#“You will regret touching them”

[jasmines-library]

Lost and found.

WHUMPTOBER DAY 20. Prompt: “You will regret touching them.” Fandom: Batfam

Summary: After falling into a trap, you are captured by Scarecrow and exposed to his fear toxin. When your older brothers arrive to help you, your fear gets the better of you.

Warnings: Fear, disappointment, beating, hurt.

Word count: 2K

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You hadn’t been living with Bruce that long. A few years. If that. You were the baby of the family, younger than Damian and in some ways you supposed he resented you for it; always narrowing his eyes at you when passing him the hallway. You often felt estranged from the rest of the boys, never fully understanding their inside jokes or nightly routines. You never felt as though you belonged despite the fact that the older boys had tried to make you feel welcome. 

The one person you had managed to connect with was Alfred. When your time wasn’t occupied by training or patrol it was often spent curled up in the study with a book and excitedly explaining it to him. Reading was one of your passions; it allowed you to escape the harsh realities of the cruel world and alfred was glad to hear you rant, it often resulted in him mirroring the smile on your face. 

It was a late autumn night when the call came in. You were lounging on the window seat watching the rain batter against the glass. Your brothers were out on patrol and you were the only one left home, so you floated over to the phone, answering it and bringing it to your ear. 

“Hello?”

There was static on the other end of the line, followed by a shuffling. And then came the voice of a child. “Please… please help me.”

You began to pull on your suit, listening closely to the girl speaking over the phone. 

“My friend she-”

“Calm down.” you told her. “I’m on my way. Where are you?”

She rattled off her location through sobs. “Please hurry.”

“It’s gonna be okay.” You reassured her. 

Once you had calmed the girl, you slipped out of the exit of the batcave and began to race through town. It was a quiet night. The rain had pushed many people inside, so the lack of people on the streets really threw you off, but you decided to warn your brothers where you were going, just in case. 

“Nightwing?” You asked over the comms, hoping that he wasn’t too occupied to answer. 

“Raven?” He wrinkled his nose. “What are you doing out?”

“A call came in. A young girl said her friend was cornered by a group of armed criminals. I’ve got it handled, but I thought I'd give you a heads up.”

“Copy that Raven.” 

The line went silent again as you continued to push your way into the city until you reached the location that the scared girl gave you over the line. Only, there was no one in sight. You called out into the darkness but there was no reply. And then, there was a sharp prick to the side of your neck. 

~

When you awoke, your hands and hands were bound together by old rope that scratched at your skin. The floor was dank and dusty and your mask had been torn from your face. You could feel a small nic along your eyebrow, and your entire body ached. 

Without full use of your hands, you struggled to sit up when you noticed the figure leaning against the wall across the room. Tall and masked with a straw hat, he loomed over you, observing you from afar. You used your legs to inch yourself away from the humanoid figure, but he outpaced you, squatting down in front of you and trailing a gloved hand along your jaw.

“Hiya little birdie.”

“Get off of me.” You spat.

Scarecrow tutted, but removed his hand. “I’m glad to see you. You see, I've been watching you for some time. I’ve seen how miserable  you’ve been. And I've been waiting for a chance to get you alone. I have to say though, it was much easier than I anticipated.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The villain chided. “Mm, I have something more fun in mind. You see, I've been experimenting with something new. Well, new and improved. You see, my old fear toxin, it was good but you couldn’t really feel. If you know what I mean? So I did some experimenting and I've finally created something I've just been dying to test out. So I figured, why not have some fun while I'm at it?”

“They’re coming for me.” You told him with narrowed eyes. “And you’re gonna be a dead man?”

He tilted his head, resting his hand on the door before he stepped out and shut it completely. “Are they?”

He bolted the door shut, leaving you in the dimly lit room where a thick, green smog began to billow through the vents. You tried to back away from the smoke, but it surrounded you, cascading down all four walls. You took a deep breath, taking in all of the air you could, but it didn’t last long, eventually you couldn’t stand the burning in your lungs and you were forced to inhale the substance, choking as it filled your lungs. 

When the green began to fade away, vanishing into the air, you were left alone in the silence. Though it wasn’t long before the door was broken down by heavy pounding, and the masked face of your brother burst through the door. 

“Y/N”

You breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Jason. Oh thank god, I thought you weren’t going to come. He told me that you none of you would and I-”

“Shut up.”

You stilled. “What?”

“I said shut up!” He kicked you hard to the ribs eliciting a yelp from you. 

“Jason…?”

“God, are you as stupid as you look? Shut it.” Jason kicked you harder, each one growing in intensity and followed by a snarky remark. You tucked your head to your chest, pressing your hands tightly to your ears until eventually, Jason vanished into a cloud of green and you were plunged back into emptiness. 

“Oh god… Y/N.”

It was Tim’s voice, shaky as he raced towards you. His hands gripped your arms as he forced them away from your ears. You half glanced up at him, doing a double take when you saw the look set upon his face. It was tender, but laced with worry. You wanted to reach out into his arms, but you were hesitant. 

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” He bent down and removed the frayed rope from your wrists, you rubbed them. Tim then swung his arm around your shoulder to help you up, but you only made it a few steps towards the door when he flung you over his shoulder, sending you plummeting to the floor with a sickening crack as your skull collided with the ground. Your head throbbed as blood dripped from the crack that had opened in the back of your head. 

“Silly girl.” Tim laughed. “You really think we care enough to come and help you? After you were foolish enough to fall for his trap? You always mess things up Y/N. You’re a burden. Nothing more. Bruce’ll be glad to finally be rid of you.”

“Tim, Please-"

He reeled his fist back to land the final blow. You scrambled backwards, raising your arm above your face to protect yourself, but no pain came. And Time was gone. 

Fat, hot tears were rolling down your cheeks by the time that Damian entered the room. He narrowed his eyes at you like he normally did. They were so full of hate. You closed your eyes, biting down on your trembling lip and sinking against the wall. 

“Get up.” He demanded, voice thick with venom. 

You squeezed your eyes shut even tighter. 

“Damian… please don’t. I don’t need to hear how-”

“I hate you.”

It was only three words, but they cut right through you like a bullet. 

“I hate you.” He gritted out. “You ruined everything. We were fine without you. We were happy. And then you came along and you- you took all of that away. You’re a disappointment. And I hate you.”

