#switch!shawn

[trashyswitch]

Shitfaced and Stupid

Jackie goes to the club with Chase, Marvin and Shawn. A bunch of shenanigans happen, and Jackie ends up making a big mistake while drunk off his ass!

So...Funny story about this fanfic: I had written this entire fanfic while I was tipsy or drunk. Only thing is, I didn't write it all at once. I had written the first 2 pages while drunk the first time I had gotten drunk at the club. Then, I wrote 3 more pages while extra drunk on my second clubbing experience. And then the last page, I wrote the third time I had gotten drunk after going to the club. Yes, I was doing a lot of clubbing. But this fanfic had been in the works for exactly 2 weeks. So with that in mind, I hope you enjoy!

I was downing a Moscow Mule, not even caring about how much I was drinking all at once. It was Chase’s birthday, and I never EVER let myself have fun. I am always the sober one who gets a cab, or IS the cab to get my friends home. But you know what? I’m giving up my seat tonight. Tonight is my time to treat myself. And what better way to treat myself, then to let myself get drunk at the club?! 

Yes, I know it’s not MY birthday…But Chase legitimately told me “We’re gonna get SHITFACED TONIGHT!”. And why the fuck wouldn’t I take that chance?! 

We had walked into the club at about 11:30pm, and showed the doorman our ID’s. Being undercover, I didn’t feel a need to pull out my ‘Jackieboy Man’ persona. I’m just Jack tonight. Average Jack. 

I finished my Moscow Mule, and put the empty bottle onto the table. I had promised to be the ‘breadwinner’ tonight. I didn’t save up all this cash for nothing…I might as well use some of it tonight. I had originally paid for Chase, Shawn and Marvin to get into the club with me. We had all gotten a black star on the back of our hands, to signify the fact that ‘we paid already, and we can come back whenever we need to. 

Chase and Shawn had gotten themselves whiskey sours, and were enjoying their drinks. I could feel the buzz hitting already. It probably helped that I had pretty much downed the whole thing without even taking a break to breathe. Though I am well aware of how dangerous this can be, I am an impatient fuck who wants the buzz as soon as possible. 

And I most certainly got it! The buzz took hold rather quickly. I could feel my body moving a little more smoothly and freely. I felt like I could move myself around without a care in the world. No worries about who’s watching me or judging me…just dancing and genuinely enjoying myself. It helped that Chase, Marvin and Shawn were all cheering me on as I swayed my hips, shuffled my feet, and let my arms flow to the beat of the song. The DJ was mostly playing hip hop music, which helped motivate me to dance further. 

Things were going really well…And they only got better once a young lady started dancing her way up to me. 

I started dancing alongside her, watching her move her hips and spin her brown hair. She wasn’t dressed up very sexually considering where she was. She was actually dressed in overalls, of all things, which made her stand out in the group…In a good way, of course. She was really pretty in her own way…

I watched her every move, sensing her lack of experience. Truth was, I was a little inexperienced myself. I don’t really go clubbing very often. I never really have the time. This is a super rare moment for me…and it appears to be the same way for her. 

I offered my right hand to her, and she surprisingly took it! I kept dancing, making sure to take things slowly and comfortably. She seemed to visibly appreciate the patience I was showing her. 

I lifted her arm up, prepared to spin her. She happily took it, spinning around and throwing her long hair around as she spun. Just her flowing hair was enough to enchant me. It made me feel things I hadn’t felt in ages…For once in my life…All I felt was butterflies in my stomach…

…Or maybe it was the cocktail making me feel things…

She brought herself closer and tried to tell me something. It was hard to understand her due to how loud the club music was…so I leaned in and tried to ask her what she was trying to say. “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” She asked me. 

I smiled and leaned into her ear. “JACK.” I yelled back. I had noticed the blue ear plugs she was wearing, but sensed that she could still hear me somehow. 

“NATALIE!” She yelled back with a wide smile. 

I smiled brightly and kept dancing with her. She seemed to be watching my movements, and following them a little bit. I looked over at my friends, who were recording me on their phones. I rolled my eyes, expecting nothing less but bigotry from them. They were a lot more drunk than me, so…go figure. They clearly can’t get over how quickly I managed to find a girl to dance with…

I slid myself a little closer, and took her hand once again. We danced and moved to the music, just enjoying the beat together. When the chorus hit, I lifted her hand up again to spin her. She took the invitation and spun around, her straightened hair flying around again. I let her spin around again, watching as she took the invitation and spun around with her eyes closed this time. She looked quite comfortable dancing with me. And I’m glad I can bring her that momentary sense of security. 

I let go of her hand, and went back to dancing on my own. I watched as she danced her way back to her own friends, and I turned to look at my own friends. Chase was too busy taking selfies with Marvin, while Shawn was walking up to me. “WHY DID YOU LET HER GO?!” Shawn asked me. 

“SHE NEEDS A REST!” I replied, just guessing. 

“ARE HER OTHER FRIENDS SINGLE?” Shawn asked. 

“I DON’T FUCKIN’ KNOW!” I replied. 

“ASK!” Shawn ordered me. 

“YOU ASK!” I yelled back to him with a laugh. “NO!” Shawn laughed. Someone walked up and squeezed Shawn’s sides, making him squeak. “HE’S TOO MUCH OF A PUUUUSSY.” Marvin teased. 

Shawn grabbed Marvin and pushed him into the reserved seating sofa. “WHO DA FUCK YOU CALLING PUSSY?!” He shouted as he jumped onto the sofa and squeezed Marvin’s sides multiple times.

“BAHAHAHA! YOHOU- YOHOHOU BASTARD!” Marvin shouted. 

“OH, KEEP DIGGING YOUR OWN GRAVE.” Shawn replied, scratching at his sides now. 

I rolled my eyes. It’s not the first time Shawn and Marvin have tickled each other while they’re drunk…It happens more often than they’d both like to admit. Though I’d normally find it rather amusing, we’re currently in a public place…Why here of all places?! 

I ordered myself another drink to keep the tipsy feeling going. It felt great, and I didn’t want it to stop. I received the drink: A cinnamarita. It’s a cocktail made of tequila, orange, cinnamon, and…idk…it sounded good when I found it on the menu. I picked up the drink and tried it. 

And OH MY GOSH- It was SO GOOD! It’s super addicting! I can’t stop drinking it! I want it all in my mouth! Don’t stop!

“Whoa there, Jack.” A hand pulled away the straw. “Slow down, will ya?” The person told me. 

I looked up with an annoyed frown, recognizing exactly who it was. This dude…seriously. “Why do you gotta tell me what to do?” I asked Chase. 

“Because you've already downed half the thing! Keep acting like that, and you’ll be banned from getting more drinks.” Chase told me. 

I sighed and stared him down. “I am a grown man just like you. I can handle it.” I tried to tell him. 

Chase sighed and put down his pineapple daiquiri. “Don’t make me do it.” Chase warned. 

I narrowed my eyes. “Do what?” 

Before I knew it, Chase was wiggling his fingers at me. I scoffed. “Oh please…” I said as I put my drink down. “I’m not ticklish. You know this.” 

Chase rolled his eyes. “I haven’t even had a chance to figure it out.” Chase mentioned. “How do I know you’re not ticklish, if you won’t even let me try?” He asked. 

“Simple: You take my word for it.” I shot back. 

“But that’s the thing:” He says. I narrow my eyes at him, preparing for the worst. I wanna know what ‘thing’ he’s talking about. “Take my hand.” He told me, holding out his hand. 

I look down at his hand. “Okay.” I grab his hand, not expecting him to do much. The worst he can do is kiss the back of my hand. 

“Thanks!” 

aAH! Wait, NO! “aAAAH! DOHON’T TICKLE MEHEHE!” I was wrong! I was so wrong! Tickling is worse than hand-kissing! “IHIHIT TICKLES!” 

“Well, no shit it tickles! I was hoping it would tickle!” Chase said. 

“CHAHAHASE DOHON’T! THIHIS IS MEHEHEAN!” I can’t help my jumpy movements! “IHIF I FALL, IHIHIT’S YOHOUR FAHAHAULT!” I shout at him. 

“I’ll gladly take the responsibility for your injuries.” I saw Chase throw his head back with a laugh. “Cause I’ll be laughing at you the whole time!” 

I feel motion sick. The world is spinning too fast. How do I slow down the spinning world? It’s impossible! I hold my head. It’s hard to focus when I’m like this…

I open my eyes to look at the ground. But the lights are confusing me. Why do I feel like I’m gonna fall? And why is the ground getting closer? 

Wait OH NO- FLY! 

….

….

….

Why is it quiet? 

Why is the music off? 

Where are the bright lights? 

Helloooo??

I feel someone grab me. “Okay, I think you’re a little lost. Let me help you, buddy.” Huh? Who’s that? I tried to look around. Marvin? No, Marvin would have his mask on. Who is this? 

I feel myself being shoved into the bathroom. “Hey-!” I turned around to look at him. It was Chase! “What the hell, man?!” I pushed him back a little bit. 

“Whoa whoa whoa there, Jackie…” He put up his hands in arrest. “Let’s calm down.” He told me. 

I could feel my face muscles getting tense. So I let them go. “Okay.” 

Chase grabbed a paper towel. “Are you okay, Jackie?”  

I widened my eyes. “Uh…” I bit my lip and looked down. I felt awkward. “I think so.” 

“Alright.” Chase backed up. “I think I understand why you don’t like getting drunk.” Chase said. 

I tilt my head. “What do you mean?” 

“You…you flew in the middle of the bar.” 

…I’m sorry, what?! 

“When?” I ask. 

“Just now. You were about to fall to the ground, and…you started flying.” Chase told me. 

There’s no way…I couldn’t have flown! I- there were so many people watching me!

“How many people saw me?” I asked. 

“Uhhhh…” Chase bit his lip. “At least 10 people…” 

I sighed. 10 is not that bad. 

“…Plus the camera…” I heard next. 

“WHAT?!” I grabbed Chase’s shoulders. “What camera?!” 

“The security camera in the club.” Chase replied. 

“Oh god, oh god…” I hold my head. “NO!” How could I have done this?! It was ONE NIGHT AT THE CLUB! ONE NIGHT, AND NOW MY REPUTATION IS RUINED! 

“But…there is a way to fix this…” I hear. 

I turned around and grabbed Chase’s shoulders again. “How?” I ask. 

Chase bit his lip. “By…dressing up in the super suit.” Chase said. 

I blink…I blink again…

“I’m sorry…but no.” I reply rather quickly. 

“If you don’t, then people will know who your secret identity is.” Chase told me. 

“…And if I dress in my super suit?” I ask. 

“Then it’ll be known that Jackieboy Man has fun sometimes.” Chase said. 

God, I can’t even think right now…I wanna do it but at the same time…I don’t wanna make a mistake and end up on the news for being at the club. But…news press about clubbing is much better than other controversies…

“Alright. Jackieboy Man is coming out!” I took off my shirt and put on my super sweater. I put my black mask on, put my red hood on and fluffed up my hair. Let’s do this! “LET’S GET ABSOLUTELY FUCKING SHITFACED FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY!” I scream. 

“NOW WE’RE TALKING!” I felt his hand on my shoulder. 

I felt him pulling me out of the bathroom. Wait, what’s he doing?! “WAIT WAIT!” I laughed. “I actually need to shit, dude!” I heard Chase laugh as I pushed him out of the bathroom. Fucking idiot…We’ll get shitfaced after I’m done shitting. 

[The Argus - April 13, 2024 - Brighton’s Jackieboy Man Sighted Drinking Cocktails at PRYSM NightClub - “I had never pictured Jackieboy Man to be a clubber” Witness recalls] 

So, how was my drunken writing? Was it super all over the place? Let me know! For context, I am more of a playful, loud, bouncy drunk.

[itsnotacostume]

while i was waiting for my sleeping pills to kick in, i apparently had a Thought™.

anyway i found it this morning and now i can't stop thinking about this. just, They + animal crossing shenanigans...

(please feel free to add your own thoughts/headcanons about this, please i will eat it UP)

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Birthday! Free space if this gets in on time, but either way birthday wishes and thank you so much for all your writings. They're really good and such a bright spot in my day.

Carlton is having a good day up until he sees what’s clearly a civilian’s motorcycle parked in one of the reserved spots. If the state of disrepair didn’t make it obvious, the ACAB bumper sticker stuck on the back certainly did. Oh, he was going to give this asshole the biggest fine he could, and get his bike towed for good measure! The good people of the SBPD are working hard everyday to keep the streets safe and this guy wants to make a mockery of that right in front of them? What a sick bastard.

He stalks inside, face set into a scowl. “McNab!” he shouts, startling the officer who turns from whoever he’d been talking to. “Who the hell’s bike is that out front?”

He looks at him, wide eyed, but then a kid in a leather jacket is stepping out from behind him and clapping him on the shoulder. He’s got on faded jeans, brown boots, and a dark blue henley. He’s a couple days off from a decent shave and Carlton’s not at all surprised when he says, “It’s mine. Sweet ride, right?”

