your boyfriend's chest. "What does is look like, angel?"

Blinking - and trying to not get lost in the delicate movements of his fingers undoing the little buttons, you watched how the fabric slipped off his shoulders; muscles bulging. "U-Um, I know, but..." You swallowed hard; taking another sip of the tea and almost burning yourself.

Your boyfriend only shook his head; smiling and kicked the suit trousers off his legs, before throwing them on the chair standing in the corner of the bedroom.

"B-But Steve hates it when you're missing out a team meeting..." He shrugged his shoulders, rounded the bed and slipped underneath the covers beside you. "So? You are way more important than Roger's unnecessary team meetings." "But-" "Ah.Ah. No buts, darling." Loki said; wrapping you up his arms; spooning you. "I'll stay with you. I want to help you as best as I can through this. Screw this meeting."

Your heart fluttered at his words. You couldn't help but to lean into his embrace; cuddling close. "Thank you, love." He nuzzled the crook of your neck; inhaling your scent. "No need to thank me. I am doing this, because I love you." Butterflies ran wild within your belly. "I love you, too."

The rest of the day was spent with cuddling, listening to the rain drum against the window panes and even more cuddling. He made you as much tea as you desired and even tried to ease the pain with his seidr - which really helped a bit.

In conclusion, Loki was the best, doting boyfriend you ever had.

[the-most-humble-blog]

WHEN SHE ASKED, I DIDN’T HESITATE — BUT I’M STILL PROCESSING THAT WET, GASPED-OUT INVITATION

A Blacksite Literature™ Transmission

Codename: Classroom-All-Day Pussy

Classification: Polite Degeneracy // Primal Access Granted

---

I swear I was trying to be a gentleman.

I had no idea I was thirty minutes away from getting wet-signal greenlit like it was a high-stakes airstrike. And I don’t mean “she gave me a look.” I mean this woman gasped and blurted:

> “Do you want to go, like… have sex?”

No seduction arc.

No Netflix delay.

No “Oops I dropped my phone on your lap.”

Just blunt-force feminine permission mid-sentence — as if her Skene’s glands overruled her frontal cortex. As if her own body was like *“Girl, either we mount this man or I will.”

---

I Was Trying to Be Civilized

She came over, fresh from her last class. Petite. Shorter than I remembered. Wearing that post-academic frazzled look like she’d been carrying a messenger bag full of crushed dreams and overpriced textbooks all day.

I’m scrambling in my head like:

> “Okay, don’t look at her like that. Pick a movie. Something chill. Nothing serial killer-y. Nothing that says ‘I’m a fantasy man-baby.’ No anime. No MCU. No Requiem for a Dream. Play it cool.”

I complimented her nails. I touched her hand like I was auditioning for boyfriend eligibility.

I smiled like a therapist mid-consult.

But apparently my voice said “safe,” and my eyes said “I will rearrange your internal feng shui.”

---

Something in the Way I Said Something I Don’t Even Remember

Ten minutes in, I’m talking. I have no idea what I’m saying. Some combination of confident nonsense and light flirtation. Maybe a comment about her wrists. Maybe the way her ankles were crossed. Maybe something about how I noticed her but didn’t want to intrude.

Whatever it was? It cracked the seal.

She gasped. Like… gas-ped.

Like a dream moan escaped by accident.

And then:

> “Do you want to go like… have sex?”

As if asking if I wanted water.

Before I could answer, she grabbed my hand, brought it down, and showed me how wet she was.

No warning. No tease. No drawn-out game.

Just confirmation by humidity.

---

The Real Shock Wasn’t That She Said It. It Was That She Meant It.

She wasn’t joking.

She wasn’t testing.

She wasn’t playing flirtation chicken to see if I’d flinch.

Her body had already decided.

Her glands were way ahead of the vote.

And in that moment?

My “gentleman” mode short-circuited.

Because what the fuck is the proper protocol when a woman places your hand between her thighs and says: “I’m not asking for reassurance. I’m asking for entry.”

---

Showerless, Shameless, Classroom-All-Day Pussy

Let’s address the obvious:

She didn’t shower first.

She didn’t “freshen up.”

She came from three hours of lectures, note-taking, and walking across campus in tight jeans.

And I don’t give a single fck.*

Because horniness does not care about showers.

It doesn’t care about your skincare routine or pH balance or if your thighs rubbed raw walking to class.

Horniness is a biological override.

And if she’s standing in front of you with pupil dilation, shaky breath, flushed chest, and a wetness that could drown a weaker man?

You don’t check Yelp reviews.

You don’t ask the pussy if it’s had a spa day.

You thank the gods of timing, bless the Skene’s glands, and say, “Yes, ma’am.”

---

Why Did It Work?

Because I didn’t push.

I didn’t perform.

I didn’t try to “game” her.

I sat there with a calm presence, a grounded tone, and a gaze that told the truth.

That if she made the offer? I’d honor it.

And something in her knew.

Knew that I wouldn’t shame her.

Wouldn’t tell.

Wouldn’t fumble.

Women can feel it.

They know who can handle them mid-flood.

And that day?

I was chosen.

---

And Again. And Again.

It wasn’t a one-time fluke.

Once the gate was opened?

She wanted to return.

Because here’s the thing about classroom-all-day pussy:

It remembers.

It remembers who made her gasp like that.

It remembers who held her like an offering instead of an orgasm machine.

It remembers who made her feel sacred and ruined in the same session.

That kind of connection?

She’ll cross town for it.

No shower.

No script.

Just possession with informed consent.

---

Final Transmission

You don’t get moments like this by accident.

You get them by being:

Still when others fidget

Clear when others lie

Warm when others sell charm

And absolutely fucking real

This wasn’t “game.”

This was presence.

This was self-control so steady it made her want to give it all up.

Because that moment?

That gasped-out wet invitation?

That was her body saying:

> “I don’t need a gentleman.

I need a man who can be polite — but won’t hesitate.”

And I didn’t.

— Blacksite Literature™

Codename: When the Skene’s Glands Speak First

Recommended Reading: Your Own Wet Recollection

---

[itficlibrary]

Hey y’all! Do you have any recs for crack fics? Gen or any ship, anything is appreciated. 🤡

Hi!

First of all, apologies for how late this is!! Both mod Bevvy and I have been suuuper busy so we haven't been checking the blog as often as we really shoud be TToTT

In apology, here are ten crack fics that I've enjoyed!

Insurance Man by avocadomoon

(4k words)

"Eddie," Richie says, laughing a little, "what the fuck is going on? Are you in the mob?" Eddie doesn't laugh.