Damian didn’t move to hurt you, but you supposed in some ways that's what hurt the most. Not the pain and the beating, no. That’s not what you were scared of. It was disappointing your family. You grimaced as Damian left, waiting for the cycle to start again.  

~~~ 

Damian didn’t think he had ever ran faster in his life. His boots slapped against the concrete as he raced alongside his older brothers. He had never been more scared than at the lack of your voice over the comms. The four of them had been trying you for hours but had had no such luck. That was until Alfred managed to snag your location on the computer. And so the four of them ran. 

Dick’s heart thundered against his ribs. He feared what Scarecrow had done to you. He had heard the stories; witnessed the horrors. But he couldn’t bear to fathom what your mind would conjure up. You had seen too much. 

When he pushed his way into the warehouse, it was dark. And silent. The four of them kept their eyes peeled for a sign of anything, but there was no sign of you or Scarecrow. That was until Damian spotted the frame of the door poking out from behind a metal cabinet. It took two of them to haul the heavy piece of furniture away. It squealed awfully as it scraped across the floor. When they pushed the door open they had to squint to see you hidden in the corner of the room. Your eyes were wide and you were hyperventilating at the sight of them.

“Y/N?”

“No, no…” You shook your head, trying to back further into the wall when he took a step towards you. 

Jason tried too, but it only worked you up more. 

“Not all of you…please. Please…”

Jason knelt down beside you, reaching to touch you gently, but you flinched away.

“It’s not going to work.” A voice laughed out from the doorway. 

The brother’s whipped round to face the scarecrow. 

“What have you done to her?” Tim spat. 

He chuckled deeply. “She’s been exposed to my new fear toxin. See, I don’t know what she’s  been seeing but whatever it is, you guys are clearly an important part of it.”

Tim gritted his teeth. “You are going to regret touching her.”

They surged forwards, pinning him towards the wall. He fought back, but was no match for the anger-fueled vigilantes. When he slumped to the ground, they were tasked with the even more challenging job of getting you out. But when they moved towards you, tears rolled fatly down your face as you sobbed. 

“Please…” You shook. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me please.”

Damian froze. “What?  

“You’ve done enough…please.” 

You flinched as the youngest of your brothers laid a hand on your shoulder. 

“Y/N? It’s us. We’re real, I promise.”

You shook your head. “...no”

“We’re not gonna hurt you, kid.”

“You already have…”

Their hearts stopped simultaneously and Dick swallowed thickly. 

“I’m sorry Y/N.”

Everything went black as his fist collided with your head.

~~~

You sat up abruptly. You were back in the safety of your own room, tucked away in your bed. Although you were more aware of what had happened, you couldn’t shake the fear that rolled over you. But you weren’t alone when you woke up. You were surrounded by a sea of familiar faces.

“Y/N?” Dick asked when he noticed your eyes were open.

“Yeah.” You murmured groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You just shrugged meekly.

“Oh y/n/n we were so worried.” Damian said. His tenderness was foreign. 

“What did you see?” Dick asked hesitantly. 

“All of you. Disappointed in me.”

“Oh kid.” Tim looked at you with sad eyes. “We would never be disappointed in you. We love you so, so much. And we couldn’t be prouder of you.”

“But I fell for his trap. I-”

“Uh Uh. You did what you thought was right. How were you supposed to know?”

Again, you just shrugged. 

“We’re proud of you, little wing. So proud.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 19 ⛤ DAY 21 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

[catsandgoodbooks]

No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

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

“Careful, it’s hot.” Philza passed Dream a cup of tea, who took it cautiously. Dream wrapped his hands around the cup; his hands were cold and the cup was warm. It was nice. “It went well, mates?”

“We got everything we wanted done, so I’d say yeah, it did,” Technoblade answered, hanging his cape up on a hook. 

Punz scoffed, rolling their eyes. “You don’t say, Technoblade.” They looked back at Phil and Dream. “I mean, he’s dead now and the whole place’s burnt to the ground. It’s taken care of.”

Niki smiled at the two of them brightly. “It’s safe to say we won’t have to worry about them anymore, right?” she asked, sitting down on the couch and narrowly avoiding sitting on Dream’s toes.

“Thanks, guys.” Dream knew they wanted him to say that, and he didn’t want to disappoint them. “Like, that’s great, thank you, but did you have to do that–”

“He hurt you,” Techno interrupted. “Quackity hurt you, and we needed to make sure that he would regret that.”

“Exactly,” Punz acquiesced. “We might not of had to do that, but we fucking wanted to, Dream.” (“My poor monetization,” Techno grumbled.) “He deserved it, and there needs to be consequences sometimes or everyone’s going to be running around doing whatever the hell they want.”

“I can’t speak for everyone here, but I think it’s safe to say that we care about you, and, uh, we don’t like people we care about getting cut up by people we don’t,” Ranboo volunteered from where he was hovering. 

(Phil offered Punz a cup of tea as well, and they took it. “Thanks.” The mercenary pulled out a chair and settled down)

“I couldn’t of said it better myself,” Techno agreed, and Ranboo puffed up a little bit at the approval. “We care, Dream. Even if you don’t want to admit it, it’s the truth.”

“Uh-huh.” Niki smiled over at Dream. “We care, and that’s the important thing here. We’re family at this point.”

“You have a point there,” Techno commented. “A very good point.” He glanced over a Dream. “You hear that? You’re never gettin’ rid of us.”

“Nope,” Punz remarked, smiling crookedly. “Not even this ‘until death’ shit. We all know that’s stupid.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “You know that I’m the necromancer here, right? I could just, like, not bring you back.” 

(He and Punz still hadn’t told the rest of the Syndicate about the Revival Book situation. They didn’t need to know about it. It would just invite too many questions)

“I think it’s a bit late for that, mate,” Phil told him, smiling faintly. “You wouldn’t still be here if that was actually a possibility.”

“Fine, fine,” Dream compromised. “I’ll stop. I’d totally bring all of you guys back if you died.”

“Good to know. Now I don’t have to worry about losing any of my lives,” Technoblade joked. “I can do as much stupid stuff as I want now.”

Dream glared at him. “That’s not what I said, Techno.”

“It basically is,” Punz responded. “Also, there seems to be a bit of double standard there, you know, considering the fact that you literally locked yourself up in prison.”

Niki grimaced. “Not your greatest moment, was it?”

“Let’s not talk about it right now. Doesn’t matter.” Dream really didn’t want to talk about that right now. (Or ever, really) 

“Thanks, I guess.” Dream pulled the blanket tighter around himself. He wanted to just make sure about one thing, but it would be showing vulnerability, opening himself up to admitting that he cared and getting hurt…

“Just checking but…you’re not going to leave, right?”

“Of course not, Dream. You’re one of us now. Yes, yes, I said it chat, you can stop screaming now.” Techno rolled his eyes but sobered up quickly. “You’re family, Dream.”

[spritehouse]

It Hurts to Hope for More

read on ao3 here

Prompts: "I'm not as stupid as you think I am" (no. 19), "You will regret touching them" (no. 20), & "Don't move" (no. 21) | @whumptober-archive

⚠️Content Warnings: drug and alcohol addiction + cravings and references/discussion of using both (but no scenes of either) and domestic abuse/violence, including (non-graphic) strangulation Please read responsibly!

Pairing: Luke Alvez/Spencer Reid (main) & Luke Alvez/OFC

Summary: The second time they see each other is the same, just like their first—their real first– “Hey– I– My name’s Spencer, and I’m–” “Hi.” The younger brunette approaches first, finding Luke pouring himself a cup of room-temperature coffee at the refreshment table. “Hey. Spencer, right?” Luke asks as if he hasn’t spent almost every second since the park thinking of him, smiling when he nods. “Want a cup?” Spencer shakes his head, scrunching his nose. “That stuff is gross, and I have a germ thing.” “Yeah, it’s shit,” Luke agrees, sipping his coffee with a grimace, pausing for a beat before making eye contact with Spencer. “Wanna go somewhere better?”

- or, spencer and luke meet around s3 at an AA meeting and get close before luke disappears one day... and reappears 10 years later

The first time they meet, Roxy almost knocks the young, twenty-something Doctor Reid off his feet, Luke chasing her and apologizing profusely–

No.