“You can’t park there,” he snaps. “I’m writing you a ticket – McNab, write him a ticket! Now!”

“Uh,” McNab looks between them uncertainly. “But he, you know, um. He can park there, Detective.”

Carlton snarls, “Why the hell do you think that?”

“It’s okay, Buzz,” the kid says, stepping forward and offering his hand to Carlton with a smirk that has him itching for his cuffs. “I’m Shawn Spencer.”

“I don’t care who you are,” he says. “Only police personnel can park in that area.”

Spencer’s grin gets a little wider. 

McNab is honest to god wringing his hands. “Um, Detective, he is. Police personnel, I mean. He’s the new head of Internal Affairs.”

Carlton stares. This has to be some sort of practical joke. “Are you even old enough to have gone through the academy?”

“My youthful appearance is due to my intense moisturizing routine, a zest for life, and my good humor,” he says. “Laughter really is the best medicine.”

“You’re out of dress code,” he says, because most of him is still refusing to believe that this is happening.

“I’ll write myself up for it later,” Spencer says, which is ridiculous, because that’s not an IA issue, it’s an HR one. Which as the head of Internal Affairs, he should know.

He opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say is interrupted by Chief Vick swooping in, several files held in her hand. “Gentleman. Detective Spencer, my office, now.”

Spencer winks at them. “Buzz. Lassie.”

What the hell did Spencer just call him? Before he’s managed to choke back his outrage, Spencer’s in Chief Vick’s office and McNab is making a hasty retreat.

He stalks over to his desk and Lucinda glances up from her own desk at his approach. She’d left early this morning to go back to her place to shower and change and had been responsible for the good mood he’d been in up until he’d encountered Spencer and his stupid bike. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” he says, then, “Did you meet the new internal affairs guy?”

“Shawn? Yeah, he seems nice,” she says, already looking back down at her paperwork.

Nice? Nice?

The day’s just begun and it’s already shot to hell.

[stellamarielu]

me rn going back and forth between writing pope cody smut and jack abbot smut….

[celebtf]

THE SHAWN REPLACEMENT

Shawn Mendes stepped out of the car, adjusting his jacket as his manager waved from the driver's seat. "Good luck in there, man. We’ll head straight to the meet and greet after."

“Yeah, thanks,” Shawn replied, his voice carrying the weariness of endless interviews, meet and greets, and concerts. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension built up from weeks on the road. He didn’t have much time to think about it, though. He had to be on point for the interview. Another day, another routine.

Shawn entered the sleek glass doors of the building, the cool air inside washing over him. He checked his phone for the time: 3:30 PM. The meet and greet was in a couple of hours, followed by the concert. Just a quick interview, then back to the craziness.

He hit the elevator button, glanced around the empty lobby, and waited. When the doors slid open, he stepped inside and pressed the button for the fifth floor. The hum of the elevator filled the silence as he leaned against the wall, his mind drifting to the setlist for the concert. It was going to be a long night.

The doors opened, and he stepped out into a modern, minimalist office space. A young man stood waiting for him—a tall, blond guy with stubble and an easy smile. “Shawn, hey! I’m Derek,” he said, extending his hand.

Shawn shook it. “Hey, Derek. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course. Let’s get you set up,” Derek said, leading him down a hallway. The office was quiet, with only the hum of air conditioning and the occasional click of a keyboard from unseen rooms.

Derek opened a door and gestured for Shawn to enter. Inside was a small, sterile room with a chair in the middle and a camera on a tripod in front of it. Shawn took a seat as Derek shut the door behind them, the soft click of the lock barely registering in Shawn’s mind.

“Alright, let’s get you mic’d up,” Derek said, walking over with a microphone pack in hand. He clipped the mic to Shawn’s shirt, his fingers brushing the fabric as he adjusted the wire. Shawn barely noticed; his thoughts were already drifting to the evening ahead.

But then, something changed. Derek’s movements became slower, more deliberate. Shawn felt a coldness in the air. Derek stepped behind him, and before Shawn could react, he felt something tightening around his wrists.

“What the hell—” Shawn started, twisting in his seat, but it was too late. Derek had tied his hands together with a zip tie.

Shawn's heart pounded in his chest. “What are you doing?” he demanded, panic rising in his throat.

Derek didn’t respond. He calmly walked in front of Shawn, pulling a strange device from his pocket. It looked like a gun, but with a metallic sheen and wires that pulsed with a faint red light. Shawn blinked, his mind reeling as Derek inspected the device, turning a dial on the side.

Derek smirked as he lifted the device, his eyes gleaming with cruel intent. “I’ll explain it, Shawn, don’t worry,” he said in a voice that dripped with mockery.

Derek aimed the device at Shawn first, his finger squeezing the trigger as the machine came to life with a low, ominous hum. A beam of red light shot out, beginning at Shawn’s feet and rising slowly up his body, scanning him like a digital copy was being made.

The light lingered as it climbed, inch by inch. Shawn felt its heat as it passed over his legs, his torso, and finally up to his face. It wasn’t painful, but it was invasive, like the machine was stripping away every secret his body held.

Shawn watched helplessly, feeling like an animal caught in a trap, as the red light scanned every inch of him. His skin tingled as it moved up his neck and over his face, his muscles tightening as if it resisting the scan.

The beam finally disappeared, leaving Shawn panting slightly from the strange, disorienting experience. But Derek’s eyes glinted with satisfaction.

“Perfect,” Derek said softly, admiring the device’s display, which now contained all of Shawn’s data. “I needed to make sure I get every detail.”

Shawn's stomach twisted as Derek turned the dial on the device, preparing for the next phase. “Now for my part.”

Derek turned the gun toward himself and squeezed the trigger. This time, the beam of light washed over Derek’s body, starting at his feet. As it climbed, Shawn’s confusion morphed into horror. It wasn’t just a scan—it was *changing* him. Derek’s muscles twitched and rippled beneath his skin. His stubbled jawline softened, the rough patches of hair thinning out as his face began to smooth, becoming more youthful, became flawless—perfect

Shawn’s eyes widened as Derek’s hair began to darken, strands of blond morphing into deep brown. His posture shifted, his shoulders rounding in the exact way Shawn’s did when he performed on stage. It was an haunting sight—like watching a wax sculpture slowly melt into a new shape.

Derek flexed his fingers as the light scanned them, watching with satisfaction as his hands became more slender, the veins and muscles rearranging themselves. His fingernails rounded out, his knuckles losing the roughness they once had.

The transformation was disturbingly precise. Shawn could only watch as Derek’s eyes—previously a piercing blue—turned a warm, familiar brown. Every detail, down to the freckles scattered across Shawn’s nose, appeared on Derek’s face. His cheekbones shifted, and the lines of his jaw rounded until they matched Shawn’s exactly. Even his height adjusted, shrinking subtly to match Shawn’s leaner frame.

The last part of the scan settled on Derek’s voice, and when he finally spoke again, it wasn’t *Derek’s* voice anymore.

“Not bad, right?” Derek asked, his voice now a perfect match for Shawn’s—smooth, deep, and resonant. He grinned, testing the new sound, rolling his shoulders as if he was settling into a new suit. “I’ve got to admit, this feels *incredible.*”

Shawn’s stomach churned as Derek stood before him, now indistinguishable from himself. The sheer wrongness of seeing his own face looking back at him, sent a shudder down his spine.

Derek wasn’t finished yet. He glanced down at the device, turning the dial again. “Now it’s your turn.”

Before Shawn could even comprehend what was happening, Derek pointed the device at him and pulled the trigger. The red light hit Shawn with an overwhelming force, flooding him with a burning heat that made him gasp. It felt as if every inch of his skin was on fire, tingling with a sensation that was both excruciating and numbing at the same time.

Shawn felt his bones shift first, a sickening crackling noise accompanying the reshaping of his skeleton. His tall, lanky frame began to compress, muscles tightening in all the wrong places. His shoulders broadened, growing heavier than they had ever felt. His legs shortened, and his body seemed to thicken, growing bulkier in ways that felt foreign and monstrous.

His hands, which had always been delicate from years of playing guitar, grew rougher. The skin stretched over his knuckles, becoming hard. His fingers, once precise, felt clumsy and awkward as they thickened.

He looked down in horror as his legs bulked up, the lean, athletic build he had known for so long vanishing. His knees felt stiff, and his feet ached as his shoes grew too tight. Everything about his body felt *wrong*.

As the light reached his face, the changes became unbearable. His skin tightened, the soft youthfulness draining away as wrinkles formed around his mouth and forehead. His nose sharpened, his jawline became more angular, and his cheekbones seemed to protrude unnaturally. His hair, once a rich brown, turned lighter, fading to a pale blond as it thinned.

Shawn looked into the reflection of the nearby window and saw *Derek* staring back at him. His own eyes had turned cold and blue, devoid of the warmth they once held. His entire face—once so familiar—was gone. He was now trapped in Derek’s body, his identity stolen, his entire existence erased.

The real Derek—now fully transformed into Shawn—let out a slow, cruel laugh. “It suits you,” he said, his voice a perfect match for Shawn’s. “How does it feel?”

Shawn, still panting from the shock of the transformation, tried to form words, but his mouth—now twisted into Derek’s cruel grin—couldn’t produce anything coherent. He was paralyzed by the sheer horror of it.

Derek leaned down, staring directly into Shawn’s new blue eyes, his grin widening. “You should have seen this coming,” he whispered, his tone filled with sadistic delight. “After all, who wouldn’t want to be Shawn Mendes? The fame, the fans, the life..."

Derek stood back, slipping into Shawn’s leather jacket as if it had always belonged to him. He moved with an ease that made it seem like he had always been Shawn—the way he ran his fingers through his hair, the casual way he glanced at his phone, all of it naturally.

The real Shawn—now trapped in Derek’s body—could only watch in silence as The new Shawn casually dialed his manager. “Hey, I’m done with the interview,” Derek said, his voice chilling in its perfection. “Come pick me up.”

He hung up the phone and turned back to Shawn, a cruel smile stretching across his new face. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your life. "

Without another word, Derek—now Shawn—walked out the door, leaving the real Shawn behind, trapped in a body that wasn’t his, with a life that no longer belonged to him.

The meet and greet went perfectly, almost too perfectly. As Derek—now completely transformed into Shawn Mendes—walked into the event, a wave of excitement rippled through the room. Fans gasped and screamed, their phones flashing like strobe lights as they tried to capture every moment. The energy was electric, and Derek soaked it in, his expression the perfect blend of humility and charm. He moved with effortless confidence, just like Shawn, giving warm smiles and that signature wave that made the crowd roar even louder.

One by one, fans stepped forward, eagerly awaiting their chance to meet “Shawn.” Derek wrapped his arms around them in familiar embraces, his movements smooth, affectionate, and practiced. His hands didn’t tremble as he hugged them, he posed for selfies, flashing Shawn’s trademark grin. He even joked with the fans, throwing out Shawn’s typical playful banter, causing a chorus of laughter and adoration.

Some fans wiped away tears of joy as they leaned into him, trembling in disbelief that they were touching the man they idolized. “Thank you for everything,” one whispered as she hugged him tightly.

“My pleasure,” Derek responded, his voice soft and sincere—exactly the way Shawn would’ve said it. No one suspected a thing.

He studied every expression, every reaction from the fans, feeding off their admiration. It wasn’t just about fooling them—it was about being adored, about living in this intoxicating world of celebrity that had once belonged to someone else.

Derek took extra care with each fan, ensuring no moment felt rushed. To them, this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and he wanted to ensure that *their* Shawn Mendes was everything they hoped for. He answered questions, made eye contact, signed autographs with a flourish. To those fans, this was the real Shawn, and Derek reveled in their adoration.

When it was finally time for the concert, Derek stepped onto the stage like he had done it a thousand times. The roar of the crowd was deafening, the sea of faces illuminated by flashing lights and glowing phone screens. His heart raced—not from fear, but from the sheer thrill of it. This was *his* moment now. He owned this stage, this crowd, this life.

The band kicked in, the music filling the arena, and Derek launched into the first song without missing a beat. His voice, now identical to Shawn’s, hit every note perfectly. His movements mirrored Shawn’s signature style—effortlessly smooth, the way he strummed the guitar, the way he leaned into the microphone stand during quieter moments, the little twirls and gestures that drove the fans wild.

As the set progressed, Derek found himself growing bolder, more comfortable in this stolen skin. He interacted with the audience just like Shawn would, smiling down at them, giving them the heartfelt, emotional moments they craved. “You guys are amazing,” he called out between songs, his voice dripping with the sincerity that Shawn was known for. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

The crowd erupted, hanging on his every word, believing without question that the man on stage was their beloved Shawn Mendes.

With every song, every cheer, Derek felt the power of Shawn’s life flowing through him. He had perfected every move, every look, every smile. By the time the concert was over, the crowd was in a frenzy, chanting Shawn’s name over and over.