My Teeth Were So Long by glorious_spoon

(7.4k words)

“Wait, so you’re saying that she kicked you out because you kept shedding on the furniture?” Eddie pauses in his twelve-step post-airport hand-sanitizing routine to shoot Richie a truly poisonous glare from under his eyebrows. “If you laugh, I’m going to kill you.” Well, shit. Richie’s a dead man. “I’m not laughing!” he protests, smearing a hand over his mouth to make sure that it stays true, at least until Eddie is out of earshot. “I’m just saying. That was the final straw? Not the, you know…” “Lycanthropy?” Eddie finishes dryly. - Or: instead of killing him, the clown turns Eddie into a were-Pomeranian. Richie copes, sort of.

how (not) to ring in twenty-one by anonymous

(7.3k words)

Stan's eyes are crazy wide, and maybe a little shiny. "You ruined your Reputation shirt just to save me?"  "Yeah." Bill'd probably give up listening to Taylor entirely if it meant Stan was okay, but Stan knows how much he loves her and saying something like that would be a little telling. "Uh, happy birthday?"

37 things pennywise does while waiting for richie and eddie to finish going at it by leetheshark

(700 words)

When Pennywise shows up at the Derry Inn to terrorize the adult Losers, Richie and Eddie are busy getting busy, so Pennywise politely waits for them to finish. These are the things he does in the meantime.

Oh, thanks! by NeutralMime

(400 words)

Georgie looked at the terrifying clown, "Hi Georgie. What a nice boat, want it back?" The child blinked before beaming, "Yes please!" He took it and then left in less than a second. Pennywise was dumbfounded.

novelty coffee mugs (and other things your boyfriend doesn't want for christmas) by plinys

(1.3k words)

Because there in Eddie’s hands are two coffee mugs: one labeled MILF and the other, DILF. “Okay, so you were right, not a sex toy!"

It's Nice To Have A Friend by notalone91

(3.6k words)

Eddie is finally getting to spend some quality time with his girlfriend. That is, until his roommate gets home.

take on me (take me on) by resurrectdead

(3.8k words)

Eddie might as well call 911; Richie has stolen his heart and he’s getting away with it, too. or: in a world without a killer clown, richie invites the losers to see a movie about a killer doll. unfortunately, only eddie goes with him.

clogging the timeline by impravidus

(2.3k words)

TMZ ✔ @TMZ Standup comedian Richie Tozier and award winning fashion designer Beverly Marsh getting very cozy at dinner. [Image Description: A picture of Richie and Beverly in a restaurant. Beverly’s body is obscured by Richie’s, but his hands are angled suspiciously close to her breasts.] > richie tozier ✔ @trashmouthTM i’m pretty sure that’s when bev said she’s glad i have a shriveled up old man dick because i would only breed abominations and then i spit red wine on her designer blouse >> Beverly Marsh ✔ @bevmarshofficial It stained. (OR: The Losers on Twitter) TMZ ✔ @TMZ Standup comedian Richie Tozier and award winning fashion designer Beverly Marsh getting very cozy at dinner. [Image Description: A picture of Richie and Beverly in a restaurant. Beverly’s body is obscured by Richie’s, but his hands are angled suspiciously close to her breasts.] > richie tozier ✔ @trashmouthTM i’m pretty sure that’s when bev said she’s glad i have a shriveled up old man dick because i would only breed abominations and then i spit red wine on her designer blouse >> Beverly Marsh ✔ @bevmarshofficial It stained. (OR: The Losers on Twitter)

freaking out the neighborhood by killuaology

(14.5k words) (explicit)

Richie thinks that this is what being a father is like. He sure fucking feels like a father, dropping all of his plans to take care of his pet, making very specific google searches and running around his apartment like a madman, grabbing toys and a blanket and a few mice in a tupperware bowl. He knows logistically that everything he’s grabbing is useless and what he really needs is a chill pill and maybe some whiskey to soothe his shaking hands, but Richie can’t help the way his paternal side wakes up and takes control of his mind. Instead of buckling a child into a carseat, though, Richie grabs a snake from a terrarium and transfers him into the “travel cage” that he bought when he brought his snake to see a drive-in movie. Noodle is curled into a sad ball, his tail wrapped tightly around itself. He’s asleep even as Richie picks him up, which is the first bad sign, and he doesn’t move at all when Richie plants him into his other cage, which is the second bad sign. Richie can’t run to his car fast enough. [or: richie's pet snake is sick and he goes to see vet eddie ;) ;)]

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 12

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Daisy needs to be alone to get her latest draft done but that leads to an unexpected situation...and confession...

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

I had checked into a hotel room a week ago to get some writing done, which had been driving Jake crazy. When I was approaching a deadline I took a note out of Maya Angelou’s playbook, except, to a more extreme extent. She would rent a hotel room in her hometown, using it as an office of sorts, removing all distractions while she got her writing done. As a procrastinator who worked at the whims of her muses, I condensed the routine into a sprint. I wrote from 6am to 9pm with nothing in the room to distract myself except for a deck of cards and a thesaurus. 

The reason it was driving Jake crazy was the fact that I wouldn’t tell him which hotel I was at and that I would only text him before 6am and after 9pm. If given the chance, I knew he would have caved by day three and stopped by to see me, which would have derailed the entire process, Jake had begrudgingly agreed to her reasoning of keeping him out of the loop.

Cassandra was closing in on her killer, her and her partner Timothy were standing in front of the apartment door, weapons drawn and ready to go. They were going to do it. Except the scene that was in my head wasn’t the one that ended up on the page, Timothy kicked the door open and the apartment was empty except for a note addressed to her. The killer got away. For now at least. Jason and Grace would be ecstatic that the sequel was perfectly lined up but for me it felt like a blow to the chest. My detectives always got their man by the end of the story. Always. 

I spent close to four hours trying to rewrite the scene in a way that even vaguely made sense but nothing felt right. I glanced at the clock, it was past ten o’clock, Jake was probably ready to file a missing persons report at this point. I chuckled to myself, thinking about how he was. Jake liked to be by my side, even without the looming threat of me running off because of Rudolph Lance, he spent so much time at our apartment that Natasha had joked about charging him rent…which he had shrugged at and asked how much. 

When I pulled my phone out of the room safe I had three missed calls from Jake and Natasha and texts from most of the Daggers telling me to please, please, please call my boyfriend and best friend.

“Baby,” Jake sighed on the other side of the call. “Everything okay?” I giggled, it wasn’t even a full hour past when I was supposed to check-in and Jake sounded like I had been missing for days. “Daisy,” His serious tone cut my laughter short. Something had to be wrong. 

“I’m fine, Jake. What’s going on?” There was a long pause that had my heart rate shooting through the roof. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

“What hotel are you at?” I started to repeat what I had been telling him all week about the importance of being left alone but he cut me off. “Daisy, I love you and I respect your process but I’m going to need you tell me where the fuck you are.” I flinched, surprised, he had never taken that tone with me before. 