The first time they meet, strangers locking eyes across the room, Spencer is standing on the stage, stumbling over his words and stuttering through sentences, fumbling with his fingers–

“Hello– Hi, my name is Spencer and I– I’m–”

Freshly sober and craving, desperate, wondering why he’s here instead of in his apartment getting high, floating and forgetting, wishing he was weaker–

“I don’t know what I am.”

And Luke is in the audience, watching a man too young to be an agent, to experience what he has, sipping his shitty coffee silently, nodding because he knows.

But the anonymity of the meetings protects them, letting them keep a safe distance—at an arm’s length, not close enough to let someone with the same self-destructive tendencies touch—the first time they meet is at the park, Roxy almost sweeping Spencer off his feet, then Luke finishing the job with a face the genius can’t forget.

“Sorry, she isn’t usually like this,” Luke apologizes, clipping Roxy’s leash to her collar as she sniffs curiously at the stranger—Spencer, a name he can’t forget, not because of an eidetic memory, but his brilliance and beauty—the younger brunette’s shoulders tensing as she wags her tail. “She’s not aggressive, just too energetic.”

“Dogs don’t usually like me.” He explains, eyeing Roxy apprehensively as she sits beside her owner, whining softly when he pauses. “Can I– Can I pet her? I don't want to upset her–”

“Yeah, of course! She’ll love anyone who feeds her if you want to give her a treat.” Luke offers, Roxy perking up at the mention of food as the younger man shuffles forward, holding his hand out hesitantly.

“Oh, okay,” Spencer nods, taking a treat from Luke and offering it to the dog, watching rigidly while she eats it. “What’s her name?”

“Roxy,” She looks up at Luke as he tosses her another treat, dropping her leash to let her catch it. “And I’m Luke.”

“Spencer,” He smiles, anxiety melting away as he scratches Roxy behind the ear. “Nice to meet you.”

The second time they see each other is the same, just like their first—their real first–

“Hey– I– My name’s Spencer, and I’m–”

“Hi.” The younger brunette approaches first, finding Luke pouring himself a cup of room-temperature coffee at the refreshment table.

“Hey. Spencer, right?” Luke asks as if he hasn’t spent almost every second since the park thinking of him, smiling when he nods. “Want a cup?”

Spencer shakes his head, scrunching his nose.

“That stuff is gross, and I have a germ thing.”

“Yeah, it’s shit,” Luke agrees, sipping his coffee with a grimace, pausing for a beat before making eye contact with Spencer. “Wanna go somewhere better?”

Which is how they end up at an empty 24/7 diner, sharing a slice of pie and drinking too much coffee—one with at least five packets of sugar added to every mug and the other unsweetened—as the sun sets.

“Does it ever get easier?” Spencer asks in a lull between their light conversation. “You know… standing up there, saying it? All that?”

“I don’t know about easier, but you get used to it,” Luke answers honestly, watching his company rub his knuckles together with a hum, studying the people passing on the street.

“How’s Roxy?”

“She’s good; we went on a run this morning, which she loves. It’s been a while since I had time to take her out for a few hours.” Spencer nods, finishing his cup of coffee. “Do you have any pets?”

“I can barely take care of myself.” Spencer scoffs, pouring another cup before grabbing a handful of sugar packets.

“It can help, having something else to take care of; you have to get up for them—forces you to have a routine—and they’ll keep you company,” Luke offers. “I got Roxy after I came back from Iraq.”

“You served?”

“75th Rangers,” He nods. “One of my specialties was animal training, which helped, and she helps with panic attacks.” Luke pauses before adding, “And cats are pretty low maintenance since dogs don’t like you.”

“They poop in a box.”

“And they’re some of the cleanest pets,” The older brunette chuckles. “They’re independent and can be largely left alone for a while.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” Spencer shakes his head.

“I’m not gonna push, but I can help if you’re not opposed–”

Spencer’s phone cuts him off, rings cutting through the timeless bubble around their booth, making the younger man frown.

“Sorry, I have to–”

“Go,” Luke waves him off. “I’ve got it. Go catch a killer.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Next time, then.” Spencer stands, grabbing his coat, then pauses, smiling with a sudden rush of courage coursing through him, heart skipping a beat.

“It’s a date.”

It’s been a week.

“Hey! Boy Wonder! What brings you to my cave of wonders?”

Spencer prides himself in his intellect; that’s no secret.

“Garcia, I need your powers for something… personal…”

An IQ of 187, three PhDs, two BAs, and an eidetic memory–

“I need to get someone’s number.”

–means nothing, he’s learned, when he meets someone who makes him stumble over his words, racing thoughts stuck in his throat, butterflies building in his stomach like a high schooler, forgetting to ask for their number.

“His name is–”

He told himself he wouldn’t ask Penelope—that would be invasive and creepy—that he would ask next time they talked, but it’s been ten days since the team returned to Quantico, and he hasn’t seen the man who has him overthinking more than usual, somehow, revisiting and revising every conversation, they’ve had–

“Hey, you’ve reached Luke Alvez–”

–but, genius or not, he’s also desperate and helplessly head-over-heels for him.

“Hello– Hi, Luke. Hey, it’s Spencer–”

Derek is never going to let him live this down.

It’s another three days until they see each other again, Spencer sitting in the same booth at the diner, tapping his fingers against the table as he waits.

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Luke–” He stands, stopping when they make eye contact, updating every inch of Luke’s face in his memory.

He looks like shit, eye bags dark and heavy around exhausted eyes, shoulders slumped and self-conscious–

“What happened?” Spencer reaches out instinctively, fingers brushing across a dark bruise on his friend’s cheek, pulling his hand away from the black and blue skin when he flinches.

“Sorry, I– I don’t like people touching my face,” Luke says quickly, shaking his head as he sits on his side of the booth before the young brunette can process or profile his reaction. “I had to break up an argument between some friends at the bar; perks of being the sober one.”

“Right… yeah,” Spencer nods, sliding into his seat again. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you off–”

“It’s not that, I promise,” Luke cuts him off. “I haven’t been honest, and I think I gave you the wrong idea. I’m sorry.” He pauses, taking a deep breath and leaning forward. “I have a girlfriend. We were taking a break when we met—I messed up, and she was mad at me—but she reached out and accepted my apology while you were away, and I’ve spent this week trying to make it up to her. I’m sorry. I know it’s not an excuse to lead you on like that–”

“It’s okay,” Spencer says quickly, slipping into his mask of professionalism as the older man speaks. “You weren’t leading me on, and I’m sorry for assuming. I’m glad everything worked out.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to–”

“Luke,” The younger brunette reaches out, hesitating, hand hovering over his, biting his bottom lip for a second before pulling away, making eye contact with him. “I like spending time with you and talking to you, and it’s nice to have someone who understands my shit. I want to be your friend if you want that; that’s all.”

“Okay,” Luke nods, his grin making Spencer’s heart flutter, smiling to match his mood. “I– Thank you, Spence–” His stomach sinks as the nickname slips past Luke’s lips. “You’re the best.”

The next time they crash together, like waves colliding against the shore, complicating the steady relationship– friendship they’ve built, it’s after midnight months later, Luke’s phone ringing, making his girlfriend groan, covering her head with her pillow.

“Alvez–”

“Luke?” Spencer’s voice is small, cracking as he speaks, making Luke shoot up, holding his phone between his ear and shoulder as he gets out of bed.