As he stood at the edge of the stage, gazing out over the crowd, Derek let the moment wash over him. The cheers, the love, the undying devotion—he had done it. He had truly become Shawn Mendes.

And the real Shawn, now trapped in Derek’s body, was out there somewhere, forgotten and powerless.

Derek raised his hand for one final wave, basking in the euphoria of the crowd’s roaring adulation. He had succeeded.

[warriorprincesstramp]

Shawn and Topanga 7x19 - "Brotherly Shove"

[nonymous06]

*looks up at you with my massive ass eyes* draw your favourite TDPI character... It can be based on design if you haven't seen the season :3

My favourite rn has to be Shawn since I remember hearing he's supposed to be a Shawn of the Dead reference and I absolutely ADORE the cornetto trilogy (I'm British it's in my contract)

[ho-ii]

i caught up with Chicago P.D. and shawn's character in it is actually scary 💀 counter opposite from what he is in The Pitt... im just-

[psych---ologically-deranged]

I think y'all are forgetting about Shawn's choice of seat in that diner when he first met Juliet. He chose a seat a cop would choose for a sting. He chose a place with good vantage.

[1000-year-old-virgin]

India Shawn - Kill Switch

[vol-carnage]

Im finally gonna get a ps5 and baldurs gate 3 today 😭

[bruisedconscience-reblogs]

shawn laying down ground rules for his dad sitting in on this case & how it’s shawn’s ass on the line by the sbpd

[ferallantern]

I started watching Love Of The S*n (only on the 1st episode) and this is the most good place coded show ever /pos. The main character’s operator is named MICHAEL who has a rival operator named SHAWN ?? IN THE AFTERLIFE 🤨

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Stars in the Dark

Warnings/Mentions: Smut, unprotected p in v, emergency contraceptives, slight alcohol consumption, reader is strong (minor description)

Summary: You're a former farm hand at the Greene Farm. You swoon over the new hunter, and he notices.

Notes: This was one of the first requests I got and I'm so sorry it took me this long to put it out! I hope you're still around anon, and you enjoy.

It was an unusually cool day. 

You sat on the front porch of the Greene house, watching as the strangers that were slowly becoming friends did their daily chores. Carol sat in the center of their camp, scrubbing clothes in a bucket next to Lori, who was hanging them up to dry. Andrea sat on the top of the RV, switching between her gun scope and her binoculars to observe the tree line. There was a man beside her, the one that was with Otis when he died, was his name Shawn? Shane?

It was hard to remember their names, there were so many of them.

But you didn't have trouble remembering Daryl’s name. Especially considering how often you would whimper it into your pillow at night. 

You felt your cheeks heat up at the idea of him, your legs switching from being crossed at your ankles to your knees, the rocking chair beneath you swaying slightly. 

Your eyes drifted to the man you'd been thinking of, watching as he walked back to the camp for lunch after spending the morning hunting. You'd been seeing more of him, especially after the whole incident with the walkers in the barn, something not even you had known about. You knew they were there, sure, but you had no idea the little girl they were looking for had been in there the whole time. 

The Greene family had kept it from you for a while. You had gone to school with Maggie, Hershel's daughter, and she was able to get you a spring job working at her farm with the horses and cattle. They were even kind enough to let you have their spare bedroom downstairs near the back door. It was tiny, but it was free lodging, and you loved it. 

That spring job turned into a summer job once the infection started. Hershel had done a pretty good job convincing you of his beliefs. You had little medical experience, mostly just patching up animals at the farm, especially the barn cat PeePoe, but you liked to believe Hershel knew what he was talking about. Even if it seemed a little farfetched. So, you kept their secret and minded your own business. 

You were sort of glad Shane forced the whole thing to happen. The walkers in the barn were starting to really creep you out, especially with how much they began to rot over time. 

The movement of two people sneaking around to the back of the house caught your eye and you saw Maggie and Glenn, something you'd grown accustomed to. She had a big smile, full of excitement and nervousness, and Glenn just looked thrilled to be there. You watched as they disappeared to the back workshop and felt envy bubble in your stomach. 

The sound of that familiar gruff voice that you'd gotten really good at imagining at night startled you. You looked up and away from beside you, your mouth slightly open in surprise, not having heard him walk up on the porch. 

“Hi?” You looked up at him, awkward and embarrassed from your earlier thoughts. You weren't used to seeing him so up close. He smelled like cigarettes and something else, something artificial, and when you saw him chewing something you realized it was the very faint scent of bubblegum. 

“Patricia said you knew the shops in town. Can't find Glenn, and we need supplies for dinner tonight.” His eyes held little emotion, a bit of annoyance maybe. Annoyance at having to ask you, or annoyance at having to go into town instead of Glenn, you weren't sure. 

“Yeah, I do.” You nodded slowly, trying to keep the filthy thoughts from your head as your eyes raked over his face and upper body, catching yourself and quickly looking back up at his face. 

“Good. C'mon.” He didn't ask, he just slung his crossbow over his bloody ripped shirt, which you assumed was from the deer he had bagged that morning. 

Patricia had mentioned to you in passing about wanting to have another group dinner that night, you didn't expect it to actually happen, given how awkward the last one had been at first. With the weather slowly fading into autumn and the crops dying from age, you figured it was necessary to get some supplies from town. 

You didn't leave often. You didn't have a desire, or a need to, but the idea of being alone with Daryl had you almost skipping to his bike. 

As much as you wanted to push Daryl against the wall of the corner store and kiss him till he passed out, you didn't feel like getting humiliated from rejection. You settled for just watching him as he moved, picking up cans and turning them over before stuffing them in his burlap potato sack. 

The sight of his eyes flickering up over the aisle and landing right on yours snapped you out of your dirty daydream. You quickly looked down to your shelf, picking up a can of corn and pretending to be interested in the ingredients in it. Hmm, yes, Corn. 

He eyed you through suspicious slits, having a hard time deciding between being concerned or annoyed.

Daryl didn't know much about you at all. He knew your name, he knew you were younger than Maggie but older than Beth and that you were a newer farmhand. The only people that ever talked about you never really spoke to him.

He did know that you were way too hot to be working on a farm shoveling horse shit. You belonged in a fuckin magazine, one of those that fashion ones Amy used to read back at their first camp in Atlanta. You were fit, you had to be for your job, what you looked like before all the labor-intensive work, he didn't know or care. 

He'd never seen someone as hot as you in person. He couldn't even think of the words to describe you. You looked so out of place at that farm, it was like taking a supermodel and putting her in a gas station. He watched as you put food in your bag, trying not to get hard as his thoughts swiftly changed from admiring your beauty to imagining how you'd look when you came. 

Daryl thought about that way too much already. He thought about it so much that he was confident he was spot on with the image of you he created in his mind. Alone in his far-off tent at night, not having to worry about getting caught, rubbing his dick raw to the thought of you naked, drooling and crying from pleasure under him. 

“Okay, my bag’s full.” Your voice ripped him from his trance and he blinked a few times, realizing he'd been staring at the same can of peas for the past two minutes. 

“Yeah. Alright.” He swept his arm across his shelf, knocking several cans into his bag and two on the floor. You jumped at the sound and he cursed, his brain still not working right with all the blood that went to his dick. 

You peeked over the shelf to see two cans on the floor, one perfectly fine and the other surrounded in a gross pile of butter beans. No loss to you. Daryl snatched the can of diced tomatoes from the floor and put it in his bag, twisting it a few times before slinging it over the shoulder that didn't have the crossbow on it. 

“How the hell are we gonna get these back?” You asked as you walked out the front door, trying not to fall head over heels when he stuck back to hold the door open for you. You thought he was being chivalrous, he just wanted to stare at your ass in those Bobbie Brooks as you walked to his bike. 

“We'll figure it out.” 

And you did, sort of, but it was incredibly awkward with a bag pressed between the two of you on the bike, and the other tied to your torso so it sat behind you. Thankfully, he drove thoughtfully slowly, and you were able to get back to the farm without incident. 

You were happy to let the other women do the cooking, trying to pay attention to the rant Andrea was currently going on about how Lori loved her social norms. 

The wind had grown a bit cooler, sending goosebumps over the back of your neck as the breeze blew through your hair. 

“You ever cook?” Andrea said suddenly, a cautious edge to her voice as if she suddenly realized she had no idea how you felt about gender roles. “Or, like it, I mean?”

“Was more of an outdoor kind of girl.” You chuckled, leaning back in the plastic lawn chair around the fire you sat at. 

Daryl was chopping wood, something you'd never been so interested in before. Andreas' conversation was getting real, real boring. 

“Yeah. I liked fishing myself.” She grew silent after that, and you looked away from Daryl to see she had a far out look in her eyes.

“You okay?” You asked in a gentle voice, only earning a silent nod from her. You took that as your leave and gave her a comforting shoulder squeeze before heading inside. The sun would set in a few hours, and you wanted to change into warmer clothes before dinner. 

You didn't expect to have Daryl sit beside you at dinner. 

You didn't really expect him to come, let alone eat with the group. Last time he’d been stuck in the bed upstairs since he’d been shot by Andrea. You basically froze when you saw the seating arrangements.

 It wasn't really his choice, honestly, everyone sat down so fast, the only two seats that were open were right beside each other. Looked like no one wanted to sit next to Shane. And from the look on his face, you didn't really want to either.

Relief flooded through you when Daryl sat down next to Shane. You took your seat beside Daryl, Andrea on your right. You smiled at Patricia in front of you, only getting a small one in return. 

It wasn't as quiet or awkward as the last dinner. Spirits were a bit higher, although tense with the whole “prisoner in the barn” fiasco. You couldn't recall the name of the man that was currently chained up, but you did know Dale made a scene of fixing him a plate, much to Shane's objection. 

You tried to distract yourself from their bickering by looking at Daryl. A quick bolt of subdued adrenaline coursed through you when you saw he was already looking at you. You looked away almost immediately out of reflex, and deciding against your better judgment, you looked back. He was still looking at you. 

Daryl couldn't figure you out. If he had a bullet for how many times he caught you looking at him, he'd be able to kill every damn walker on earth. 

It never even crossed his mind you were into him before that night. It seemed so farfetched, you were too fuckin pretty to be looking at him like that. Your features were so soft, even after all the work that had toughened your muscles, your face was still so… 

Cute.

 He didn't notice the tugging that had pulled at the corner of his mouth until it was a full-fledged smirk. He was about to look away when he realized how creepy he probably looked, staring down at you smirking without speaking, but the feeling of your knee bumping against his had his eyes locked to yours. 

His smirk slowly faded, being replaced by a more serious expression, until he saw the soft smile on your lips. 

Nah, she's just friendly. He found himself trying to explain away your actions, but a large part of him desperately wanted him to be wrong. Having such a sweet girl look up at him like that was uncharted territory, and his mind slowly drifted away to the idea of your uncharted territory. He would've snorted at the pun if not for the feel of your thigh pressing against his and staying there this time. 

Neither of you had noticed, but the bickering had finally died down, and a different and lighter conversation was taking place. 

Your silent interaction wasn't as private as it felt, the burn of Rick's eyes on his face had Daryl dragging his eyes to the leader of the group, holding so much cold annoyance towards the nosey man that it could've frozen hell. 

Rick just grinned, happy to see at least some people weren't so miserable with how things were going and went back to picking at his plate with his fork, silently chuckling. 

“Do you drink?” Your soft voice broke him from his thoughts, he looked back over to you, his expression softening when he saw you. He couldn't decide if he wanted to take you out back and fuck you in the grass like an animal, or take you to your bed and kiss every inch of your body. 

“Sometimes.” He shrugged, his voice low and quiet amongst the chatter of the table. “Why?”

You shrugged in return, popping an apple slice in your mouth and crunching it before swallowing and speaking. “I found a bottle of wine today at the store. I don't really drink much anymore but wanted to find a reason to.” 

Your open-ended words had him overthinking once again, over analyzing what you meant. Was he the reason to drink? Or did you have one already? Before he could leave you in more silence your thigh moved against his again, bringing his attention back to you. 

“What're you askin’ me?” He needed to hear you clearly state your intentions, not wanting to humiliate himself by accepting a nonexistent request. 

“If you'll join me.” Your voice was quiet, almost too quiet, and it took him a few seconds to process what you'd said. 

He looked you over, his eyes narrowing as he searched your face for any sign of a trick. You smiled nervously, your eyes flickering to and fro, only settling on his eyes for a second a time. Something about you being unable to keep eye contact stirred something in him, something he was painfully unfamiliar with. He wanted to grab your chin and make you look up at him, make you speak up, make you tremble under his touch-

“You can say no.” He snapped out of it to see your smile had faded to fear of rejection. 

“No. I want to.” He answered immediately, nodding and earning another smile from you. 

You met him in the front field, holding your bundled up blanket with the wine bottle inside. You were originally going to bring glasses, but said fuck it, you could drink from the bottle. You did forget to bring a bottle opener, though, something Daryl was happy to help with. 