“The Marriott on Sixth and Kewee. What the hell happened?” Jake shouted that I was okay to whoever he was with, probably Natasha. It hit me at that moment that Jake had just said he loved me but the next words out of his mouth ruined the moment.

“There was a big fire at the Marriott on Stiltson, the news said people died.” All the air rushed out of my lungs. All I had told him and Natasha was that I was staying at a Marriott, they must have been so worried. 

“Shit, Jake. I’m so sorry, I’ll come home. I can be there in-” Jake cut me off again,

“Stay put, I’m coming to you.” I plopped down on the bed, chewing on my thumbnail. The hotel was a five minute drive from our apartment, twenty from his. “We’re not doing this again, okay? Somebody needs to know where you’re at, somebody. Even if it’s Amelia for Christ’s sake.”

“Okay, baby, I promise.” Jake exhaled sharply. “I’m in room 108, come in the front doors and go right, I’ll be just a few steps away.” Another exhale, “Unclench your jaw, pretty boy, or you’ll give yourself a headache.” He didn’t say anything but I knew he was listening to me. “Now relax your fingers, you can drive at a speed I don’t want to know about without white knuckling it.” The time the huff had a hint of a chuckle, “You can’t come yell at me then smother me in kisses if you wrap your truck around a palm tree.” 

“I’m not going to yell at you,” He didn’t sound convincing, like he was still mulling it over. We sat in silence while he drove, a few torturous minutes passed by. “I’m here,”

“I really don’t want to know how fast you were going.” Jake sighed, “I’m not going to lecture you, just don’t tell me. I’m going to unlock the door for you.” I crossed the room, flipping the latch so that the door was held open, then I stepped back towards the center of the room. Jake rushed into the room not long later, sweeping me into his arms.

“Hi, baby.” He kissed my temple, hands shaking as he held me. Jake’s whole body was tense around me, showing just how concerned he was. I rubbed his back,

“Let it out, Jake, don’t keep it in.” He pulled away, gripping my face tightly but not harshly. Jake looked wrecked, eyes rimmed red, brow pinched, his jaw tensing and relaxing like he was fighting himself. “I’m right here.” 

“At least last time I knew where you were,” Jake’s tone was harsh. “I knew that you were safe,” I gripped his sides, digging my fingers in. He kissed me fiercely but pulled away before I could respond. “I don’t want to be a controlling boyfriend who tells you what to do, Daisy, but you’ve got to stop doing this to me.” Guilt flooded through me, my grip on him loosening. Jake shook his head tersely, “Please don’t pull away from me.” 

“I’m not pulling away, Jake,” I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I’m right here, tell me what you need.” Jake buried his face in my neck, hugging me tight. “Tell me what you need,” I whispered. “I love you too, Jake Seresin, just tell me what you need.” He didn’t say anything right away, he just held me. With every breath I felt him relax just a little bit more into me until it felt like I was holding all of his weight. “I love you, Jake. Just tell me what you need, I’ll give it to you.” Jake stayed quiet and I found myself filling the gap. “Have you heard of Life360? It’s an app, Harvey and his wife have it, lets them track each other's locations. I just won’t look at the weekly driving report so I won’t see how fast you speed.” 

“You don’t have to,” He kissed the crook of my neck, pulling away just to rest his forehead against mine. “If it makes you uncomfortable.” 

“I don’t mind, Jake,” I kissed him softly, “Not if it gives you peace of mind. Okay?” I slipped my hands under his shirt, resting them on his warm back, pulling him even closer. “Are we okay?”

“I love you, Daisy.” Jake kissed my nose and pulled away, smiling softly at me. “Not exactly how I planned on telling you, it just kind of slipped out.” I giggled, pulling him to lay on the bed with me.

“Well, nothing about this relationship has exactly been normal since the whole ‘FBI showing up at my house’ thing. So, I think it’s fitting.” I sat back on the pillows and Jake laid his head in my lap, I carded my fingers through his hair. “Let’s talk about things, Jake. What do you need?” He looped an arm between my legs, snuggling me like a pillow. 

“Can we get that tracking app? I promise I won’t look at it unless I’m worried.” I rolled my eyes, knowing that if he checked the app every time he was worried about me, it would be constantly open on his phone. The…hypervillegance surrounding my whereabouts on Natasha’s orders had lessened but hadn’t faded away entirely. It was something I had learned about Jake, he cared with his whole heart about all of the people in his life, and with that came a certain level of anxiety. 

“Check it as much as you need to, pretty boy,” I kissed his hair. “What else?” 

“I want to take you home for Thanksgiving, introduce you to my mama,” My fingers paused in his hair, the thought swirling around in my mind. What would meeting Jake’s parents be like? Would they be warm and welcoming or stoic and standoffish? What about his sisters? Would they like her? “Stop thinking so hard, that hamster wheel in your head is starting to smoke.”

“Shut up,” I laughed, my fingers moving in his hair once again. “Yes, I’ll meet your mama, what else?” Jake gently bit my thigh and I tapped him on the head, “Jake, baby, is there anything else you need to feel better?” 

“I’m going to marry you one day,” 

“Okay.” Jake turned to look up at me and I’m sure I had multiple chins at that angle but he was looking at me with nothing but love in his eyes and I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

“Wait, so, asking you to meet my family takes a full minute for you to think about but getting married is an instant yes?” 

X

Daisy tilted her head back against the headboard, a small smile on her face. In the last few hours, my emotions had been wrecked. Going from bored, sitting on the couch listening to Rooster and Phoenix argue about something I wasn’t paying attention to, then worried beyond belief when the news alert popped up on our phones, and then instant relief when her name flashed on caller ID. 

“I’ve never met a boy’s parents before,” 

“One, I’m a man, baby.” Daisy scoffed at me, her hand resting on my chest. “Two, you’ve never met someone’s parents?”

“Jake, I hadn’t even cuddled someone before you,” I couldn’t help the smug smile that grew on my lips. Daisy liked cuddling but she needed the conditions to be just right, apparently I was a “human heater” and she needed a fan to be running, more than one if she wanted to keep her beloved pajama pants on.

“My mama’s going to love you, already does,” I reached up, wrapping my fingers around the duplicate dog tags of mine she wore around her neck to pull her down for a kiss. The angle wasn’t perfect but her lips on mine could never be wrong. “Told her all about your lasagna and the way you’ve been feeding the team. My sisters already love you too, they’re both true crime junkies, apparently they have all of your books.” 

“No way,” She snorted, dissolving into a fit of giggles. Her whole body shook as she laughed and it was a beautiful sight. “I’ll sign them when I come to visit. Did I ever tell you that Grace and Jason spent a week arguing over how my signature should look?” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously, I thought I had carpal tunnel by the time we figured it out. Well, I probably do but that’s neither here nor there.” I made a mental note to Google that later, see if there was anything to do to make it better. “What about your pops?” 