“Spencer? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“No– No, I fucked up. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called–”

“No, no, it’s okay, Spence. It’s okay. Just stay on the line. Okay? Keep talking to me. Can you do that?” He stumbles through the dark, grabbing a pair of shoes and a sweatshirt as he listens to Spencer’s quiet sobs, covering his mic to mumble an apology, ignoring Kate’s pointed glares, before leaving the room.

“–Sorry. I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to apologize–”

“–it’s stupid. I’m sorry–”

“It’s not stupid, Spence, you’re hurting, and I’m sorry you’re going through this; it sucks, but I’m glad you called.”

“Really?”

“Of course, Spence. We’re friends, and I want to help you. Can you tell me where you are?”

There’s a pause, anxiety building in Luke’s stomach, threatening to overflow into his throat as he starts his car before his phone vibrates, his friend’s location appearing on his map.

“Okay, Spence, I’m on my way. Keep talking to me; tell me about the origins of Halloween or something—just let me hear that beautiful voice. I’m coming.”

He finds Spencer near the park where they met, the younger brunette curled up on the curb, clutching his phone with trembling hands like a lifeline.

“Spence–”

He stands, almost running to Luke, shoving a plastic bag into his hands before stumbling back, shaking as he stares at his friend, studying his reaction.

“Thank you,” Luke speaks softly, breaking the suffocating self-hatred hanging around Spencer, tucking the baggy into his pocket. “Thank you for calling me.”

“I don’t want to be here,” Spencer whispers, eyes glued to the ground, shuffling forward until he’s leaning into Luke’s arms, burying his face in his friend’s sweatshirt. “I want it to stop.”

“I know. I know, Spence. I’m sorry,” Luke sighs, holding him against his chest. “Why don’t we go back to your place–”

Spencer shakes his head.

“I don’t wanna go home… please…”

“Okay,” The older man nods, gently leading Spencer to his car. “Okay, we’ll go to mine—I’ll talk to Kate—it’ll be okay, Spence. It’s okay.”

The drive is quiet, Spencer leaning against the door, watching the world go by, Luke glancing at him at red lights and stop signs, heart racing, roaring in his ears. Spencer’s been to his apartment once while Kate was away, but they’ve never met; she doesn’t even know he exists.

“Is this okay?” The younger man asks when they arrive, watching his friend lean back, taking a deep breath, attempting to steady himself.

“Yeah– Yes. It’s fine. Kate has an early meeting tomorrow morning, so she might not be thrilled about this–” That’s probably the biggest understatement of the century, but Spencer’s guard is down, letting the lie slip past with ease. “–but she’ll understand.”

She won’t do anything stupid with someone over, Luke hopes, holding his breath as he gets out of the car.

“Sorry, I’ll try to be quiet.” Spencer frowns, following his friend, leaning against Luke as he drapes an arm around the younger brunette’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Spence, really; she’ll understand.”

Spencer hums, following him to the door like a lost puppy—shaking mostly subsided as they enter the apartment.

“Kate?”

All of the lights in the kitchen are on, illuminating a woman with pale skin and blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail waiting for them, watching her boyfriend and a stranger walk in, Luke locking the door behind them.

“Hey–”

She stops him before he can hug her, holding up a hand, an open beer bottle in her grasp.

“It’s one in the morning, Luke,” She turns, looking around Luke, making eye contact with Spencer. “And who’re you?”

“I’m–”

“Kate, this is Spencer, my friend—we met at the park. Spencer, this is Kate, my girlfriend.”

Clear-headed or not, Spencer can profile the blonde easily—how she holds herself with an air of superiority, head held high, shoulders stiff—and Luke’s posture changing in response, leaning forward, shrinking in on himself.

He’s seen this dynamic before.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry for calling so late–”

“You’re okay, Spence–” Kate raises an eyebrow as the nickname slips past Luke’s lips, mouth pressed into a firm line. “Why don’t you wait in the living room? I’ll grab some blankets for you on my way back.”

“Are you sure–?”

“Spencer.” They make eye contact, wide eyes silently pleading with Spencer to leave the room, his heart pounding, every instinct telling him something is wrong, alarms going off in his head.

“Okay,” He relents, seeing the desperation in his friend’s face. “I’ll be in the living room… thanks…”

“Where’d you two meet?” Kate asks, crossing her arms, when Spencer leaves.

“Kate–”

“Luke.”

“An AA meeting.” He finally surrenders with a sigh, watching his girlfriend scowl.

“You brought an addict into our apartment and didn’t think to ask me first?”

“I’m an addict–”

“You like alcohol; you aren’t a fucking junkie–”

“He’s my friend,” Luke spits through grit teeth. “And you can say whatever you want about me, but you will not say that shit about him.” He stands up straight, staring at Kate, challenging her.

Above all else, Luke is a protector, even if it means taking the fall for a friend.

“We’ll talk more later,” Kate responds, her voice low and dangerous, a threat. “I’m going back to bed. Don’t be loud.”

The second to last time they see each other, it’s at the same diner, talking over pie and coffee again as the sun sets, light laughter filling the air between them.

“I’ve missed this,” Spence says between strings of small talk, smiling, despite what’s about to happen—what he’s about to do—practiced words perched on his tongue, lingering on his lips, waiting to be breathed to life. “I’ve missed you.”

Luke’s been pulling away.

It’s hard to miss; how he stopped staying after meetings for shitty coffee and conversation, slowly at first, then disappearing from them, telling Spencer he found a different group that fit his schedule, then stopped answering his friend’s texts and calls, only reaching out to say he’s busy or cancel plans, and Spencer wants to deny it—he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, making it real—but Luke is slipping through his fingers, almost lost to the sea of faces that have left the genius.

“I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry I haven’t been available recently; life’s been pretty hectic.” Spencer nods, sipping his coffee before setting his mug down with a soft thud.

“How’s Kate?”

His silence is sharp—painful—like inhaling in the cold that brings frost-bitten faces and frozen fingers too fast, lungs aching and protesting something so human, the very thing keeping you alive.

“Spencer–”

“Luke,” Spencer reaches out—towards his friend’s hands resting on the table—stopping when Luke pulls away, looking out the window to his right. “I’m worried about you–”

“Don’t. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Luke–”

“She’s my girlfriend and my best friend, Spencer—we grew up together—she knows me–”

“I’m worried about your sobriety.”

The older man freezes, frowning, before taking a deep breath.

“Don’t.”

He might not be a profiler, but he knows how to get in someone’s head.

“I’m not some fucked up addict like you–”

The words still sting, even if Spencer understands he doesn’t mean it, that Luke is just afraid, saying whatever he can to get him to back off.

“I’m not going to drink myself to death,” His words are like venom on his lips, bitter as they bleed together into a twisted knot of deflected vulnerability. “And I might not be a genius, but I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Spencer. I know you want to be more than friends; I just didn’t think you’d go this far to try to get it.”

“Luke, please–”

“You don’t love me; you’re just scared of being alone,” Luke stands, grabbing his jacket before pushing the bill to Spencer. “You owe me one.”

“It’s a date.”

“Bye, Spencer; I’ll see you around.”