He took the bottle from you and sat down on the blanket beside you, pulling a switchblade from his back pocket and beginning to work it into the cork.

“Hershel said something about moving you guys inside soon.” You commented as he blew a few chunks of broken cork from his blade. 

“I'll pass.” He grunted, digging the blade back into the cork. 

You looked away, your heart dropping at his words. 

“Can't stop thinking about it.” 

“Huh?” 

“About winter.” You thought you might've just been imagining it, but you swore you saw his face drop in disappointment at your answer. 

Finally, you heard the pop of the cork finally coming out, and he took the first swig, spitting out the few pieces of cork that had fallen in after he demolished the poor thing. 

He handed it back to you and you took a deep swig, trying to get as much courage as possible. You didn't know how to act around Daryl. He was so unpredictable, nothing like the other men you'd crushed on before. They were all easy, quick to accept your subliminal hints. 

But Daryl? You could tell him you wanted to suck his dick till he couldn't breathe, and he'd probably laugh, thinking you were just joking, and go off and hunt or whatever it was he did all day. 

It was easy for your mind to wander in the silence. You handed the bottle back to Daryl as you slowly undressed him in your head, imagining him taking your clothes off, his lips all over your neck, switching between your different fantasies. Rough, violent and painful, sweet, slow and deep, or quick, needy and dirty. You wondered what he would be like, was he experienced? Would he be able to make you cum just with his fingers? Or was he the opposite? Either way you wanted him, so unreasonably bad, you'd never felt this way about a man before. If someone told you a witch put a lust spell on you strictly for him, you'd believe it in a heartbeat. You didn't even know his favorite color. Or what type of music he listened to. 

“Shit, get down.” His hand on your chest pushing you to your back had your heart in your throat. You tilted your head back to see Maggie and Glenn, sneaking away once again. Daryl relaxed at the realization that it was just them and drew his hand away from you. 

“Lucky them.” You grumbled, taking the bottle from him and taking a sip. You were happily buzzed at this point, eager to make conversation but not at the point where you'd make a fool of yourself. 

“Hmm. Yeah.” He agreed, watching as they slipped behind the stables. “Lucky.”

With your newfound courage, you decided to test the waters in a way that you felt seemed completely unsuspecting and not suspicious at all. 

“Must be nice to have someone like that to take your mind off things for a while.” You commented casually, your gaze now back at the stars. 

“Wouldn't know.” His gruff reply gave you motivation to push on. 

“Yeah, me neither.” You couldn't think of the words that wouldn't possibly spook him off. Little did you know, Daryl wasn't some cornered frightful animal, he was thinking of the same things and worse than you. He'd been looking at you, his chest rising and falling in short quick breaths, his eyes all over your body beside him. 

“Those stars look better laying down.” He felt like an obviously desperate teenager after saying that, but when you immediately laid down on the blanket he smirked a bit. Maybe it wasn't such a stupid suggestion. 

He took a deep sip of wine and looked over you, noticing you'd changed back into your jean shorts after dinner. It was odd, he thought, considering the chill in the air, but he wasn't complaining. The way he looked at your bare legs was akin to someone on a diet looking at a plate of fresh, hot salty fries. His mouth watered, not from the idea of fries, but from the idea of sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your thighs so hard you'd be littered with bruises. 

Daryl wanted to touch you so goddamn bad. But being him, he was too disgusted by the idea of getting the nerve to reach out and touch your thigh and having you pull away, shout at him, storm off and never talk to him again. 

And you being you, you were too terrified at the idea of making the first move and getting a similar reaction. 

So you stared up at the stars, forcing yourself to concentrate, before that last bit of wine spread through your body and gave you enough confidence to look at him. 

A buzzed smile spread on your lips when you saw he was already looking at you. And not your face either, but your thighs, and to gauge his reaction you trailed your hand down your torso to casually rest at the bottom of your shorts. You toyed with it, a bit, pretending you had an itch under the fabric and slipping your fingers under the hem. 

He looked at your face then. 

“You look real good.” He blurted, and froze at his words, ready to get up and bolt if you reacted the wrong way. 

“You look really pretty.” You responded without thinking, earning a look of confusion from him. “I mean, in a good way, like you could model in one of those underground fashion shows-” You cut yourself off before you could humiliate yourself further, but the grin on his face put you at ease. And made you a little tiny bit bolder. 

Neither of you knew what to say. He suddenly grabbed the wine and took an exceptionally impressive sip, leaving the bottle half empty. 

It was a few moments before either of you spoke again. 

“What did you do before this?” You asked, trying to ease the tension enough to relax the both of you. 

He snorted at that question, shaking his head and looking away from you. “Same as everyone else. Lived. Paid for food.”

You took that as the best answer you'd get from him and decided to use the boldness you'd earned from the alcohol. 

“Did you have a girlfriend?” 

He must've found your question amusing, because he snorted. “Psh. No. You got a boyfriend?” 

You noticed his question was in the present tense, not past like yours. “No.” 

He grunted and shifted in his spot so his forearms rested on his knees. He toyed with the grass for a bit, snapping off blades and picking them apart into little green confetti pieces. 

Daryl gave up on talking. He looked down at you again, seeing you were looking at the stars again, but not really seeing them. With the wine induced confidence he wasn't sure if he was thankful for yet, he reached out for you, his fingertips ghosting your knee. His eyes flickered to your face, and when he saw the expression it held there, he decided he was very grateful for the wine.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your lips parted and your eyebrows a bit furrowed. It was funny, with that look you'd think he had slipped his hands in your shorts. And when his hand fully pressed down on your thigh you closed your eyes and clenched your jaw, your body giving a billion silent ‘finally, finally, yes, yes, yes’. 

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for a while.” His gravelly voice sent chills through your entire body. 

“I can't stop thinking about it.” You admitted. 

“Yeah?” Your confession had him spinning, his hand now in the pocket of your shorts, two of his fingers dipping in to pull the two of you closer together. 

You found it hard to speak, so you settled on a whiny and desperate ‘Uh-huh’. 

He smirked down at you, his fingers back at your inner thigh. His touch was lazy, but deliberate, his rough fingers slipping up your thigh to the top of your shorts again. He ached to tease you, watch you whimper and squirm under you, but it was getting progressively harder. He glanced over his shoulder at the house, seeing all the windows dark besides Beth's bedroom. He then looked over the moonlit field, concerned for a moment about walkers, but when he saw the fence he felt all concern melt away. 

Daryl's hand continued roaming over your body, relishing in each little whimper being pulled from your throat. The thought that he was doing this to you, it was him making you into this needy little mess, it gave him a new sense of pride he hadn't felt in a long time. 

“You look real damn good.” He repeated his earlier compliment. The way you looked laying down beside him, your long sleeve shirt pushed up around your stomach, your chest rising and falling sharply, had his heart racing despite the buzz he had going on. 

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely a whisper, sending a shiver through him at the sound of it. Your body arched into his touch, desperate to have his hand move from your stomach either up or down. 

“You feel real damn good too.” He muttered, loving the way your body was responding to his touch. 

“God. So do you.” You breathed out a long exhale, looking up at him like he was the prettiest thing above you, not the stars. 

“Yeah?” His voice had taken on a higher pitch, a bit teasing, making you involuntarily whimper at the sound of it. He suddenly took it up ten notches, sliding his hand up your shirt to your breast. You had to bite back the moan that you knew would either call walkers or humans if you made it. While he played with your nipple, rougher than you expected, his other hand popped open the button on your shorts. 

You didn't have time to be impressed before his hand shoved its way through your tight shorts to your panties, catching you completely off guard with how suddenly forward it was. A strangled groan and the sight of your eyes squeezing shut had him teasing you again. “S’been a while, huh?” 

You nodded frantically, biting down hard on your bottom lip. Your legs trembled, moving apart so he could move his hand easier. He eagerly took advantage of the new space and moved his fingers through the sides of your panties, beelining for your clit. You weren't sure if it was experience, or if he just wasn't stupid, but the way he rubbed your embarrassingly slick clit had your head reeling. 

“You want me to take care of this little ache you got goin’ on?” The fact his southern drawl had gotten much stronger was almost enough to make you cum. Coupled with the dirty words he was saying, which was something you didn't expect from Daryl at all, your face burned with embarrassment. 

“Please.” You choked out, your hands gripping onto the blanket under you, having no idea what to do with your hands. 

He put more weight on his hands as he shuffled so close that he was basically on top of you. His middle finger slid into you, and the feigned cockiness quickly left his body when he felt you. He didn't know if he'd last more than ten seconds inside you. You were unbearably hot and wet. And just by the way you squeezed his finger, he couldn't imagine how that would feel on something bigger like his dick. 

Your worries were right, your orgasm came so fast you were humiliated. He'd barely curled his fingers inside you a few times, something you had to teach him through your haze, and you groaned, low and guttural.

His eyes widened when he realized what was happening, your orgasm catching him off guard. He took his hand that was busy pinching your incredibly sore nipples and clamped it firmly over your mouth, muffling your cries, even though they were enough to give him enough material to jerk his dick to for months. 

He'd need to find somewhere he could let you scream in peace. But for now, he'd have you right here, keep his hand over your mouth and fuck you into the grass. 

Daryl watched you come undone under his fingers like it would be the last time he'd ever see it. Memorizing the way your hips rolled up into his hand, the way they pulled away when you arched your back. The way your eyebrows pulled tightly together, then the way they relaxed as you rode out your high, your eyes fluttering like they couldn't decide on opening or staying closed. 

“Jesus Christ woman.” He breathed, his eyes dark and wild, like he'd just watched a miracle being performed in front of him. To Daryl it was. He felt an unbridled sense of satisfaction knowing he was the one who did that to you. 

You relaxed fully, your hips pulling away from his rough fingers and thumb, which were still stroking your clit. 

“Ain't done with you yet.” He pulled his hand from your shorts, leaving a trail of shimmering wetness on your stomach. 

“God. You're so pretty.” You said breathlessly, looking up at him again with that damn look on your face as you struggled to sit up to take your clothes off.

“You think I'm pretty? Yeah? C'mon then, show me.” He grabbed your hands, bringing them to his chest, forcing you to touch him. Your mind spun, still recovering from the first orgasm you'd had in god knows how long, trying to take over control as he used your hands to unbutton his plaid button up, not caring if you saw him shirtless because of how dark it was. The red one with the sleeves torn off,  it was your favorite. It was almost a loss to see him remove it, that was until he brought your hands back to touch his chest again. 

You decided you liked his direction, and let him move your hands down his chest to his jeans. Your hands fumbled with his belt buckle, messing up one too many times. He unbuckled it for you, deciding he was too impatient to wait on you, undoing his jeans and tugging them down just enough to get his cock out. 

When he finally tugged it out you tried your best to memorize every single detail about it. The glint of the moon on the bead of precum at the slit, the way the tip was darker than the pale base, the way his unruly pubes looked exactly like you'd imagined. 

Your hands reached out to grab the length of his cock and he sucked in a sharp breath, his head tipping back as he muttered out a string of curses you couldn't understand through his thick accent. 

He was so fucking glad he jerked off in his tent before he came out to meet you. Or else just that touch alone would've had him busting in your hands. 

The sound of him spitting into his hand made your core do that flip and you let out a shaky breath, watching as he rubbed his palm over the tip of his cock. 

He said nothing as he manhandled you, pushing your shorts right down your thighs, ignoring your little sound of surprise. He pulled you into his lap, and the way he took full control of your body like you were a puppet had you growing wetter than you thought possible. He moved you like you weighed nothing, one hand holding your side in a firm grip to keep you hovering over his dick. He was going to spit again, but you sank down against him and he felt how wet you were, he sputtered out a groan and swallowed his spit. 

He reached down between you and grabbed his dick, trying to guide it to the right spot in the confusion of his lust clouded brain and how wet and hot everything felt. You grabbed his hand and aimed it right at your soaking entrance, and sank your hips down. 

His head barely nudged against your entrance before it slid away, up through your lips and bumping your sensitive clit roughly. You hissed at the feeling and he grunted in irritation. 

“Here-” You pulled back from him, which he objected to for a split second, the idea of you separating from him not an option he wanted to consider. But when you started laying down on your back he moved forward on top of you, grabbing your thigh to hike it up over his waist. 

The new angle made things much easier, although your tightness still proved to be a slight inconvenience. You cursed yourself for being so sexually inactive, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt the burn of his tip slowly pushing inside you. 

His mouth found your neck as he lowered his body flat on yours, his weight nearly crushing your chest under his. He kissed your neck as he felt the resistance finally give, his head popping inside you and the rest of his dick pushing forward easier. 

You still saw stars when you closed your eyes, your body freezing from the mind numbing pleasure at the feeling of him filling you in a way you'd either never experienced, or had long forgotten. When the burn of the intrusion finally gave away and melted into complete bliss you relaxed under him, your hips angling up to drive him deeper. 