“God, he cannot wait to meet you,” I groaned, pulling her down for another kiss. “Pops won’t stop asking about his “new daughter” when I call him. I think my family’s going to propose to you on my behalf.” Daisy laughed but it wasn’t really a joke, my whole family had been calling, texting, even emailing me for information on Daisy and our relationship. Pops had even offered up his parents’ rings for us to use.

“There seem to be a lot of expectations for me to live up to, Jake.” She kissed me one, twice, three times before sitting back up, that same soft smile on her lips. “But I’m telling you now, if you propose to me before we’ve known each other for at least a year, I’m telling you no.” 

“Noted.” 

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592

Next Chapter

[gghostwriter]

Yours Truly, Romeo

Chapter 2 __ No Evidence, No Leads

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencer’s paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Olivia’s life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.

Previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

"Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall." - Act 2, Scene 3. Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare

The tranquility and vast land spaces in Maryland was the first thing Spencer noted. It was a sharp contrast to the populated DC metropolitan.

“Hi, I’m Jennifer Jareau from the BAU,” the blonde hair woman introduced herself to the slightly portly man welcoming them at the station. “This is SSA Aaron Hotchner, SSA David Rossi, and Dr Spencer Reid. We spoke over the phone regarding the killings?” 

He pushed open the police station door. “I’m Chief Charlie Donn, hope we’d be meeting in better circumstances but with the killer dumping the bodies in our backyard, we’d rather not take any chances.” 

“What can you tell us about how the bodies were found?” Hotch asked, going straight to the point. 

“The first body was found Sunday, three weeks ago, by a couple walking along the river,” he started as he led the team to the meeting room with tacked case images and files. “The second body was found, Tuesday, two weeks ago, by a woman walking her dog and the last body was found two days ago by a patrolling officer.” 

“Why weren’t we invited earlier on when the second body was discovered?”

The sheriff sighed and placed his hands on his waist, seemingly taking in a defiant position. “We’re currently stretched thin due to lack of man power and my detectives and I assumed that these bodies were just floating down the river. When they started popping up again and again, we took notice.” 

“I’ll talk to the media to try and keep this as quiet as possible,” JJ suggested. “We wouldn’t want to scare our unsub away due to FBI presence. Chief Donn, please come with me.” 

As JJ and the Chief left the room, the phone clipped on Spencer’s pocket rang.

“Garcia,” he greeted. “Have you found anything that connects the victims?” 

“Hey Boy Wonder, I wish I was the bearer of good news,” she sighed. “All the connection I could find with the three victims were that they all recently moved from different parts of the country to Washington, DC. No social connection or school connection found.” 

“Washington, DC?” Rossi repeated. “So Maryland has a connection with the unsub and not the victims.” 

“What about their jobs, Garcia, any connection?” Hotch asked.

“None at all. Our first victim accepted a job as a sous chef for a French fusion restaurant in DC and when he didn’t show up for the first day of work, the management didn’t report him missing, just thought of him as a no show. The second victim got a job offer for a medium sized IT company, management also thought he was just a no show. And the third victim got a job as an illustrator for a publishing company. He actually went to work for his first week but was noted a no show afterwards.” 

“Run any surveillance cameras around their workplace and neighborhood for a timeline when they were last spotted,” Hotch ordered in his no nonsense voice. “Keep us posted, Garcia.” 

“Got it! You my fine furry friends, are welcome,” Garcia rambled out before ending the call.

———

Olivia didn’t sleep a wink during the night when she received the mail. She had tried to do every calming routine she could—yoga, meditation, warm tea before bed—and honestly, every paranoid act she could—double, triple checked all her doors, shut her windows and drawn the curtains—but sleep had evaded her weary body. There she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, surveying the damage the sleepless night had done to her reflection. The bags under her eyes looked darker than usual, her hair was in a sorry state of disarray, and there was a slight manic look brimming underneath her appearance.

She sighed as she stepped towards the shower. The water was icy cold to the touch which is not ideal for her at the slightest but she needed all the external help she could get to stay alert and awake for the day. The images flashing behind her closed set of amber eyes making her heart thud louder in her chest. There was nothing outwardly gory with the pictures, no blood at all, but it all had her hackles rise and her instincts scream for an unknown storm that was about to swipe in. 

There was a loud knock on her bedroom door as she was lost in her thoughts, causing her to jump. 

“Hey Olivia,” Hollie said behind the locked and blocked entryway. “Are you up?” 

She rushed to get dressed in her casual clothes and removed the chair she jammed under the doorknob last night due to her paranoia. “Hi Hollie, thank you again for staying with me last night—” 

Hollie shrugged and squeezed her shoulders to ease tension. “No worries at all. What do you say we go and report it to the police?”

“—It might have been nothing. Maybe it was just my active imagination, you know as a writer and all, and besides we both know how the authorities get with things like this.” She shook her head and rambled on as they both rushed down the stairs to her kitchen. 

Hollie said nothing to counter her argument, clearly remembering the same instance Olivia was alluding to. During their time in the university, they had experienced a break in their three shared dorm room. None of their possessions were touched but a pair of their third roommate’s intimates were stolen and in return, the thief left a a red rose on her bed. Frightened, the three of them reported it to the college campus authorities who did little to no help at all. The locks were changed, yes, but no additional investigation was done to figure out the culprit. At one point, the security had even believed that it was all just an elaborate prank by the girls. Hinting that maybe the other had stolen the pair of underwear as some form of sick joke.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz

It was the ring of the doorbell. Both women approached the front door with wary. Hollie glanced through the peephole, making sure that there was no one there before slowly opening the door slightly.

Olivia inhaled sharply, noting another unmarked parcel on her doorstep. Hastily grabbing it and bolting the door shut, they both all but ran into the safe confines of her office before promptly dropping the letter at her table like it was radioactive. 

“Maybe—maybe we shouldn’t open it and just bring it straight to the police,” Hollie suggested.

Olivia shook her head, steeling herself for the worst. “We have to know what’s inside before alerting anyone.” 

Her hands shaking, she slowly opened the white envelope and deeply regretted her decision. She wished she could scrub her mind clean to rid itself of subjects that the Polaroid films captured. The images were now beyond the spectrum of creepy and entering the genre of pure horror. Each contained close ups—an upper body shot from the elbow to the neck with black stitching on the armpit to connect the obviously mismatched skin and half a face with a high bridge nose sewn in place and an empty cut space for the eyes and lips. 

Olivia all but ran to the adjoining powder room to vomit the half toast she had eaten earlier and in the background, she could hear Hollie frantically looking for her cellphone.

“Hello 911,” Hollie sobbed out. “Please, please we need help.” 