The last time they see each other, it goes like this:

It’s the night after Luke left Spencer in that diner, the younger brunette sitting on his couch, letting himself sink in his self-pity, replaying every memory of them when a knock echoes through his empty apartment.

“Luke–?”

“I’m sorry,” He freezes, taking sight of his friend, eyes bloodshot and unfocuses, flitting back and forth, cheeks red and tear-stained, and the bruises, black and blue blooming around his neck in a shape Spencer knows all too well, ones he’s seen enough of to imagine her hands around his throat, squeezing– “–sorry. I’m so sorry–”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Luke,” Spencer pulls himself out of his head, leading Luke inside, locking the door behind them. “It’s okay, Luke. I’m not mad; I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I’m sorry,” His voice is hoarse and rapidly fading, pain seeping through with every syllable as he repeats himself, chanting apologies like a mantra as if saying it enough will erase whatever happened in the last 24 hours. “I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay, Luke. Look at me,” Spencer can’t stop himself before he reaches out, cupping Luke’s face, almost choking on a sob when he flinches away almost violently–

“I don’t like people touching my face.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Luke; I’m not going to hurt you–” He pauses, frowning when his friend doesn’t react, realizing he’s not conscious, not completely, drifting in a daze, apologies dying before they leave his lips. “Okay, let’s get you to the couch. I’m going to touch you now; is that okay?”

He doesn’t react as Spencer steps forward, gently threading their fingers together to lead Luke into the living room, grabbing a blanket to wrap around his shoulders before sitting him on the sofa.

“Luke,” The younger brunette kneels in front of him, holding his hands as he speaks. “Can you hear me?”

“You were right. I’m sorry,” Luke whispers, leaning forward into his friend’s arms, shaking. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay; I’m not upset,” Spencer assures him, settling beside him and letting him lean on his shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe; I’m not mad.”

“I’m so stupid. I’m sorry–”

“No. Luke, listen to me. None of this is your fault. Okay? You’re not stupid—you loved and trusted her—that’s not your fault. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault.”

Luke nods, letting his eyes flutter closed as he lays his head on Spencer’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I haven’t slept…”

“It’s okay; I’ve got you,” The younger man whispers, resting a gentle hand on his head. “Get some rest. I’ll be here the whole time.”

Spencer doesn’t remember when he fell asleep that night, drifting off with Luke in his arms, the time blurring and bleeding together, concern watering down usually vivid memories, his focus fixed on his friend, not the fine details.

But he remembers waking up alone.

He remembers waking up without Luke, a blanket draped over him with care, his friend’s phone waiting on the coffee table for him to find. 

Spencer remembers, down to the second, when he realized he had let Luke slip out of his grasp, disappearing into a distant memory.

They meet again for the first time almost ten years later, two familiar figures changed with time, Spencer growing into suits and himself, standing a little taller than he did a decade ago, walking into the conference room and freezing when eyes—still tired but shining in a way they lacked when he was twenty-six—find his–

“Luke?”

He’s different too, more relaxed, sure of himself, his hair longer and a beard where stubble sat, but undeniably him—the man from memories faded with time but never forgotten.

“Spencer.”

Behind him, Hotch raises an eyebrow, watching the scene unfold silently.

“You– You’re here– Why are you here?”

“I’m helping with your escaped serial killer problem.” He holds up a folder, something silver catching Spencer’s eye.

“That’s new.” The younger brunette’s eyes follow his hand, staring at the silver band around Luke’s finger.

“Oh, yeah, um,” He hesitates, fidgeting with the ring. “It’s a… new development…”

Spencer frowns, studying him, eyes unconsciously falling to Luke’s neck, finding a new scar against his skin.

“Right… I bet she isn’t used to it yet.”

Hotch clears his throat as the older brunette’s hand covers the side of his neck, jaw clenched, breaking the unwavering eye contact that would’ve made Spencer’s skin crawl before, both agents turning to the unit chief.

“Reid, Agent Alvez was part of the team that took down our killer, Daniel Cullen, and will be assisting on this case. Will that be a problem for you?”

“No, sir,” Spencer shakes his head, voice and shoulders stiffening. “Sorry.”

“Luke,” Spencer catches the older agent walking to the elevator after the case. “Look, I’m sorry for what I said earlier; I was just… surprised. As long as you’re happy and safe, I’m happy for you.”

“I am, and I’m sorry for ghosting you like that—it was a pretty fucked up time–”

“She almost killed you.” Spencer wants to argue, holding his tongue as Luke speaks.

“And you didn’t deserve that, but things are better now. Kate’s sober and in therapy, and she’s doing better; it’s good.”

“Good– That’s great. I’m glad,” Spencer smiles, ignoring how his gut twists, alarm bells echoing through his head. “And I heard about the job; congratulations,” He pauses, biting his bottom lip and sliding his hands into his pockets, sighing. “Can we… be friends again?”

“Of course, man. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

They grow close again, spending days off at the park and nights at the younger agent’s apartment or the diner, catching up after ten years apart, sharing the good and the bad, the strip of silver around Luke’s finger reminding Spencer of that night, memories replaying in his head.

“It’s not a wedding band; we aren’t married,” Luke says one night, catching Spencer staring at it. “She doesn’t want to.”

“I thought you did.”

“I want a huge wedding with all of my family and friends there,” Luke told Spencer one night, talking about how they imagined their futures. “I’ve wanted it ever since I was a kid.”

“I want her to be happy,” He shrugs instead, “I don’t need it.”

Spencer sighs, pushing the empty pie plate to the end of the table before folding his hands calmly, keeping them in Luke’s sight.

“Luke,” He tried to leave it alone, afraid of driving his friend away again, leaving him alone if– when he’ll help again, but Spencer can’t ignore his instincts forever. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but I’m still worried about you with her–”

“Spencer–”

“That’s all I’m going to say—I’m not telling you to leave her or that I think she’s going to hurt you—I just want you to know that I’ll be here, no questions asked, even if it doesn’t involve her, I’ve got your back.”

Luke nods, staying silent as he stares at his friend.

“Thanks, Spence,” He says after a second, smiling softly, making Spencer’s heart flutter the same way it did when they first met. “Thank you.”

It happens a year later, after Mexico and prison, Cat Adams and Scratch, after their jobs turn everything upside down.

“I’ve been craving a lot recently,” Luke says in the silence sitting between them, two forks poking at a slice of pie. “These past few months have…”

“Yeah,” Spencer agrees when his friend trails off, finishing his third cup of coffee that night. “But we’re both here and sober; that’s something.”

There’s a pregnant pause, hesitation hanging in the air of the quiet diner as Luke looks down at his drink.

“Kate isn’t.” He says softly, Spencer’s eyes widening at the admission.

“When– Why didn’t you–?”

“You were in prison, Spence. I didn’t want to worry you, and you couldn’t have done anything anyway; I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay. I’m not mad, I promise. I’m not mad.” Spencer assures him, rubbing his knuckles together and watching someone standing on the street outside. “Has she…?”

Luke nods, rubbing the side of his neck, fingers tracing the scar across the skin there.

“Okay,” Spencer sighs, leaning forward, placing his hands, palms up on the table between them—an offering. “How can I help?”

“I–” Luke swallows, looking around before placing his trembling hands in Spencer’s, letting him hold them gently. “I’m scared. I want to leave, but I’m so scared, Spence. I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Is she home right now?” Luke shakes his head. “Okay. We can go to your apartment and get some things, and you can stay with me for as long as you need. She won’t hurt you again, I promise.”