Daryl groaned in your neck, the sound stuttered as he fought to gain his bearings. His hand tugging his dick to the thought of you was something he never thought he'd top. The feeling of you wrapped around it was something he knew he'd never top. 

The tension between you broke and he finally began moving, dragging his dick out painfully slowly before plunging it back in, fitting like the last piece of a puzzle he'd been working on his whole life. 

He let out a low groan, sinking his teeth into the meat of your neck and bringing a high pitched cry from your mouth. 

“Nuh-uh.” He panted, his hips picking up a faster pace as he pulled away from your neck. “You gotta be quiet, sweetheart.” 

“Mhmm!” You clenched your jaw, your eyes fluttering open to look at him above you. His eyes dark, his mouth open as he breathed heavily, beads of sweat forming at his hairline. The sight had you arching your back, making him groan at the feeling of you squeezing and pulling on his dick. He really did look so fucking pretty. 

Daryl looked down at you, eyes tracing over your face twisted in pleasure, and he felt you grow wetter around him. The way your body responded to him had him trembling. He couldn't get enough of you. He needed more. He grabbed your hips, his grip firm enough to keep you in place as he sped up. 

The quickening of his rough thrusts had your head lolling to the side, each thrust knocking a breathless moan from your lips. They were quiet, to be heard by him alone, which was more than enough for him. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he fought to keep his composure, the last bit of him that he had under control worried about possibly hurting you. 

But that concern quickly went out the window when you started begging. 

“Please.” Your words bubbled from your chest, hot and desperate. “Please!”

“Please what?” He hissed, his brows furrowed in confusion as he fucked deep into you. “Use your words, tell me whatcha want. I'll give it to you.” 

“More, please, I don't know.” You babbled under him, trying your best to stay quiet. “Harder, more, I don't-” 

He moved on you, suddenly putting all the weight of his upper body into his grip on your hips, right before he started fucking you so hard you lost the ability to speak. 

Each thrust sent a bolt of sharp and deep pleasure through your pussy, up your body and ending with a tingle on your scalp. You couldn't moan, even if you wanted to, his movements were so rough it felt like each snap of his hips knocked the air from your lungs. You knew there'd be a deep imprint of your ass in the dirt tomorrow from how much weight he was boring down on you, and the sensation of that alone made your head spin. 

Your sharp gasps that were in sync with his thrusts neared a dangerous volume, and he slowed his hips, using the opportunity to catch his breath. 

“Ya gotta be quiet. M’serious.” He whispered, his thumbs pressing down on the sides of your stomach when your whimpers had yet to cease. “Gonna have to stop.”

You spewed out a soft stream of no’s, your hands wrapping around his wrists as if you had the strength to keep him there. “I will, sorry.”

He nodded in response and carried back on with quicker thrusts, his mouth open as he sucked in shaky breaths. Daryl couldn't take his eyes off you. He wished he had met you a year ago, before all this happened, so he could fuck you without worrying about walkers, getting caught, he wanted desperately to hear every sound he earned from you. He was the reason you were a broken mess; he deserved to hear and have all of you. 

Your right hand let go of his wrist to snake under his stomach, your flat fingers rubbing firm massages on your greedy clit. The sight had a choked moan sounding from his throat and you whined in response, the sound sending long bolts of pleasure through your core. 

“Daryl, so close.” You whispered, your toes curling from their spot at the base of his spine. 

He understood your meaning and set a steadier pace, not too rough or fast, but deep and steady enough to guarantee your final orgasm, since his first with you was approaching. 

Daryl wasn't stupid, he meant to pull out, truly, but when you came and squeezed his cock like a fist, he couldn't help it. His body trembled and he choked, gasping and whimpering as he came with you. 

Your jaw dropped and you saw more than stars, you saw the whole damn galaxy. Daryl quickly pressed his hand over your mouth to muffle your obscene moans, his hips stuttering as he finished the last drop in his orgasm. 

“My God. My God. Oh my God.” You panted after he removed his hand, your eyes bleary and wet, your body vibrating with exhausted shakes as your ecstasy slowly faded away. Your hands and feet felt cold and numb, and when he pulled away it felt like someone had taken something from you. You whimpered in a soft objection as his wrist left your grip. 

“Goddamn.” He sat back to stuff his raw dick back in his jeans, twitching when he felt the uncomfortable friction from his boxers, it was too stimulating. 

It took you some time to put your clothes back on, when you were finally dressed you were too exhausted to do anything but lay there on the blanket and catch your breath. 

Neither of you spoke for a while, sitting in silence to regain your bearings and enjoy the final moments of buzz from sex. As soon as he came down from his high, he grabbed the abandoned bottle of wine and drank nearly the rest of it. 

“I'm gonna go shower.” You breathed, sitting upright to find your shoes and put them back on. 

“G’night.” He muttered between swigs.

“Goodnight Daryl. That was amazing.” You thanked him with a quick kiss that seemed to startle him.

He sucked his teeth in embarrassment, waving you off as if to say, ‘it's nothing'. He watched you walk away, scratching the backs of your arms, itching from the grass. Daryl turned back to the woods and finished the bottle before chucking it into the field, eventually leaving for his tent, bringing your blanket with him. 

You took the best bath you could manage with your supplies; it wasn't as satisfying as a hot shower with your old fancy soaps and shampoos, but you were too exhausted to do more than just clean yourself. You barely even wrapped your hair with a towel before tripping into your room and falling on your bed. 

You yelped when you felt something hard like at your back and you leaned up on your elbow to see a small box with a note. 

From Lori. Use these next time. -Maggie

You sighed in relief when you saw it was emergency contraceptives and a pack of condoms, despite the pit in your stomach from knowing Maggie had seen you. It was something you should have already planned for yourself, the condoms, but it was hard to think straight when you were horny over Daryl Dixon. 

SHANE JUMPSCAPRE

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams

[pathologicalreid]

hysteria | s.r.

in which the BAU is called into a case in rural Appalachia when bodies start showing up in an abandoned insane asylum

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (horror?) content warnings: hanging (staged suicide), enucleation, established relationship, ghosts, insane asylum, rope burn, premonition in dreams, death, pov switches, "the green ribbon", lobotomies, abduction, corporeal vs spirit form, CPR, hospitals, painkillers, first aid word count: 8.8k a/n: hey guys i am literally not one to beg for interaction but like if you could send an ask or gimme a reblog if you liked this it would probably make my day. this fic is just an excuse for me to tell ghost stories! and just like that, margotober is over. man, it sure would be a shame if i had something planned for november!

night one

“This is a joke, right?” You asked, eyeing the rest of the team as they observed the property before you. The dilapidated building that stood in front of you was previously completely abandoned, and now you weren’t entirely sure if the yellow police line was new or if the tattered plastic was a result of a crime of the past.

It looked like one of the haunted houses that Spencer would drag you to, one with a much too high budget that would leave you feeling like you needed to scrub cobwebs from your skin. You were waiting for the sheriff to make his way up the hill that the asylum was perched on, the BAU had made it up in SUVs, but the locals elected to hoof it.

Tugging the sleeves of your FBI jacket over your hands, you tapped your heel impatiently and observed the scenery. The fall foliage was in peak season, orange and red leaves fluttered in the wind, falling from the trees until they hit the ground. To the left was the town, small and hidden within a river valley, and to the right was a field of gravestones. Each life lost in the asylum whittled down to a number, hundreds of weathered rocks marked where a body was buried. Even after all of your years with the BAU, the sight still made you sick to your stomach.

The death count on this property had gone up by twelve recently, a group of college kids had found the first body hanging from the staircase, and it seemed like a semi-routine suicide until the local cops did a full sweep of the building and found eleven other bodies, each hanging in a different room.

It wasn’t until the medical examiner looked at them that they realized they were out of their depth, the oldest of the bodies had been dead before they were hung, which told you that hanging the bodies was the intention of the killer and he was beginning to perfect his M.O. Even more than that, the last two bodies had been enucleated post-mortem.

Being grateful for the method by which a person had their eyeballs destroyed wasn’t an emotion you felt frequently, and it was an odd thing to admit to yourself as you consciously blinked.

Over the curve of the hill, you watched as a couple of locals made their appearance, each of them equipped with a flashlight. The sun was beginning to set. Emily had made the executive decision that this case couldn’t wait until morning, so you took off in the middle of the day. Glancing over your shoulder, you found Spencer’s eyes and he gave you one of his patented half-smiles before you looked back at the foreboding building.

The structure had electrical issues, leading to lights flickering all over the crumbling brick walls. The flashes were starting to play tricks on your eyes because you would’ve sworn that you saw a woman in one of the windows, in a long white dress as she looked down at you and your team.

“You must be the BAU,” the sheriff greeted once he was close enough to your group, he waved before huffing impatiently. “Sheriff Shawn Greenbaum, this here is Deputy Conrad Perkins,” he introduced himself and the man with him. You studied them, trying to gauge information about them based on appearance alone.

Emily nodded, reaching her hand out for him to shake and introducing herself before making the rounds with the rest of the team. “Agents Simmons and Lewis are already at the station getting settled, but the rest of us are interested in getting in the building and taking a look around.”

Greenbaum placed both of his hands on his hips before clearing his throat, “That’s not a problem at all. We’ve got a lock up on those front doors to try and keep people out, we’re hoping it’ll put a halt on any more crime.”

Kicking mud off of your boot, you and JJ shared a dubious look. In your line of work, where there’s a will there’s a way—a padlock would do very little to help keep your killer out of the asylum. Even so, you all followed the sheriff as he produced a key from his belt, leading the way to the front doors. They were made of rotting wood. If someone really wanted to get past the lock, they could probably kick them in.

The smell hit you before you stepped foot inside the building, the stench of mildew wafting through the air made you crinkle your nose as you closely followed JJ into the building. A gentle touch to the small of your back told you that Spencer was behind you, each of you shuffling in single file behind the sheriff.

“The first body was found hanging over there,” the deputy, Perkins pointed straight ahead toward the winding staircase. You studied the peeling wallpaper and looked at the faded signs above the different hallways, barely able to make out the words tuberculosis and adolescent as you strolled through the main lobby.

Since they’d initially assumed it was a suicide, the body had been taken down, so even though you had twelve bodies to start your profile with, you didn’t have a fresh crime scene anywhere. In fact, you’d wager a guess and say there’s nothing fresh about this building.

Cringing as you walked over a pile of wet paper, you listened to Emily as she gave everyone jobs, “Reid and I will keep talking to the sheriff, Rossi and JJ, why don’t the two of you check out this wing here with the deputy, and Luke and Y/N can take the upstairs.”

You looked up and found Luke, following him to the staircase and ducking under the noose to go up the stairs, hesitant to use the handrail as you made your way to the second floor, knowing there was plenty of building for the two of you to explore. Pulling your flashlight from your belt for additional lighting, the sight in front of you was worse than what you had seen downstairs. “Watch your step,” you said absentmindedly, bypassing a bucket filled with what you sincerely hoped was water.

“When was this place built again?” Luke asked you, knowing you had done preliminary research with Spencer on the jet. He produced his own light, slipping his cell phone from his pocket and using the flashlight function.

You checked the ceiling, wondering where the beams were and if any bodies had been found in the hallways, “The 1860s,” you responded, keeping your voice soft so you didn’t disturb anything in the building—living or otherwise. You found yourself wanting to walk to the window you had seen that woman in earlier.

Alvez made a disgusted noise at something, and you refrained from looking back at it, knowing you likely didn’t want to know. “And what patients did they predominantly treat?”

Fiddling with the door handle, you nudged the door open with your knee, coughing at the puff of dust that met you on the other side. “They started with a little bit of everything. The elderly, children, adolescents, epileptics, TB patients,” you listed off. “We even found records of people accused of ‘excessive self-satisfaction,’” you continued, finding the window in question. The only thing you found was the same flickering sconce you had seen from the outside.

“Self-satisfaction?” Luke repeated the phrase curiously.

You tapped the sconce with the end of your flashlight, getting it to stop flickering before you clarified, “Masturbation.”

Expectedly, Luke chuckled lightly at your answer, “How exactly would one quantify excessive masturbation?”

Raising your eyebrows, you studied a strange mark on the cement floor, “I assure you; I have no clue.” You turned around, expecting to see Luke right in front of you. “Luke?” You called out his name, confused when you didn’t see him in your line of sight, you flashed your light around the room, wondering if he had found something. “Ah!” You yelped when a hand touched your shoulder, causing you to drop your flashlight.

Luke cackled from his place behind a bookshelf, “It’s gonna be a long case if you’re that tightly wound the entire time.”

You swatted at him with the sleeves of your jacket, “Asshole,” you muttered, taking the practical joke mostly in stride.

“Y/N?” Spencer called from the first floor. Your voice must have carried down the stairs, or they heard the flashlight fall to the ground.

Glaring at Luke, you shouted back, “I’m fine!” You crouched to pick up your flashlight, blowing dust off of it before you tightened your grip around it, “Grow up, Alvez.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, so what did they do after they took in a little bit of everyone?”