———

Spencer had been up the whole night trying to piece together a profile with little to no success. His coffee-addled brain was telling him that there was a similarity with this case and the horrendous murders of Ed Gein but with no proof as to what, he hadn’t been able to share his inkling to the team up until Garcia’s early morning phone call. 

“Good morning to you all my loves,” she greeted, her bubbly personality leaking out from Morgan’s speaker. “I may have something that could be connected to our case.”

“Hope it’s something good, baby girl, ‘cause boy genius here is at his wits end,” Morgan teased.

“Well we wouldn’t want that, won’t we my chocolate thunder?” She quipped back. “A 911 call was made from Washington DC a few hours ago about a series of letters and pictures sent to a woman named Olivia Hill and oh boy, did she not have a great morning—”

“Wait, Washington DC? Where all the victims came from?” Rossi asked, cutting her off.

“Right, you are and well, those images contain possibly the missing skin from our victims,” she rambled on. “All sewn up together like some Frankenstein.” 

Silence. 

“I’m sorry, did you say sewn together?” JJ clarified. “That seems new for an unsub.”

“Right you are my love, this takes the cake for horrific creativity from our usual killers, if you ask me. Anyways, I’ve sent the letters and images to your emails, keep safe my babies!” The phone line goes dead.

Spencer rapidly reviewed the contents sent and he felt the puzzles finally now clicking into place. Why his brain couldn’t let go of the nagging thought that this had resemblance to the Butcher of Plainfield.

“That’s why I couldn’t stop thinking about Gein—why the there was no connection with the victims no matter how much we dug and thought about it,” he started to babble rapidly, gaining the attention of the rest of the team. “They weren’t the real victims, more like chess pieces to this twisted fantasy that the unsub has to the true victim which is her, Olivia Hill.” 

“Slow down, kid. What’s this about Gein?” Morgan asked, clearly trying to catch his train of thought.

“Do you mean about him wearing the skins of his victims?” Prentiss catching on. 

Spencer nodded. “He’s making a face and body suit, quite literally, to wear from the missing parts and if I’m right, once the suit is complete, he’ll have to go after her next.” 

“Rossi, JJ, Prentiss, stay here and keep us updated should another body appear,” Hotch delegated. “Morgan, Reid, and I will fly to DC for coordinating. Wheels up in thirty.”

“You got it,”  Prentiss replied. 

a/n: please do not repost anywhere else. I only post here on Tumblr and on ao3. I'm using this whole week to write all the future chapters I can so expect one more update this week for Yours Truly, Romeo. Would also like to hear any comments or feedback from you my pookies xx

[onepiecestarry]

A Different Kind of Pirate - Part 9

Zoro x Reader

Masterlist

Part 9: It Continues

The following weeks in Wano were peaceful for you and Zoro. Most mornings he wakes up before you to work out and attempts to make you breakfast. You found it endearing that he was trying to treat you. You’d then get ready for the day, prepping to leave for your flower stall. While you’d work at the stall, he’d walk the city spreading flyers and circling back to you to visit and check on you every once in a while. You’d return home to cook dinner and enjoy some time with your “husband”, sometimes with your neighbors.

This peaceful and calm routine made you realize how chaotic being a pirate really was, not that you didn’t love it- but it made you think that once you all accomplished your goals, you might want to settle down.

On one particular day, you and Zoro decided to go out on a night walk to enjoy the weather, as in you dragged him out with the promise of a drink when you both returned. As you walked the streets enjoying the breeze, your hand firmly latched onto Zoro’s bicep. Something he makes sure you do every time you walk together. As you both stroll, Zoro suddenly stops jerking you back. You look back at him in confusion.

“What's wrong Zo?” You question curiously, observing the scowl on his face.

“I smell blood.” He whispers in a low tone. “Stay behind me.” He grabs you, placing you behind him with a firm grasp on your wrist.

You do as he says, then see a man with a sword running past the two of you. Zoro getting in an offensive stance, but not letting go of you for a second.

“Where are you going, buddy? I smell blood on you.” He says smirking at the man. The killer seeing Zoro getting ready to fight, turns and continues to run.

After the man disappeared you let out the breath you were unknowingly holding. You both turn your heads towards a crowd quickly approaching. A group of policemen surround the two of you, panicking you grab onto Zoro who begins to explain.

“The man you're after ran that way.” He points down the street.

“You are the man we are looking for! You murderer!” They yell at him.

“He is no killer! A man with a sword just ran down the street and Zorojuro protected me from him!” You scream at the group of them.

“Quiet woman! Do not protect this man!” They say as they grab him, attempting to remove you from him.

“No! It wasn’t him!” You begin to cry, “Get your hands off my husband, you have the wrong man!”

Zoro looks at you to back up as he begins to draw his swords. You realize he must fight or else they will take him away, you look at him with a worried look. “Remember not to cause trouble” you whisper. Zoro hears you and puts his swords away.

“I’ll get you out, I don’t know how but I will.” You whisper to him.

“Don’t worry princess, I’ll return to you.” He flashes you a grin before the policemen cuff him and start dragging him away.

You fall onto the ground, tears falling from your cheeks as you realize how bad the situation is. After a few minutes of silent crying, you get up brushing yourself off. You start the trek to find your other companions at your meeting place.

The misty fog covers the mountain as you walk to the abandoned house, entering to find your companions. At the noise of you entering, they all quickly look at you, seeing your red and puffy face from crying as well as your disheveled kimono. A few of them rush to you to see if you are hurt while the others ask what happened.

You begin to break down on the floor, explaining how they took him between sobs, how you saw the actual killer, and how you told Zoro not to make trouble. You exasberatedly finish your explanation by asking what to do. You look at kin’emon while he thinks.

“We can’t interfere and risk them discovering the plan.” He says calmly.

“I agree, we need to keep our cover. And getting Zoro back will blow it. We will just have to hope they realize he’s not the killer.” Law agrees.

You begin crying harder, yelling at them “They will kill him! They aren’t listening to reason! We can’t just leave him there.”

“He will be fine y/n, he is a strong swordsman and will escape if he feels they will kill him. Just have trust in your crewmate.” Kin’emon says as he places a hand on your shoulder. “Return to your home, and continue your mission. You mustn’t stray from the plan.”

You sob into your hands thinking about what could happen to Zoro. You get up and run out of the ruins, away from your companions. You run, returning to your and Zoro’s home. Devastated to not see him there. You quietly get ready for bed, showering and retreating to your side of the bed. Unable to sleep, you think about Zoro for the entire night, worrying about him.

Unknown to you, Zoro had fought the government officials early in the morning, escaping and killing the real street slasher. Unfortunately, no one believed him, making him a wanted man in all of Wano.