Spencer squeezes his hands, watching Luke’s shoulders shake, jaw clenched as he processes everything.

“Okay,” He breathes softly, nodding. “Okay, yeah– yes. Let’s do it.”

“What about Roxy? Does your apartment allow pets?” Luke asks, hands shaking as he grabs Roxy’s things, flinching when he drops her bowl while trying to pack it.

“It does, and if you ever need a break, I know Penelope would be more than happy to take care of her,” Spencer assures him, gently taking Luke’s bag from his tense, trembling grip before picking up the bowl. “We’ll figure everything out–”

“What if she shows up at your apartment?”

“Then I’ll take care of her. She won’t touch you,” Spencer says, tossing Roxy a treat as Luke stuffs a few of her toys into the bag. “And she can’t show up at work; I can tell security to arrest her if she does if you want.”

Luke doesn’t respond, shrugging as he disappears into the bedroom, the younger brunette listening to him dig through his drawers.

“Doctor Reid.”

The door shuts loudly behind her, Roxy growling as Spencer turns around.

“Kate,” He slides his hands into his pockets casually, feigning politeness, eyes fixed on her as he steps between the blonde and the bedroom door. “Nice to see you again.”

“Where’s Luke?” She clenches her jaw, stepping toward Spencer until he stops her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t move.” He speaks in her ear, his voice low and dangerous, dripping with disdain, daring her to fight him. “Here’s what’s going to happen; you are going to stay out here– or better yet, you are going to leave until we are gone, and you’re not going to follow us or try to contact him or any of his friends and family again, or I’ll make you regret ever touching him. I will have you arrested for any charges I can get to stick, and then I’ll stick you in the same jail as a serial killer who is obsessed with me and call in a few favors. Do you understand?”

She nods silently, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Good,” He forces her hand open, dropping a silver ring in her palm before pushing her, sending Kate stumbling back. “Get out of here.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Luke emerges from his room with a suitcase, patting Roxy on the head. “All of this is my shit; I’m sorry I dragged you into it–”

“I wanted to,” Spencer assures him, shaking his head. “I’m sorry if I went a bit overboard, but I’m not sorry for helping you with this. You’re my friend, and you deserve to be safe and happy–”

“I love you,” Luke cuts him off, his heart racing, blood roaring in his ears as he blurts out the words that have sat on his tongue for so long. “As a friend, yes—you’re my best friend, Spence—but almost more than that, and I know this is really, really shitty timing, and neither of us is in the right place to start anything, if there is anything to start, but I have to tell you before I move in with you, and if you don’t want to–”“I love you too,” Spencer says, surprisingly calm, despite the sirens screaming through his skin, thoughts shutting down as he speaks. “And I agree, we aren’t in any position to start anything, but I do, and we have six months to figure it– us out before we have to go back to work, and I don’t care if nothing happens between us, I just need you to know that I love you. I love you, Luke, and I have loved you for so long, and I want to wake up next to you and get a fucking cat with you. I love you.”

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #20

xxx people don’t change people, time does

Yuriy is still wearing that smug, infuriating grin when there’s a commotion behind Illya and he turns to see Rostya, Viktor, and Edvin rushing toward him. Rage, instinct, and years of combat experience take over. 

The three men don’t stand a chance.

When Illya comes back to himself, he’s standing over their bodies, his knuckles split and bleeding, chest heaving, eyes wide. There’s a gun in his hand and that hadn’t been there before. He can taste blood. He suspects it isn’t his. It’s been quite some time since he had a blackout like this. He usually resents the lack of control, but he can’t help but feel a grim satisfaction at ending the men who had spent the last four days tormenting Napoleon. 

Napoleon. 

He turns to see Yuriy hauling the American to his feet. Illya’s stomach twists with guilt as Napoleon lets out a strangled groan, and he almost falls except that Yuriy is keeping him upright. The knife he’d used to stab Illya is in his hand, held to Napoleon’s throat. 

“Let him go,” Illya snarls, “and I might let you live.”

“I don’t believe you,” Yuriy says. All traces of arrogance are gone from his face. He looks afraid, and desperate, like a cornered animal. He’d known about Illya’s reputation, but evidently seeing him in action in person is different than hearing stories. 

“What do you think will happen to you if you hurt him?”

“Like you hurt him?” Yuriy says. He tightens his grip on Napoleon and then kicks the back of his injured left knee. Napoleon lets out a cry and Illya wants to charge forward, wants to see the light leave Yuriy’s eyes, but Yuriy still has the knife to Napoleon’s throat. “You did this to him, remember?”

At that moment, Napoleon reaches up and grabs Yuriy’s arm, pulling it down with a yell. Yuriy’s attention turns to the American, and it gives Illya the opening he needs. He raises the gun and fires. Yuriy and Napoleon both fall, and panic laces through Illya as he lurches forward. 

“Solo!” he cries, closing the distance between himself and his partner and crashing to his knees beside him. He gives Napoleon's shoulder a small shake, heart clenching when Napoleon's eyes stay shut. "Hey, Cowboy!" 

He hooks his arms under Napoleon’s and wraps them behind his back, pulling him gently into a sitting position. As he does, his fingers brush against something and his heart skips a beat as Yuriy’s knife clatters to the ground. 

“No,” Illya breathes as he presses his hand to the spot on Napoleon’s left shoulder where the knife had just been. His stomach drops as wet warmth spreads beneath his palm. Napoleon must have landed on the blade when they fell. “No, no, no. Please. Please, Solo,wake up. I’m sorry, this is--this is my fault. Wake up.”

He can hear Napoleon breathing, but the breaths are labored and uneven and make him feel sick to his stomach. 

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he murmurs. He gets to his feet, ignoring the pain in his side from the stab wound that, until just now, had gone forgotten, and lifts the American over one shoulder. “Mne zhal’. Mne ochen’ zhal’.”

The pain in his side gets harder and harder to ignore as he walks, but he forces himself forward. If Napoleon dies, he’s never going to forgive himself. So he keeps moving, one foot in front of the other. There’s a truck parked outside, and then it’s just ten minutes to town. 

“Hang on, Napoleon. You must hang on.”

He barely makes it out of the building before his body betrays him and he falls, losing his grip on Napoleon as he does, and both of them hit the dirt hard. 

“Gav no!”  Illya cries. He’s breathing hard, partially from the effort of carrying Napoleon and partially out of frustration, and he can feel panic creeping in. He forces himself to slow his breathing. If he’s going to get Napoleon out of here, he needs to calm down. 

He’s getting ready to lift Napoleon again when he sees the headlights, three pairs of them headed right for him down the dirt road. He’d left the gun inside, but there’s one in the truck and he runs toward it, yanking the door open and grabbing the weapon just as the vehicles arrive. He raises it as the doors of the nearest truck open, but before he can fire a familiar voice says, “Illya! It’s me!” 

He does, confusion washing over him. “Gaby?” He drops the gun as Gaby gets out of the truck. “Please, you must help Solo. He is badly injured.”

There’s a TAC team with her, and the men spill out of the vehicles, rushing toward the building. He’s barely aware of them as he leads Gaby to where Napoleon lies, unmoving, on the ground. She kneels beside him, looking over her shoulder. “Doctor Ellis! We need Ellis here now!” She looks up at Illya. “Are you alright?”