You hummed, stepping back out into the hallway, and looking into what you assumed were offices—most of the patients would’ve lived on the first floor. “They started to focus on patients with mental disorders in the 1970s. Around the same time that medicine in psychiatry started to make advancements,” you kicked at a piece of cloth on the ground. “It closed down in the early nineties when people finally started acknowledging that things like lobotomies and electroshock are inhumane.”

Luke picked the next room, wiggling the doorknob before he used his shoulder to push the door open, “Woah.”

Stepping in behind him, you saw what he was looking at. Along the wall was a mural of sorts, a landscape that featured a caricature of the sun. Next to it, the words ‘let the sun shine in’ were scrawled in black paint.The colors were eerily vibrant for the age of the building, “Well that’s…” You let your voice trail off, looking at the size of the furniture in the room and ascertaining that it was likely designed as a treatment space for children.

“Do you hear that?” Luke asked, shining his flashlight around the room and looking for the source of the noise.

Fortunately, you weren’t that gullible, “Yeah, right.” You scoffed, turning back and seeing Spencer at the top of the staircase, “Hey,” you said, tilting your head to the side curiously.

He smiled at you softly, “Hey, it looks like it’s about to rain, so Emily’s having all of us head back to the precinct. We can look at the M.E. reports knowing what we know now about the crime scene.”

You nodded, looking into the room to find Luke, still shining his phone in every corner, “Luke, it’s probably just a rat or a tree branch tapping on the side of the building.”

Luke’s eyebrows were pinched together in concern, but he followed your footsteps into the hallway, falling to the back of the group as the three of you walked downstairs, meeting the rest of the team in front of the asylum.

“It’s kind of weird,” you said mostly to yourself, though you were entirely aware of the people who were surrounding you.

Spencer hummed curiously, making sure the sheriff wasn’t watching before he adjusted the collar of your jacket, “What’s weird?” He asked, mimicking the soft tone of your voice.

You looked back at the window where the light had started flickering again, “How all of these people were forced into the asylum by their loved ones, and now the word has an entirely different meaning.”

Holding your mug in both hands, you listened carefully to the crackling fire in the lobby of the hotel. Matt stood up from where he was sitting so that Spencer could sit next to you, and you absentmindedly slung your legs over his lap, thinking about the case. More specifically, you were thinking about the scene.

Spencer set a hand on your pajama-covered thigh, using his other hand to hold his book open as you listened to the other noises in the lobby. There was a storm going on outside, and a certain level of unease blanketed the team, leading to a convening in the hotel. Emily and Tara were going over case files, Matt and JJ were on the phone with their families, Rossi was playing Tetris on his phone, Luke was on the phone with someone, and you were just observing.

Eventually, Luke spoke up to everyone, “Hey guys, listen to this,” he said, holding his phone out and clicking the speakerphone button, “Okay, go ahead Garcia.”

Your eyebrows raised in amusement at the revelation that he was on the phone with Penelope, but you were still grateful to hear her voice coming through the speaker.

“I hope you’re all cozy by the fire because I have found a story about your crime scene that will chill you to your bones,” she prefaced, and you smiled slightly at her embellishments. “Catherine Pence was admitted to the Barnham Asylum for the Mentally Ill in 1978 at the age of 53. She lived a totally normal and insignificant life until she was 50 years old and her mother passed away, at which point, the people in Catherine’s life said she started to behave strangely.”

Snapping his book closed, Spencer set the novel in your lap before pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, “Strangely, how?”

Penelope cleared her throat, “I’m glad you asked, Dr. Reid. She was convinced that her mother was still with her. In fact, she would frequently be confused when other people told her that they couldn’t see her mom. Eventually, she started showing other concerning symptoms, so her husband brought her to Barnham.”

You frowned, sharing a glance with JJ, who had hung up the phone, “What kinds of other symptoms?”

“The file I got my hands on specifically cites paranoid thoughts, but that’s not even the spookiest part,” she continued. “When the doctors did their first examination of Catherine, they decided that whatever she was dealing with wouldn’t be amenable to any sort of treatment. She was a very calm patient who periodically had conversations with her dead mother and voiced paranoid thoughts, but they put her in Block D.”

Block D was the section of the hospital set aside for patients in need of around-the-clock care, which seemed a bit extreme for Catherine.

There was a clicking on Penelope’s end of the call before she resumed, “Anyway, Block D had sixteen rooms and there was always some form of supervision, usually a nurse. All of the doors were locked and there were bars on the window, so it was impossible to get anywhere without someone noticing, or so you would think.”

You settled further into the couch cushions, and Spencer instinctively squeezed your thigh.

“On December 1st, 1978, when the nurse went into Catherine’s room with her breakfast tray, she found the room in absolute tatters. I mean, the bedding was shredded, there was broken glass, everything was scattered around the room, and Catherine was missing.” Penelope said, emphasizing the last word.

Luke, who had previously seemed bored by the story, leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees, “What happened to her?”

Penelope hummed, knowing she had sucked everyone into the story, “The search started immediately. You don’t just have someone escape an inescapable room and move on with your day. The windows, walls, and floor in Block D were completely intact and there was no sign of tampering with the door. No one could figure out how she got out, much less where she was.”

She didn’t wait for anyone to speak before she continued, “Catherine’s nurse said that she was unusually moody and had been for weeks. She completely stopped speaking and showed no reactions when people spoke to her and it was apparently very sudden, but that didn’t really provide any insight into where she could be. The staff searched the surrounding area thoroughly, but there were no leads. Eventually, they notified her relatives and the residents of the town in case she had somehow gotten out of the hospital.”

Then, on January 12th, 1979, a group of men that the asylum hired to do repair work on the second floor found that there was a door locked from the inside.” Garcia cleared her throat before resuming the story, “They also discovered an unpleasant smell emanating from the room, and when they finally got into the room, there was Catherine Pence.”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust, simply just imagining the smell of the room.

“Her clothes were removed and neatly folded next to her and her arms were crossed over her chest, one below the other,” Penelope continued. “Mysteriously, when her body was removed and taken to the morgue, there was a trace left on the concrete floor that corresponded exactly to the figure of Catherine. No matter how many times or what they’ve tried, they can’t get the mark out of the concrete.”

Your blood ran cold at the memory of the strange shape you’d seen in the asylum, “What?”

Penelope hummed, “The medical examiner considered hypothermia as a potential cause of death, but apparently that winter was unseasonably warm, so he settled on a heart attack.”

“Did they ever consider homicide?” Rossi asked, attempting to seem uninterested.

There was a chuckle on the other end of the call, “Yes, they did, but they never found anything else to support that theory. At that point, the room Catherine was found in hadn’t been opened since 1976 when it was used to contain patients with a contagious infectious disease. Since then, the room remained locked.” You could practically hear Penelope’s smile as she divulged the final detail, “Residents of the town say that, sometimes, you can hear cries for help coming from the building. There are even reports of Catherine’s ghost being seen in the window of the room where she died, she just stands there and stares out the window.”

Everyone sat around in silence for a moment before Luke grabbed the phone off of the coffee table, “Yeah, alright, thanks, Garcia.”

“Sleep well, my pretties,” she crooned through the phone before the call ended.

You felt heavy as if there had been a weight placed on your chest, and in an attempt to rectify it, you handed Spencer his book, “I’m headed to bed.”

He looked up at you curiously, eyes studying yours before he nodded, “Alright, I’ll be up in a little while,” he assured you.

Your body carried you to the hotel room, using the key to unlock the door and somehow making it to the bed even after your mind had completely turned itself off. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you remembered waking up.

As you sat up in bed, you were having trouble holding your head up, finding that you couldn’t turn your neck to see if Spencer had made it to bed. More than that, the room was pitch black when the two of you usually leave the bathroom light on in hotels. Opening your mouth, no words came out.

Small puffs of air escaped your lips, but nothing else came out. You couldn’t move your hands to your neck—you couldn’t move at all. You wanted to call out for Spencer, and even though no sound came out of your mouth, you saw him before you.

Your eyes widened at his sudden appearance, suspiciously illuminated in the otherwise dark room.

Tantalizingly slowly, his hand reached out for you, touching the skin of your neck with his fingertips before pulling. It felt like he was pulling at a thread, and all you could do was watch as his hand came back with a piece of twine pinched between his fingers and your disembodied head fell to the floor.

You gasped for air, holding your hand to your chest and panting, unable to figure out how to get air into your lungs when you so desperately needed it. There were other hands on you, gently placed on your hip and upper back, the latter rubbing small circles as you choked on nothing but air.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, continuing his ministrations on your back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he comforted you, trying to get you to even out your breathing.

Carefully, his hand reached up to your neck, sweeping hair behind your shoulder, but as soon as you felt his hand on the side of your neck, you flinched away from him, nearly toppling off of the double bed.

He pulled you back as gently as he could, “Y/N,” he said, his voice stern this time as he turned to flick the lamp on. “What happened?”

You shook your head, appreciating how secure it felt to the rest of your body, before pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. “It was just a nightmare,” you answered, the sound of your own voice felt disconnected from your body.

“You don’t usually call out my name in your nightmares,” Spencer observed softly, trying to get you to open up more to him, “And you’ve definitely never pulled away from me like that.”

He was right, you had your general recurring nightmares—mostly work related—but you’ve never had anything like this before. You didn’t know how to explain it to him, because how would you explain to your rational, genius boyfriend that you thought you were seeing ghosts?

night two

You felt his eyes on you, Spencer’s big, brown eyes were boring right into yours as you looked at the foreboding structure in front of you. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been watching the stained-glass window, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the ghost to come back.

Sighing, you leaned back in the passenger seat of the car, thinking about the now-cold coffee that you had sitting in the cup holder and wondering if it would be worth the caffeine if it meant you had to pee in the woods at some point in the night.

“You should’ve stayed at the hotel tonight,” Spencer said, his eyes still focused on you.

You pursed your lips, watching the light flicker in the window, “We have a job to do.” That should’ve been enough for him, it had to be enough for you, knowing that at the end of the day, this was just a case and you’d be going home once you found whoever was doing this.

Finally turning his head, Spencer huffed in frustration as he faced the front door of the asylum. “I know you didn’t get back to sleep last night, so you have to be exhausted now,” he told you.

It was nearly midnight now, and you indeed hadn’t gone back to sleep after waking up at two in the morning, but you still agreed to a stakeout when Emily suggested it. Spencer called you out on it then, similarly to what he was doing now, and you were sure he had something to do with you being paired up together. If you ever found out he had voiced a concern about you to Emily, you were going to have issues.

The cool glow of the waning gibbous moon reflected off of the building, the effect only building the eerie feeling in your stomach, winding itself up like a ball of yarn.

With the morning came another body, and it became clear to Emily and the locals that the camera surveillance that had been set up along the perimeter wasn’t doing anything to bring you closer to closing the case. So, she had you and Spencer sitting in a car at the front entrance, each of you armed and on high alert, no matter what your boyfriend thought.

On the other side of the building, Luke and Tara were in another vehicle, keeping an eye on a back entrance that had the potential to be an access point for the UnSub.

Keeping an eye on your window, you squinted as if you could somehow summon Catherine Pence’s ghost. You wished you’d been paired up with Luke again, who at least had seen the mark on the floor, but instead, you had Spencer, who had meddled with your work out of concern for you.

You sighed, reminding yourself that he only did it out of concern for you, wondering how to approach the issue when an all-too-familiar figure appeared in that second-floor window, “Do you see that?” You blurted the question before you could even think about what you were saying.

Instinctively, Spencer placed a hand on his weapon while looking through the windshield of the car, “See what?”

You furrowed your brows, pointing as plainly as you possibly could to the second-floor window where you saw the woman, “On the second floor. Off to the right,” you said desperately, wanting him to see it, wanting him to believe you. “Don’t you see her?”

Spencer’s hand dropped as his gaze went from the building and back to you, “Honey.” You tried to ignore the emotion-filled tone that he gave you, flooding the pet name with an apt amount of concern.

Sitting back in the car seat, “Never mind, I didn’t—” you cut yourself off, “I just thought I saw something.” You tried to play it off, crossing your ankles one over the other and shifting in the seat, trying to keep your ass from going numb.

His eyes were still trained on you, and you tried to ignore him even as he locked the passenger door from the inside. The car remained absolutely silent until you heard a voice come in from the radio, “This is the Death Star calling for the Bat Mobile, over.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of Luke’s voice, “Don’t call this car the Bat Mobile,” you told Spencer as he lifted the radio to his mouth.

“This is the Bat Mobile, we can hear you loud and clear Death Star, over,” Spencer responded, grinning at the way you groaned in response. The poltergeist of it all nearly forgotten for just a moment.

Placing your head in your hands in frustration as you waited for Luke’s response, Spencer reached over and smoothed your hair back, the gesture feeling oddly domestic for a stakeout. Maybe that was why Emily never paired the two of you together. “Yeah, we aren’t seeing anything out here, are you clear on your end?”