The few hours of sleep you managed to get were interrupted by a loud crash of the door opening. You startle awake to see Zoro in the room shirtless and clearly running from where he last fought. As soon as you see him you jump out of the bed and run to him, wrapping your arms around him as he grabs your waist and nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

“It's good to see you, princess, I told you I’d be back. But we have to go now. I didn’t want to leave you in the city alone, so come with me and we can find a new town to go to and continue our mission.” He says pulling away from you. You nod and begin to throw as much as you can into a bag, frantically trying not to forget anything.

As soon as Zoro sees you have most of what you’d both need he picks you up, throws you over his shoulder, and begins to run out of the house, making his way out of the city as quietly as he can. You hit his back telling him you can run on your own, but despite this, he doesn’t waiver only continuing to run.

Eventually, when you make it out of the city he places you down. You scowl at him quietly while fixing your kimono, him laughing at your death glare. He picks up your bag slowly walking in the direction away from the city, you quietly follow him.

After a while of walking, you find yourselves in a desert-like area, when out of nowhere you both hear a woman scream. Zoro grabs you once again running towards where you both heard the scream. Once there, he puts you down behind him to assess what's going on. He draws his swords ready to fight when suddenly you see a large lion dog thing running at the group of you.

“Uhh.. Zoro.” You say

“Not now love. Gotta take care of these guys.” He says smirking at the men he's about to fight.

“No Zoro, look.” You tug on his sleeve pointing to the lion dog running at you.

“Oh shit.” He says, seeing what you meant now.

“Wait a minute. Is that?” You being to question.

“Hahahah, it's Luffy!” Zoro exclaims happily.

He quickly grabs you and the woman, getting ready to jump onto the running lion dog. As soon as it gets close enough he yells at Luffy gaining his attention. You watch as Luffy’s face brightens and waves at you. Zoro jumps onto the moving lion dog, placing you and the woman down after. As Zoro and Luffy reunite you look back to realize the group of men bothering the woman are chasing after you.

“Luffy, Zoro, those guys are still after us.” You yell at them. They turn to look, gaining serious looks on their faces. You look over to see a small child in Luffy’s lap, clearly sick.

You run over to her, taking off your outer layer of clothing to make a pillow for her, attempting to make her more comfortable.

“Luffy, who is this? What happened?” You question quickly.

“That’s Tama, she’s sick and I’m trying to get her to a doctor.” He says not looking back at you. “Take care of her while Zoro and I deal with these guys.” As he finishes saying that to you, Zoro and Luffy jump off the lion dog, getting ready to fight the men approaching.

The woman comes over to help you care for the child, as you check her temperature. You both look at each other in worry for her health.

“Oh O’Tama, please get better soon.” The woman quietly says to the child.

“Do you know her?” You ask in surprise.

“I do, she is a friend of mine.” She smiles at you. “ I know where we need to go once we can get away from these men.”

You turn, watching as Zoro and Luffy fight. You giggle realizing Luffy is fighting with a sword, but still punching rather than cutting. You laugh more when you realize how upset Zoro is about it. You watch as they take down the entire group with only one blonde man on a horse left.

Then a large straw being starts forming out of the man, hovering in the sky above him. You look in horror at the creature, praying that Zoro and Luffy take it down quickly. You yell at them “Zoro, Luffy! We must hurry, O’Tama isn’t doing well!” They look back at you, agreeing to get on the lion dog and outrun the beast.

Once they were on the lion dog, it began to run away from the man and creature in the sky. But suddenly the giant doll chased after you all, swiping its hand at you. But before it could hit any of you, Zoro stopped it with his swords, pushing it off. The lion dog, after recovering from the pressure of the attack, continued to run.

After fighting and running for a few minutes, Zoro cut its arm off. Finally, you all began to get too far from the man on the horse to continue to attack you. The lion dog continued to run as fast as it could, the woman now giving it directions to her village.

You turn to face Luffy, “When did you get here?” You laugh.

“Not too long ago! Met Tama and now I’m here!” He says excitedly giggling after.

“Man is it good to see you,” Zoro says to Luffy.

The lion dog begins to halt to a stop as you approach a house. The woman turned to say to all of you “We are here, quickly get Tama inside and I will treat her with some tea.”

You pick up the girl, get off the giant lion dog, and run inside. Before entering you noticed a large man bothering a tea waitress, “Zoro go deal with that man” You look at him. He huffs in response looking at the man.

You help the woman feed O’Tama the tea, seeing her sickness ease already. You decide to go outside to make sure that Zoro handled that man. As you exit you see him talking to the waitress with Luffy, the woman you saved behind you.

You all gather together as the woman introduces herself as Tsujuro and explains O’Tama’s condition and that she will be okay. You all sigh in relief knowing she is going to be okay.

“And may I know the names of the people that saved me?” Tsujuro asked. Zoro quickly covers Luffys mouth before he can say anything.

“I’m Zorojuro, this is my wife O’y/n, and this is Luffytaro.” Zoro quickly says.

“Wife? When did you guys get married?” Luffy questions in confusion. You facepalm at his lack of understanding of your cover.

“We’ve always been married.” Zoro seethes at Luffy while kicking him quietly. It finally clicked for Luffy after his assault.

“OH, oh yeah yeah sorry I forgot, definitely always been married.” He says in realization.

You shake your head at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“It's okay, I know you all are foreigners. I won’t tell.” Tsujuro and Kiku laugh.

As you all sit and talk you seem to zone out, staring off into the town, when you see a familiar face. You squint to try to see them better to figure out who it is you know, when you realize. Your face goes pale and you become frozen in fear. Zoro immediately notices, looking to see what you’re looking at. He shakes you. “Hey, what happened? What’s going on?” He questions panicked at your demeanor.

“Zoro” You whisper, “That's him, that's the man that kidnapped us in Dressrosa.” You say quietly so as not to alarm anyone around.

At this, Zoro grabs you and takes you inside, as unsuspiciously as possible. Confused everyone follows you both inside wondering about your sudden exit. Once they enter, Zoro slams the door shut, startling everyone in the room.

“What happened Zorojuro?” Tsujuro asks before looking over to you, seeing you pale and in shock, she lets out a gasp and runs to comfort you. “O’y/n are you okay?”

“What happened,” Luffy asks seriously.

Zoro approaches Luffy to whisper in his ear, “The kidnapper was in the town.”

Luffy’s face grims thinking about it. He begins to turn around rolling up his sleeves, clear he wants to fight.

“No Luffy, we can’t bring attention to her. They don’t know she's in Wano. If we go fight then it’ll bring attention to her and us. They might leave if they realize she’s not here.” Zoro talks some sense into Luffy, calming him down while also trying to convince himself not to fight.

“What’s going on?” Kiku asks, clear she won’t take any bullshit.

You point to her crescent tattoo and say to Zoro and Luffy, “We should go, Kiku would you care to join us for a walk? Tsujuro do you mind if we leave O’tama in your care for a bit?”