“I…” Illya blinks. He feels light headed. “I don’t understand. How are you here?”

“Illya, you’re bleeding,” Gaby says, eyes wide.

Illya blinks again, looking down at his injured side. Then the world tilts beneath him and everything goes black. 

xxx 

“How are they?”

Gaby stiffens at the sound of Waverly’s voice, jaw clenching slightly. It’s hard not to blame him for everything that’s happened. 

“Agent Teller,” Waverly says sternly, and she lets out a frustrated sigh, crossing her arms. 

“Solo is out of surgery,” she says, still not looking at him. “But his condition is critical. He lost a lot of blood. His lung is punctured. And they aren’t sure if his knee will heal properly.”

“And Agent Kuryakin?”

Gaby turns to him, now, fixing him with a cold stare. “Sedated. He refused to stay in bed and tore his stitches trying to go to Solo’s side. I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive you for this.”

“Yes, well, I’m not sure I have a right to his forgiveness,” Waverly says, and Gaby is surprised at his candor. “I’ve already made arrangements for them both to be moved to London as soon as "Agent Solo is stable enough. Once the three of you are back, you and I are going to have a little chat about you disobeying direct orders.” 

Gaby stares at him, eyes narrowing slightly. He gazes back, expression as frustratingly calm as ever. “Yes, sir.”

“Very good.” He puts his hands in his pockets and starts to leave, but stops in the doorway, turning back to look at Gaby. “You saved their lives. That is not lost on me.”

Gaby blinks, nods once. 

“Very good,” he says, and then he leaves and Gaby is alone again. 

xxx end

Sorry for the somewhat abrupt ending! The burnout is soooo real, y’all (plus I've got some Real Life things going on), but I wanted to make sure that I got something out today and got this story at least somewhat wrapped up. Thanks for reading!

[itty-bitty-sunshine]

I gotta wrap my head around

What my heart is telling me

I've been trying to drown it out

[sparkchemy]

[danwhobrowses]

Slightly mini Callowmoore thing from 103 but I liked how Fearne used 'Professor Emperor' with Grog in reference to the shard and her previous attempt at passing as a professor - which Ashton backed her up for. And the instant Grog tries to move her Ashton steps in with 'we have an appointment', and further protests as she's pushed.

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #20

Trope of the day: “You will regret touching them.”

_

Whumper's sick joy is visible in their smile as they explain to caretaker what they did to whumpee ... to the broken shell that is finally safe and at home. Caretaker didn't expect to find whumper that fast, but they seem to pride themself with their actions.

"They stopped screaming so fast ... almost as if they gave up immediately," whumper says with a happy sigh, knowing how provocative they are acting.

Anger makes their fists shake, they jaw clench as they take a step towards whumper and look them in the eye. Their own voice is low and almost soft when they finally utter their answer. “You will regret touching them.”

A spark in whumper's eyes is enough to make caretaker realise that they have already won. Whumper is scared. Because they should be.

When caretaker patches up their bruised and bloody knuckles, all they can think of is the satisfaction they felt when whumper lost their defiant smile.

[losthavenmine]

Whumptober 2023 Day 20 || "You will regret touching them."

The Quick and the Dead (1995)

[idolomantises]

there's something so comforting about artists you admire talking about their own struggles and insecurities

[omgiamwish]

Whumptober 2023 Day 20 - Found Family | "You will regret touching them"

He takes care of The Problem (evil spirit, rogue esper, angry client, idk idc) and then is like 'guys, i am SO sorry for being late 🥺'

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 20

Caesar x Reader Mermaid AU

Requested by @flossie12

"Caesar, please!" You begged, hugging octo-limbs. "The humans have changed, they're not the cruel barbarians they once were. You should see how much their colonies have advanced!"

"And risk being turned into calamari? Shorororo, yeah right!" Caesar laughed before getting out an odd hairbrush from a glass vial. "I'll keep collecting their things when they fall into the ocean."

"They wouldn't do that, at least not the man I met," you defended them, folding your arms and pouting.

"Did you even meet him?" Caesar questioned, turning to you with a quirked brow.

"Well- no-"

Yesterday you watched a male human play with his furry seal companion. You admire how much affection he expressed to the creature, you know humans finally adapted to caring about other lifeforms. On top of that, you wanted to explore the world above since it changed so much from the last few years you observed their life from the sea. You rambled about your desire to your friend Caesar when he mentioned he probably had a way you could adventure up there, but he tried to backtrack when you perked up at the idea.

"But he had a furry seal companion with him that he deeply cared about-"

"Dogs, they're called dogs," Caesar corrected while setting the odd brush next to the large flat seashell.

"Dawgs? How do you know?" You inquired, watching the purple octo-man scoop shrimp and oysters from his cauldron onto the seashell.

"I've spent my fair share of time up on the surface to conduct research for my experiments, my dear." Caesar set the cauldron down and swam back to where the seashell with the cooked creatures. "I've learned about their things and more. It is not a place for merfolk to go, especially since most of them believe my nature is cruel." With that, he used the brush to stab one of the shrimp and ate it-

"Oh, that's a mini trident!"

"The humans call it a fork."

"Oh..."

You watched him as he ate the cooked creatures, this being one of the reasons other merfolk thought Caesar was cruel, though did not understand why. To you, your friend simply wanted to eat different things in different ways. You frowned, wishing the others could accept your friend for his strange mannerisms, but alas he acted "too human". Wait-

A mischievous smile wormed it's way onto your lips. "Caesar, I find myself comfortable around your nature, and I enjoy your company."

Caesar felt his cheeks start to glow red. It didn't help that you began to twirl his hair between your fingers, an affectionate habit you had.

"Sooooo, therefore I should be fine around the humans, right?" You believed your logic made sense.

Caesar sighed and brushed your hands away from his hair. "If this is your idea of making me give in, it won't work. I've seen what they do up there, [Y/n], you'll regret going up there and walk the same surface they do. Not even I want to go back there. As tempting as it is to gather their newest items, it's not worth it for me."

Caesar huffed, grabbing the flat seashell and mini tri- fork before swimming over and dropping them into a bubbly hole. You hummed to yourself, racking your brain for another approach.

"What if you sent me up there to gather those items for you?" You suggested. "I get to explore the surface world and you get new stuff without the hassle of going up there yourself."

"Even if I were to agree, I don't know how the potion would affect you. It took me months to perfect the potion for myself, but there's no telling what it'd do to you since our anatomies are different."

"Come on C.C. it can't be that drastic of a difference, we're basically the same species."

Caesar glanced over your form, the major difference between the two of you is the fact you were female and had a fishtail, whereas he was male and had octopus limbs. He could also go on about the micro things that differed you apart, though he knew that'd bore you.

"Alright, fine, wait here." Caesar went to another room and grabbed a glass bottle. Returning, unsurprised that you beamed with glee. He almost smiled if not for his worry about what may happen to you but it seems you will only learn the hard way. "Follow me."

He led you out of his cavern and swam to the shallow waters near the human's shores. He turned to you and presented the potion you desired.

"When you take this, your tail will be replaced with human legs, you won't be able to breathe underwater either so you'll need to surface and ahead to shore," he instructed.