Spencer’s ministrations on your hair faltered for just a moment before he answered, “No, we haven’t seen anything.”

“Tara just got off the phone with Emily, they got the lab results back on those tools we found by the latest victim,” he informed you, “The blood on it was a match.”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line and shared a look with Spencer. Part of you was grateful to finally feel like you’d made some semblance of progress with the case, but the other part of you felt physically ill knowing that the latest victim had been enucleated using an orbitoclast. Her eyes and sockets were pulverized by a lobotomy pick, and it almost made you feel like you needed a word stronger than sadist.

“Did the medical examiner say the injuries matched the patterns of the other two enucleated victims?” Spencer asked into the radio, holding it close to his mouth as he spoke.

There was a pause before Luke responded, “Uh, kind of.”

You frowned, “What do you mean ‘kind of?’”

Another pause, “The M.E. concluded that the wound patterns are the same on the three latest victims, but the injuries on the most recent one were inflicted antemortem,” Luke explained.

Your eyes widened as the weight of Luke’s words joined the pit in your stomach, her eyes had been pulverized while she was still alive. The M.E.’s conclusion matched the one you had proposed when you saw the blood spatter this morning. You held your breath to stop a sound of disgust from escaping your lips, but you knew Spencer saw it on your face.

“Thanks for the update,” Spencer said, turning down the volume on the radio slightly before setting it on the dashboard.

Swallowing thickly, you placed both of your hands in your lap, studying them as if you’ve never seen them before, “Have you ever gotten the feeling that a case isn’t going to end well?”

You caught him while he was about to take a sip of his coffee, his movement paused for a moment before he took a swig anyway, setting the cup in the cup holder and nodding, “Yeah,” he answered, his voice raspy before he cleared his throat, “I have.”

Running your tongue over your molars, you raised your eyebrows at him in curiosity, “What usually happens?”

Spencer sighed, going back to facing the asylum before he held his hand out for you to take, you obliged, setting your intertwined fingers on the center console. “The case usually doesn’t end well,” he admitted.

“When are you going to tell me what your nightmare was about?” Spencer asked, squeezing your hand as he made conversation, trying to keep the two of you awake through the night.

Leaning your head back, you looked through the sunroof of the car, thrilled to see the sun beginning to rise over the tiny town. “I don’t think it really matters, it was just a bad dream,” you told him, clearly aware of why it mattered.

You even knew why it mattered to him. You’d never pushed him away like that before, but as soon as his hand had gone near your neck, you’d completely lost control of your body. “Look, I know I don’t believe in dream analysis—”

“Oh,” you scoffed, cutting him off. “Yes, you do,” you corrected him, “You do this all the time, you talk about dream analysis, and you claim that you don’t believe in it but then you actually get into it, and you admit that you just don’t like what Freud has to say about it. Then you’ll list everyone who has discredited him before you tell me ‘Jung still has his merits.’”

Spencer was quiet, and you immediately regretted your interjection.

Sighing, you wished you could melt into the passenger seat of the car, “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t think that analyzing my dream right now will do any good, but I just… I’m sorry.”

He was still silent.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you turned your body as best you could in the vehicle, “Do you believe in the afterlife?”

That got his attention. Spencer turned his head to you, concern etched into his face, “Why are you asking me this?”

You couldn’t tell him. You’d break his heart if you told him that throughout the duration of this case, you’d developed a pit in your stomach and started having dreams about dying. “In my dream, it was like… like I was paralyzed, and I couldn’t move my head. I couldn’t speak or anything and when I thought about calling for you, you appeared.” You sniffled slightly, “You reached out for my neck and your hand came back with a piece of twine, and then my head fell to the ground—completely detached from my body.”

The lack of judgment in his expression was what finally triggered the first tear to fall from your eye, but you didn’t wipe it away. Spencer moved his hand and deftly wiped at your tears with his fingertips, cupping your face in his hands, “You’re not going to die.”

“Spence,” you said, your voice strained by emotion.

He shook his head gently, “Nope, not as long as I’m around. You’re not going to die on this case.”

Your chest ached as your eyes studied his, “Okay.”

“But,” he continued, “I want you to take a step back on this one. No more volunteering for stakeouts, no wandering to the second floor of the asylum, and no listening to any more of Penelope’s ghost stories.”

Nodding, you silently agreed to his conditions, holding out your pinky and waiting for him to present his. Interlocking your small fingers, you each kissed your hands, and you took a deep breath. “What do you think we’re looking at, Spence? Is it another witch hunt?”

Names and faces of people like Leland Duncan and James Heathridge flashed in your memory, but if there was an overlap there, you haven’t seen it.

You didn’t feel like the BAU had a very good track record in Appalachia, Shane Wyland and the still unnamed ‘Mountain Man’ were proof enough of that, but you hoped that Wyland was long dead by now, and these crimes were too organized for the Mountain Man.

“I don’t know, baby,” Spencer admitted, and you knew that it hurt him to say that to you, especially now.

Looking out the window, your eyes caught on Luke and Tara as they made their way over to your car. Spencer unlocked the doors as you hurriedly wiped beneath your eyes, trying to hide any evidence of your upset before reconvening with the team.

Luke waggled his eyebrows at the two of you, “Good morning, how was your night?”

Groaning, you stretched out your neck, “Ultimately uneventful,” you told him, knowing that if anything of real interest had happened, Luke and Tara would’ve been the first people you notified.

“Prentiss asked us if we’d do a quick sweep of the inside before heading back to the precinct,” Tara said, jutting her chin in the direction of the building.

You and Spencer shared a look, but now that you were grouped within your team, you felt comfortable enough to slip your hand in his as the four of you approached the building. Squeezing his hand, your eyes flickered up to the second-story window, and seeing nothing, you stepped into the building.

The smell hit you. The strong tang of blood mixed with that of isopropyl alcohol burned at your nostrils as Tara swore at the sight in front of all of you. A body hanging from the stairwell, eyes completely destroyed, and while the body was covered in blood, the floor was completely void of any red.

“She’s cleaning up,” you observed, stepping closer to Spencer and looking at the streak marks that a rag had made on the floor.

Luke raised his eyebrows, “She?” He asked, confused about the sudden change in pronouns while Tara immediately went to call Emily.

Spencer nodded, agreeing with you as the three of you watched the body turn in the glow of the sunrise, “A man wouldn’t care about the mess he’s leaving behind.”

This revelation left you more confused than anything, you had no idea how anyone could lift that much dead weight, night after night. “Oh,” you breathed, blood draining from your face as you looked up at Spencer and Luke. “We were watching the building all night,” you reminded them. “We never saw anyone enter, but we never saw them leave.”

night three

“Alright,” Emily started, fully equipped in her Kevlar, she looked around the entryway of the asylum, “Rossi and Tara will keep an eye out front in case anyone tries to make a run for it. Reid and JJ will take the tunnels beneath the west wing, Simmons and I will take the east wing, Alvez and Sheriff Greenbaum will head north, and Y/N and Deputy Perkins will stay here in the foyer in case anyone calls for backup.”

In the dark building, Spencer gave your hand a squeeze before everyone turned on their flashlights. “Let’s end this,” Rossi said, earning a hum of agreement as everyone split off into their respective directions.

You wished Emily had done you the kindness of letting you be paired with Spencer again, but twice in the span of a single case was seemingly too much to ask for. “You ever seen something like this?” Deputy Perkins asked you, shuffling his feet across the floor.

Shaking your head, your eyes focused on where the newest body had been found that morning. The body was cleared out and the cause of death was blunt force trauma, but once the realization that the killer had been in the building the entire time settled in, the team got to work on figuring out some of the logistics.

That was when the sheriff brought up the possibility of the killer using a long-abandoned tunnel system. The town had assumed they caved in years ago, but a bit of sleuthing had revealed that there were still a select number of tunnels for her to use.

As long as I stay in the foyer, you reminded yourself, no wandering.

The stench of isopropyl alcohol still floated through the air; it had likely sept into the porous flooring that had been underneath the body. You made note of the flickering lights in the surrounding area, making sure not to get any of them mixed up as you rested a hand on your firearm.

“Did you hear that?” Deputy Perkins asked you, looking up the stairs and shining his flashlight on them, trying to see if he could find anything in the eerie abyss of darkness.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head in response, “No,” you told him, looking to the left and right of you, wondering if one of the pairs that had been sent off was returning. You hadn’t heard anything coming from the upstairs.

He hummed, taking a step closer to the staircase and setting off alarm bells in your head, “I’m sure I heard a shuffling coming from upstairs.” The pit in your stomach reformed as he planted a foot on the staircase and waved you over, “Come on, we should check it out.”

You hesitated, “We’re supposed to be here if someone needs backup,” you reminded him, nearly pleading with him not to abandon his post.

Perkins shrugged at you before taking another step. “I’m going to check it out, and there’s safety in numbers,” he countered before ascending the steps, making it to the first landing before your feet finally moved.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you followed him up the stairs, taking careful steps so that they didn’t creak beneath you. You reached the second-floor seconds after him, but you shone your flashlight around without any sign of him, beaming the light into the familiar room, “Deputy Perkins?”

You stepped into the room, placing a hand on your firearm as you tapped on the flickering sconce again and looked behind you. Your breathing hitched at the sight of the deputy in front of you, he was crumpled to the floor, his legs folded unnaturally, and there was a lobotomy pick that went straight through his head.

Next to him stood a woman, her clothes were tattered and stained with blood, and she came at you, shoving you to the ground and leaving your gun and flashlight scattered on the hardwood. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of you, and you got yourself out from under her while she frantically searched for a missing piece of the puzzle.

She’d used her pick to take out the deputy, leaving her with nothing to gouge your eyes out. You weren’t sure if you should feel grateful as you rolled over and grabbed the closest thing you could, wrapping your fingers around your flashlight and swinging it aimlessly against your attacker.

“No!” She screamed a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound rang out as you hit her on the side with your law enforcement issue flashlight. The object slipped out of your fingers as you sat up and tried to reorient yourself with your surroundings, you couldn’t see your gun, searching for it as she flung your flashlight back at you, the edge of it catching on your forehead as you fell back.

The UnSub straddled your waist, keeping a firm hold on your throat as she held the pick to your eye, having pulled it from the deputy’s head so that she could complete her ritual, “Don’t,” you gasped, “Think—” your voice broke off as vomit rose in your throat. “Think of the mess,” you told her. “You used all the rubbing alcohol,” you reminded her, pleading with her not to take your eyes.

She was seething, very nearly foaming at the mouth above you as instead of stabbing you with the pick, she used the butt of it to crack against your skull. “You took my friends!” She raged, referring to the people that she had murdered, she was collecting them to keep her company.

“No,” you wheezed, shaking your head even through the blinding pain, “I set them free,” you challenged her, resigning yourself to an untimely demise and crying out when she sat you up.

You tried to claw at her, a weak attempt at saving your own life that received a laugh from the UnSub, an almost childlike giggle. “You can be my friend,” she offered, grabbing an already prepared rope from the floor and looping it around your neck before she slung it around an exposed beam, creating a makeshift rig and pulling on it.

Immediately, your hands flew to your neck, trying to stop the rope from suffocating you completely, and it worked for a little while before your feet lifted off of the ground.

After that, you were gone, left standing off to the side as you watched your body hang from the ceiling while the UnSub who would always remain an UnSub to you watched, cackling as she did so. She cackled up until the moment JJ put a bullet in her brain, the sudden death of your attacker leaving your body to drop to the hardwood floor, the hit softened by Spencer and Emily as they caught.

Tossing the rope to the side, Spencer laid you out on the floor and ducked his head to your chest, listening for breathing sounds. He was listening for anything, any sign of life at all.

There was nothing, so he put his hands on your corporeal form’s chest and started CPR, pushing down on your chest in steady motions.

You knelt down to him, watching tears fall from his face as JJ did her best to keep your airway open and Emily frantically radioed for an ambulance, continuously repeating that Y/N is down.

Assuming your hand would go right through him, you placed a hand on Spencer’s back, surprised to find that he was still solid to you. In a sort of daze, you watched him as he tried to save your life, repeating the same three words over and over again, “Come on, baby.” The mantra continued, tears falling onto your shirt.

You felt like you were on fire as if your body was physically burning while you watched life-saving measures be performed on yourself, “Oh, Spencer,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry,” you said to no one but yourself, knowing that he couldn’t hear you.

Looking to your side, you saw her again. The spirit form of Catherine Pence was watching you die in real-time, and you took a shuddering breath as she knelt next to you, expecting her to impart some sort of spiritual wisdom onto you.

Instead, she placed one of her ethereal hands on the back of your head and slammed both of your forms together. The entire world went dark after that, but you could still hear everything going on, searing pain ran through your entire body, from a throbbing in your ankle to an ache in your ribs to a pulsing in your head, but there was no more pressure on your chest.

“Is she…?” You heard JJ’s voice first, and as badly as you wanted to open your eyes, you just couldn’t gather the strength to do so.