“No problem, I was planning on making her stay for a while anyways,” Tsujuro responds.

You get up pulling Kiku, and the two boys outside.

“You are a friend of Kin’emon’s correct?” You question.

“Yes, I am.” She responds.

“Alright, we should meet with them and share what we’ve learned.” You say, beginning to walk in the direction of the ruins.

You all walk in silence until Luffy and Kiku begin to talk, while they are distracted Zoro leans over to you and asks, “You alright?”

“I don’t know, I thought I would be safe from them here. But I guess not.” You say quietly and sadly.

Zoro wraps an arm around you, “ I won’t let them near you, you have nothing to worry about.” You smile up at him, quietly thanking him for his protectiveness.

You all continue your walk, Zoro refusing to leave your side, keeping his arm firmly planted around you. 

[inkievoid]

Guess who’s sick again! For like the third time this month…</3 I think my immune system hates me.

Sick Chris taking care of you…Because I need it! 😣

He’d take a day or two off of work—as soon as you start having that little cough and the sniffles, he’s on the way to the store to get some day/nyquil and ingredients for your favorite chicken noodle soup.

As soon as he comes home, he puts everything away and checks up on you. Using a thermometer to check your temperature, running his hand through your hair to give you atleast some sort of comfort and relaxation. He’d practically become a house husband for a day, packing the kids lunches and sending them off to school, cooking, cleaning, everything you do daily.

You’d definitely get some sick snuggles. You’d snuggle up against him, head on his chest as he just rubs your back while you take a nap. He didn’t care if he got sick, that man’s immune to anything. He never got sick, no matter how many times your kids were coughing and sneezing.

And of course…He’d cook you some killer chicken noodle soup. Spoon feeding it to you like a baby, all while you protested that you could do it yourself. But he wouldn’t give in, you needed rest.

- Anon! 🎀

(Save me pleaseeee what virus is going around this time…</3)

I hope you feel better soon pookie! 😘 Sorry for the delayed response it's been a hell of a morning.

Catch Chris walking around the house spraying Lysol, even on the kids when they leave and come into the house.

I could picture Chris going as far as to breaking out the vapor rub on put it on your chest. Complaining how it sticks. But he'd just rebuttal with:

"But you can smell it, so you're opening up. That means it's working."

So you'd just pout and let him do it. But spoon feeding you just was the last thing you wanted. Sure, you act like a baby around your husband but being feed like one was just... No.

You let him do it a few times before taking it and just feeding yourself. Glaring at him as you slurp loudly and he just smirks at you.

He'd have you on a routine of herbal teas and medicine for the day for sure. Chicken soup only has so many helpful nutrients so he gives you this herbal tea that actually tastes really good but knocks you out for a good hour or two until you have to take your next set of medicine.

Chris would also be on guard duty most of the day, anytime one of the kids went near the door he'd redirect their attention or physically move them so they won't disturb your rest. At one point he keeps getting Lulu away from the door so many times she becomes "daddy's helper" which meant he just kept finding little things for her to do.

Visit mommy? Clean up all your toys from the living room floor first.

Show mommy a drawing she made for you? Why don't you go check on your brothers and make sure their room is clean?

Wanna play doctor with mommy and make her feel better? How about we just stand in the doorway and talk from a distance?

That house would become a three ring circus for the day but he'd keep everything under control.

[arkhatype]

TRIGGER WARNINGS : attempted SA , violence, child neglect , suicide, murder (this is extremely heavy so please approach with caution)

A/N : moved this over from my Suguru RP blog. It is heavy, as I’ve said before, so please proceed with caution

Geto Suguru was thirteen years old when he held his first gun.

He can remember how cold it was to the touch, releasing the scent of gunpowder from its barrel and a burning heat that never cooled threatening to burn away at his skin. Its metal body glinted in the moonlight in an eerie, yet beautiful way, but the thought that would forever remain, etched into his memories was the heaviness of the loaded gun in his boyish hands as he cocked back the trigger with his pointer finger and shot his foster father between the eyes , splattering brain matter against the wall of his sister’s bedroom.

~~~~

From the moment Suguru and his sister stepped foot into the gray painted, two story home a permanent knot had made residence in his stomach.

Looking back, he should’ve noticed the warning signs earlier, but the warmth that radiated from his foster mother had dulled his senses, senses that had been built up through years of neglect faced at the hands of his biological father.

~~~~

Their foster father, Haizaki Chubo, completely differed from their foster mother, Haizaki Mai. Where Mai was sweet and demure, Chubo was harsh and crude.

He was simply put a vile, twisted man.

A drugged up, alcoholic who hid his tendencies well when Child Protective Services did their routine wellness checks, but it wasn’t just physical and mental abuse the children under his “care” experienced. He also had an affinity for young girls.

Suguru’s stomach twist at the fucking thought.

Chubo didn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. It started off slow, lingering touches on the shoulders of the girls in the house that turned into inappropriate joking and commentary. He would “accidentally” run into the girls, wandering hands, groping blossoming chest and hips under the guise of “catching them before they could fall”, but it all came to a head one day as Suguru saw the glow of the small desk lamp his sister had turned on during the night when she should’ve been sleeping.

His stomach dropped as he heard the voice of Chubo pierce through the silence of the house

“It’s alright baby, I promise I’ll take such good care of you. I just want to feel”

Suguru felt his skin crawl, his body moving forward before he even realized it, hand wrapped against the butt of the gun he pickpocketed of the weed dealer his older foster brother had become so fond of.

He broke through the door, only to see a sight that made him heave.

There was his sister, his 16 year old sister with Chubo’s body pressed against hers. There were tears in her eyes. A silent cry for help flashing in them as she made contact with his own

He was quick, tossing his body into Chubo’s with enough force to knock the older man off

“YOU FUCKING BRAT WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOUR’. . .”

BANG

He had pulled the trigger and he kept pulling it, even after the clip was emptied.

He hadn’t remembered much after that, just the scream of his foster mother as she found her dead husband on the ground and Suguru covered in his blood.

He was sent to a correctional facility for the next three years and when he was finally released he was told that his sister had been found dead three months earlier — an overdose on fentanyl laced drugs her killer.

He had screamed out loud, collapsing to his knees as he cursed the gods for their cruelty, but he made it his mission to find the man who had sold the drugs to her in the first place.

In hadn’t taken his long to pinpoint the location of the dealer — his hideout a dilapidated warehouse that once housed freight. He broke his neck with his own two hands never even confirming that the identities match, but he couldn’t care, not when this man had, had a hand in the death of his sister.

The feat had landed him in the office of your father being offered a job and a title, but it had all meant nothing.

He was alone in this world, until he met you, the sister the gods gave him to fill the void left by the death his own.

And he would protect this one, even if it tore apart his body. Even if it drew him to insanity.

He would protect her.