There was heavy breathing and a soft weight on your shoulder, two fingers pressed into the pulse point on your wrist, “She’s breathing. She’s alive,” Spencer answered, out of breath. “Oh, my angel.”

A low groan was the only thing you could muster up.

Spencer shushed you, keeping his head on your shoulder and his fingers on your wrist, “It’s okay, don’t try to talk,” he cooed. “You’re going to be okay, the paramedics are here,” he lifted his head then. “I just want to stay with her.”

aftermath

It was far too bright for you, and the low keening sound that you expelled from your throat was the only way you could think to express that feeling. Whoever was in the room with you understood, turning the brightness down for you, earning a hum of approval from you.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible as he tried to keep his voice as low as possible.

The universe was taking pity on you, you knew it because you couldn’t feel any pain, which either meant you had finally kicked it or the hospital you were in had given you painkillers.

Your eyes felt like they were stuck together, the way that they get when you wake up from a perfect nap, and it took a surprising amount of energy to part your lips, expelling a deep breath out of your mouth. The action led to a pinching pain in your chest, causing your breathing to hitch, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Spencer said, though you couldn’t imagine what he was apologizing for. “Can you open your eyes? How are you feeling?”

A grunt was all he received in response, the single noise begging him to slow down. Your eyes opened just slightly, looking at him through slivers as he smiled softly at you. His eyes were red and there was a box of Kleenex on the table next to him, accompanied by his phone and a cup of water.

He sighed in relief once he noticed that your eyes were opening, “Hey,” he repeated, “You look good,” he lied to you.

You rolled your eyes at him and his smile only grew, “Hi,” you croaked, your throat swollen and dry as you tried to reorient yourself. You were in a hospital, but the view outside of your window was of a city, not the tiny town that you had just been in.

Noticing your confusion, Spencer reached out to adjust your nasal cannula, “They transported you to a hospital in a city. The local hospital just didn’t have the capacity to treat you,” he explained. “I’ve been with you,” he reassured you, “The entire time.”

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, but he waved you off instantly.

Spencer grabbed the Styrofoam water cup from your bedside table and held it to you, bending the straw so that you could get some water.

Noting his silence, you tilted your head to the side, ignoring the way your brain felt like it had been scrambled, “Are you okay?”

He pursed his lips while setting the cup back down, “I just remember thinking about how I promised you that you weren’t going to die.”

The antiseptic air made you cringe, your body becoming more and more conscious as time went on, “I wandered,” you reminded him, making sure he knew that you broke your promise first.

“That wasn’t your idea,” Spencer challenged, knowing you well enough to say that without having experienced it himself. His fingers nimbly adjusted the blanket on your hospital bed, “You followed the deputy upstairs, it wasn’t your choice.”

In your current state, Spencer wouldn’t let you take any of the responsibility for what had happened in the asylum and even though you knew the answer, you asked him anyway, “Is she dead?”

Nodding softly, he took your hand in his, “She’s dead, and someday I’ll let you know her name and read the rest of the case, but today is not that day.” He skimmed his thumb over your knuckles, each of them cracked and bloodied from your fight with the UnSub.

You sighed in relief, a single tear receding into your hairline as you closed your eyes again, “How long have I been sleeping?” You asked, squinting over at your patient care whiteboard.

“Two days,” Spencer answered gently, dragging his fingers up and down your forearm, “You were tired, and your body had a lot of healing to do. It still does,” he added the last part, not wanting you to claim being healed. “Everyone’s still here, waiting for you to be discharged,” he continued, “I should message Emily, actually.”

“And Penelope,” you added, knowing she’d rather hear it directly from him than through Emily.

Spencer chuckled lightly, a sound that was as curative as any medicine you could be given, “I’m sure she’ll be waiting for us at the tarmac in Quantico.”

A small smile sprouted on your face, “She’ll be the one landing the plane,” you laughed slightly, interrupted by a fit of coughing. You placed a hand on your chest and winced, inhaling sharply before trying to breathe through the pain.

“What do you need?” He asked you carefully, setting his phone back down after sending his texts.

You shook your head, “Nothin’, just you.”

It was an action that would’ve previously earned a few stares from the team, and at least one wolf whistle from Luke, you and Spencer slipping into the galley together and closing the curtain behind you. Now it was simply the easiest place for you to get some semblance of privacy as Spencer snipped at the old bandaged around your neck.

Your hair was secured atop your head, keeping it out of the ointment as Spencer used his fingertips to carefully cover the rope burn that had been left around your neck. “Does it hurt?” He asked, eyes focused on his canvas while coating the hollow of your throat.

Shaking your head minutely, you closed your eyes, “No,” you told him, a slight rasp still peeking through your tone.

He hummed in response, giving you a small smile as he went back to the tube, putting more ointment on his fingers, “Liar.”

Opening your eyes again, you looked up at him as your face warmed, “Only a little bit,” you altered your answer. At this point, the worst part about the burn was that the nurses recommended keeping it covered, and Spencer was taking his job as caretaker very seriously.

He checked his phone for something before going back to his prior actions, “I think it’s getting better,” he observed, furrowing his brows as he wiped excess ointment from his fingers.

You took his word for it, having been avoiding looking in a mirror at all costs. Seeing the bruises all over your body was more than enough for you. You flinched when someone else slipped into your oasis, Emily shut the curtain behind her, holding out a pack of non-adhesive Telfa pads for Spencer to use on your neck.

“Hey,” you said nervously, wondering if she had another purpose or if she was simply bringing you some first-aid.

Emily smiled nervously; her eyes studied the marks on your throat as Spencer covered them. You expected her to speak, but she just watched in complete silence.

Raising your eyebrows, you looked from her to Spencer, and back to her again. “You should see the other guy,” you joked, earning the slightest smile from the both of them.

“I just wanted to let you know that however much time you decide to take off, it’s yours,” she offered to you, watching as Spencer unwrapped another packet of gauze.

You hummed, “I’m really alright, Em,” you assured her, more than comfortable with the automatic six weeks that you were granted by the bureau. It was the standard set for all agents unless there was an extenuating circumstance that prevented them from returning to work.

Emily’s nervous smile returned, “It wasn’t a suggestion,” she informed you, letting you know that she was more or less forcing you to take the extended time off.

Peering at your boyfriend, you frowned, “You put her up to this.”

Spencer shook his head, “I didn’t. Stop moving so much,” he urged you, trying to stretch the number of Telfa pads he had before he had the chance to go to a pharmacy.

“He didn’t,” Emily iterated, “But he could’ve, and I still wouldn’t tell you,” she added. “We’ll talk more—both of you. For now, I don’t want to see you around the BAU for a while.”

You sighed when she left the galley, Spencer finished his last placement before stepping back. “How do I look?” You asked him, keeping your question mostly rhetorical.

His smile was so gentle that it cracked at your resolve, “Good.”

Looking up at him doubtfully, you leaned against the counter, “You’re a really bad liar.”

“Hey,” he said, carefully wrapping his arms around you and letting you rest the unmarred side of your head on his chest, “You look alive, and that’s good enough for me.”

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthdaymonth Shana! Hope you have awesome birthday 🎂🥳 Would love some Psych, either Lassie (Shassie) centred or a contiuation of the abduction one!

a continuation of 1 2 3

He lost his son five years ago.

Henry tries support groups at Karen's urging, the warning about what's likely to happen to him if he doesn't get the drinking under control unspoken but clear. He wonders if Fenich said something to her and tries not to feel too resentful about it. The groups don't do shit, just push him into a rage that reminds him too much of his grandfather. He cuts back on the drinking enough that no one can smell it on him anymore and that appears to be enough, thank god.

His job is all that he has left. And he still would have lost that if it weren't for Gus.

It was only a few months after Shawn went missing. Maddy was off on some work trip, saying the break would be good for them. Henry had mostly resigned himself to the divorce. He'd drank too much that night like he always did and when the doorbell had pierced through his pounding head he'd groaned and rolled off the couch. He stumbled to his feet and lurched over to the door, yanking it open in a desperation to make the doorbell stop. He looks down with bleary eyes and sees Gus standing in front of him, wide eyed. "You here for Shawn?" he yawns, already nudging the door open out of habit before he remembers.

Shawn's gone.

Gus swallows then nods. He'd stopped talking. The Gusters have already gone through two therapists. His sister insists he still talks to her, but it's possible she's just covering for him.

"What do you mean?" he asks, expecting Gus to take out the pen and notebook he's always carrying around with him. He needs to call his parents since they definitely don't know he's here. Ever since Shawn went missing, the Gusters haven't let Gus out of their sight. Henry can't blame them.

Except Gus swallows and says, "I overheard my parents talking. They say you're not doing good. I mean, well. Not doing well."

Henry looks down at him in shock. The last time he heard Gus's voice was when he'd told him they were calling off the search for Shawn, that they couldn't find him and he wasn't coming back. Gus had sobbed in his arms then, hit his chest, begged and yelled and been more out of sorts than any of them had ever seen him.

"Shawn loved you," he says and Henry doesn't even flinch at the past tense. "He was really proud of you and he'd want you to be okay."

If he had anything like pride left, he'd probably feel something about the hot tears on his cheeks. "He loved you too, Gus. He'd want you to be okay too."

Gus swallows and holds out his hand. "I'll try if you will."

"Alright," he says, because what the hell else is he supposed to say to that, to his son's best friend who has snuck away from his parents and broken his silence and is looking up at him with such earnest pleading. He shakes his hand. "Deal."

The Gusters are in hysterics when he gets them on the phone. But Gus starts talking again after that and Henry drinks a little less and it doesn't hurt as much as he'd thought it would.

Gus is a senior this year. Shawn would be too if he was alive.

The both of them have good days and bad ones.

"Henry!" He looks up. "Martha wants you in the interrogation room. She's got her anonymous tipper on the line."

He bites back a sigh. Martha's a good officer. She's also a recent transfer and is convinced that some guy who calls in with the occasional tip is the same one who used to call into her precinct in Boston and she's woven a whole conspiracy theory around it. She's been trying to get him interested for weeks, but frankly the whole thing sounds insane.

Karen nudges him in the side. "Come on, it'll at least get her off your back."

Or encourage her. "Fine."

They head down, peeking around the door. Martha's face lights up and she waves him and Karen in eagerly. He's just shut the door behind him when she puts down the receiver and switches it to speaker. "Can you repeat what you told me?"

"Again?" huffs an aggrieved, young male voice. "Aren't you supposed to be taking notes or something?"

Henry can't feel his knees.

"I'm very sorry, sir, but you if you wouldn't mind," Martha insists.

"Fine. You're wasting your time going after the family in the Robertson case, their performative grief is weird, I'll give you that, but they're just attention seekers. You need to talk to the maid, the jumpy one that's in the background of the newsclips. Look under her nails."

It's different, older, more mature, slower.

He stumbles over to the table, knocking over a pencil cup as he grabs a pen with a shaking hand. He writes over Martha's notes, who's looking at him like he's lost his mind, but he's never cared about anything less.

"How many hats?" she reads aloud dubiously.

"What's that going to help?" he asks, like always, intonation and whining just the same.

"Uh," Martha looks at him but has to hold onto the edge of the table to keep from passing out. "You never know what will help. How many hats are in the clip that you first noticed her nails?"

There's a moment of silence, then faint humming, and Henry can see Shawn closing his eyes and lifting his hand to his head like he always did when he was trying to remember something. "Red baseball cap, weird little outdated doilie looking thing on the maid, and the Mom had a black veil. Which isn't technically a hat," he adds, almost as soon as Henry thinks it. "But it she only wore it in two clips, it should narrow it down. Or you could stop wasting time and just call her in for questioning. You should take better notes."

The dial tone is a shock, snapping him out of it. "No! Shawn? Shawn!"

Martha is new, she doesn't know, he's sure someone told her about his dead son but probably not his name. Karen puts a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Henry, don't do this-"

"It was him," he insists. "I have to - I've got," he stops, runs a hand over his face, and says to Martha, "Get me everything you have on this. Everything."

"Okay?" she says, bewildered, and Karen is shaking her head and Henry doesn't waste time convincing her.

He makes it out to the car before he breaks, trying to control his breathing as he takes out his phone with shaking hands and dials a number that he only calls on Christmas and Shawn's birthday.

"Henry?" Maddy greets, voice understandably concerned. He hasn't talked to her sober in years. "What's wrong?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a sob. It's as much of a surprise to him as it is to her. He raises a hand to his face and finds that he's crying.

"Oh god," she whispers and he hears her voice break. "Is this about - it's about Shawn, isn't it? Did you find - was he," she takes a deep, steadying breath. "Tell me it was quick, Henry, please."

He forces out, "You were right."

There's silence on the other end.

"I'm sorry," he says, because he should have listened to her, he should have looked harder, he doesn't know how this happened or what exactly is going on. "I'm so sorry, Mads, you were right."

She swallows. "Henry. Are you saying-"

"He's alive," he says, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Our son's alive."