Because he didn’t have it left in him to lose another person he loved.

[randomperson99sworld]

Hope

~Prologue~

Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester save a young woman —Natalie Johnson, from a coven of witches who are after her deceased grandmother’s spell book. At first Dean doesn’t trust her, he’s not too fond of the idea of having to babysit either. Natalie is just simply a woman who gets roped up in the supernatural world against her will from a mistake her grandmother made.

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warnings: Age gap, slow burn, smut (in the later chapters) language, gore.

Word Count: 1,171

A/N: Hey guys, I’m back with a new story! Please keep in mind that the themes and dialogue may not be accurate to the show, like the policewoman’s name. I don’t remember it and tbh I try not to remember this episode that much lol but Dean doesn’t die in my story so nothing will be accurate really lol. This story is based in season 15 after the show ends! Happy Reading! ♥️

Dean Winchester was supposed to die.

Hell, he was ready for it at this point. He'd always figured it would happen with blood on his hands and his brother by his side. What he hadn't expected was for fate to delay its hand—yet again.

The air was sharp with the smell of blood and decay as Dean and Sam arrived at the crime scene, posing as FBI agents. It was their usual cover, a routine they could pull off in their sleep. But there was something about this case that felt off—something dark and familiar.

The policewoman on the scene, Officer Mitchell, stood grimly by as she filled them in on the gruesome details. "The man's body was drained of blood, the mother had her tongue cut out, and the children... well, they're missing. No sign of them."

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam. "What about witnesses?"

"One," Officer Mitchell replied, her voice tight. "The mother survived long enough to sketch this." She handed Sam a drawing, a crude yet chilling image of a masked face. Sam's brows furrowed as he examined it.

Dean leaned in for a closer look, a pit forming in his stomach. The mask was unmistakable—he'd seen it before.

"We've dealt with this," Sam muttered, his voice low enough only Dean could hear.

They quickly checked their father's journal back at the Impala. Flipping through the pages, Dean found what he was looking for: A string of killings following the same MO. John Winchester had hunted something like this before. His gut twisted as he read on.

Dean sighed, tapping the page. "Vamps. It's gotta be them. Dad even noted the missing kids. Same pattern."

Sam, more meticulous, studied the notes carefully. "If it's the same nest, we can predict where they'll strike next. They're following a trail of isolated houses on the outskirts."

Dean's jaw tightened, his mind already in hunting mode. "Then we've got work to do."

Under the cover of darkness, Dean and Sam pulled up to an old house on the edge of town. The moonlight barely illuminated the place, but the brothers could sense something sinister lurking within.

"Let's make this quick," Dean grunted, pulling his machete from the trunk. "I'm not in the mood for a long fight tonight."

Sam gave a half-smile, loading his shotgun with silver rounds. "When are you ever?"

They moved quietly, splitting up to flank the house. Dean came up behind one of the masked killers and, in one swift motion, decapitated him. The body crumpled soundlessly to the ground. Across the yard, Sam incapacitated the other, pinning the vampire to the ground.

Dean approached, eyes cold as steel, gripping his blade. "Where are the kids?"

The vampire, blood smeared on its lips, only sneered in response. Dean squatted down, pressing the tip of his machete to the creature's throat. "Let me be clear. You don't tell us, and this is gonna be a slow, painful death."

The vampire's bravado faltered, eyes flickering with fear. "Alright... alright. They're growing them as food," it spat. "At the nest. North side of the woods. But you're too late. The rest of them are waiting."

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam. "Then we'll take the fight to them."

The brothers arrived at the rundown farmhouse deep in the woods, arming themselves with machetes and stakes, ready for the confrontation ahead. Through the shattered windows, Dean could see shadows moving inside—masked vampires watching their every move.

"Let's go get those kids," Sam whispered, tightening his grip on his weapon.

They stormed in, finding the missing children huddled in a filthy corner of the basement. Dean's heart clenched as he saw their scared, wide eyes. He knelt down, his voice surprisingly gentle. "We're getting you out of here, okay?"

But their escape wasn't going to be easy. As they led the kids out, vampires blocked the exits, their fangs gleaming in the dim light. Dean and Sam moved in unison, cutting down two vampires each. Sam evacuated the kids while Dean held off the remaining vampires, slashing and hacking with a brutal efficiency.

Then, just as they thought they had the upper hand, one vampire knocked Sam to the ground, and another tackled Dean, pinning him down. A familiar face stepped out of the shadows, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

"Jenny," Dean spat, recognizing the female vampire from an old hunt. She'd escaped once before.

Jenny knelt beside him, her fingers tracing the wound on his arm with a sickening intimacy. "It's been a long time, Dean."

Before she could sink her teeth into him, Sam came up from behind, decapitating her with a sharp swing of his machete. Dean scrambled to his feet, but the last vampire blindsided him, shoving him into a metal spike. Pain exploded through his body as the spike impaled him from the back.

Sam finished off the vampire but froze when he saw Dean, blood pouring from the wound. "Dean!"

Dean grimaced, breathing heavily, the pain unbearable. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," he wheezed. "Not this time."

Sam's hands shook as he tried to inspect the wound. "Hold on, man. I'll get the first aid kit."

But Dean grabbed his arm, pulling him close. "No. Just... just stay with me, okay? It was always supposed to end like this."

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes, but he nodded, helpless as he cradled his brother.

"Get the kids somewhere safe, Sam," Dean muttered, his voice growing weaker. "Do it... without me."

"We'll do it together," Sam choked out. "We always do it together."

Dean's breath hitched, his body growing cold. "Not this time."

Just as Dean's eyes began to flutter closed, a warm light filled the room. Jack appeared, his expression calm but sorrowful.

"Jack..." Sam gasped, confused. "What—why?"

Jack knelt beside Dean, placing a hand over the wound. A bright, golden light flared, and Dean's breathing evened out, the wound sealing up as if it had never been there. Dean blinked, staring in disbelief as the pain vanished.

"You said you weren't interfering anymore," Sam said, stunned. "Why save him?"

Jack stood, his gaze soft but firm. "Because Cas asked me to. He's alive. I brought him back. He begged me... not to let Dean die. Not like this."

Dean swallowed hard, his mind reeling. "Cas is... alive?"

Jack nodded. "Yes."

Dean shook his head, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Damn... I'm glad that feathered son of a bitch is back."

Sam was still dazed but grateful, tears brimming as he looked at his brother, whole and alive. "Thank you, Jack."

Jack gave a small, sad smile. "You're not done yet. There's more ahead. But for now... you're together."

And with that, Jack vanished, leaving the brothers alone in the quiet aftermath of the battle—alive, for another day.

Dean turned to Sam, a wry grin forming. "Guess the dying thing's gonna have to wait."

Sam chuckled through his tears, relief washing over him. "Yeah. Guess so."