"Got it." You grabbed the glass bottle.

"One more thing." Caesar reached into his pocket and handed you a signal seashell. "Every week I expect you to call me and deliver human goods to me, you can also use it to ask for me to bring you home if you so desire."

"Yeah, yeah." You took the seashell and put it into your sash bag.

"Hmph." Caesar turned to leave when you hugged him from behind, catching him off guard.

"Thank you, Caesar, I mean it." You nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

Wariness and guilt ruined Caesar's internal bliss, uncertain of what will happen to you. Though he savoured the moment nonetheless.

Four weeks had gone by since that day, and he hasn't seen you.

You kept your end of the bargain. He'd hear the seashell call but when he went to the shore, Caesar would only find a pile of human junk with a note for him. It frustrated him, why haven't you talked to him yet? Surely you wanted to ramble about the things you've seen to him, it's something you always do when you find something exciting. No matter, Caesar returned home carrying the items in a bag and proceeded to shift through them to see what held value to him. Soon it became mindless routine to him, and that's when he began to notice how quiet his life became. 

Months have passed by now, he hardly looked at what you gave him, tossing the bag in a corner full of junk. The only reason he bothered to collect them at this point is to tell you he still came. He ceased caring about these objects long ago, they will never be able to make up for your absence.

Hope had started packing up to leave Caesar. It's been ages now since he's seen your face, let alone heard your voice. He has begun thinking you loved your human life and would never want to return. Acceptance will be taking Hope's place, acceptance that his heart will be gone forever. Until he heard it.

The seashell call early in the week.

He scrambled to the surface, carrying the potion that'd turn you back. Breaking through the water, he scanned the area in search of you when he spotted you at the sandy beach smiling and waving him over.

"[Y/n], I was beginning to think I'd never see you again," he said once he neared you. "How come you never cared to see me all this time?"

Your smile faded, replaced with gloom. You point to your throat. Caesar tilts his head puzzled by what you meant to communicate with him. Why not use your words? He watched your lips move with no voice flowing out, only then did the pieces fall into place.

He said no more, opening his arms to embrace you and giving you the potion. Your tail grew back, alas your voice is still gone. He guided you to his home, a frown present on his face as he observed your gloomy self.

When you settle down, he gives you gel and some seashells for you to write with. You informed him of your time on the surface as a mute human, and while there were glimpses of your once starry demeanour, ultimately they were all washed away when you wrote about how you unveiled human's cruel nature. Just as you wrote the words "You were right", Caesar stopped you and held you close, telling you not to stress over it. 

Tears bubbled from your eyes into the ocean and you sobbed in his chest. Caesar gently stroked your hair, calming you the best he could while he tried to tame his own growing resentment toward humans. Times may change, but people never do. He'll make them regret what they did to you.

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[serickswrites]

People Don't Change

Warnings: bruises, broken bones, bloody nose

Villain knelt over Civilian, their blood boiling. They had gotten Civilian's frantic texts that Hero had found them and to stay away and to not help them. Villain could do no such thing.

What Villain did not think Hero would do was hurt Civilian. Villain was wrong. Civilian pinched their very broken nose, trying to stem the flow of blood. They looked up at Villain, one eye swollen and the bruise already forming. "Please, don't hurt them. They didn't know..."

"They knew exactly what they were doing. And what it would do to me," Villain growled. They had hoped Hero wouldn't stoop so low as to hurt the person Villain loved most. It was very clear Hero hadn't changed at all. People don't change.

"Don't!" Civilian begged. "They'll hurt you. I'm ok, really! Please, Villain. Don't!"

Villain shook their head. "Hurting you hurts me. And I can't have them hurt you any longer, my love." They rose. "I'll be back soon. Sidekick is on their way to take you back to Lair."

Before Civilian could reply, Villain leapt into the sky. It didn't take them long to find Hero. Hero sat on the roof of an abandoned warehouse, clearly waiting for Villain.

"Took you long enough," they said lazily as they watched their nemesis land. "Did you get my gift?"

Villain was already summoning their power as they stalked towards Hero. "You're going to regret touching them!"

"Yeah, yeah, you're so predictable. 'You're going to regret touching them' please. The only person with regrets here is you, Villain." And Hero activated the trap they had taken hours to lay.

Villain screamed their rage and pain into the night. Hero stalked towards Villain. "As I said, only you will have regrets. And not for long."

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 20: “You will regret touching them”

Aaaaand now for today’s fic

Read on Ao3

- Warriors & Time

- Summary: Time finds a wounded Warriors

CW for implied/referenced torture, captivity, nonconsensual body modification, blood and injury, and brief mention of vomit

———————————————-

If he clenches his teeth any harder, Time is certain they will break.

He stands in the middle of a cell – small, cramped, and smelling of sweat and vomit and blood – hands in fists, heart thumping an erratic beat in his ears. A blue eye stares up at him from the corner, bright in a too-pale face. The other is sealed shut with swelling and blood. The proud green tunic is sullied as well, the scarf long gone. Blonde hair so meticulously cared for lies limp and filthy. Strong hands tremble, bound together behind a hunched back.

“Captain.” It is half a whisper, half a low growl.

Warriors makes a small, muffled noise as though trying to respond through the dirty cloth tied tight between his lips. Time’s fingernails dig into his palm.

Here before him sits the hero he and his brothers have spent the last week searching for. He should feel relief. All he can feel is red-hot anger.

But there isn’t time for that. Warriors needs him. His big brother needs him.

Sheathing his sword, Time drops to his knees. Puddles of blood dot the floor, some mere splatterings, others worryingly large. He pays them no heed, reaching forward instead to tug away the gag. Warriors breathes a raspy sigh of relief as it falls.

“...bout-bout time you showed up, S-Sprite,” he teases in a voice so hoarse it’s nearly unrecognizable. His breath catches in his throat and he coughs up a mouthful of blood.

Time does his best to ignore it.

“I’m sorry that we kept you waiting,” he murmurs as he sets about undoing the ropes that bind the captain’s hands and feet. The apology tastes bitter. What good does it do now? The heroes had gone as fast as they could. And still, they had been too late.

Warriors shivers, suddenly, and Time is struck by how very small he looks.

“But don’t worry,” he says, gently, trying not to dwell on the fact that his big brother should never look that way, “I’m here now. You’re safe.”

Warriors gives him a weak smile.

A few more short moments slide by, in which Time works to untie the ropes. They are thickly knotted, but he has slipped from far tighter bonds. And soon they fall away to join the filth on the floor. Warriors lets out a sharp hiss of pain.

“S-shoulder,” he explains at Time’s concerned look. “Dislocated.”

That can’t be the only thing out of place, Time thinks, bitterly. The way he is struggling to breathe speaks to a few broken ribs at least. And as for the rest of him…well, he can only guess at the extent of the damage.

Anger flares up in him once more. He shoves it down.

“I don’t have Hyrule’s healing powers,” he says, reaching into his pouch. “But I have a fairy. Her magic should be enough to tide you over until I can get you back to camp.”

Warriors blinks dazedly. “You…you’re the only one h-here?”

A grim smile pulls at Time’s lips. “Yes. I came across this place entirely by chance. The others were taking a short rest and I saw no reason to drag them along on a search that would likely lead to another deadend. It’s alright, though. No one is here anymore…except for you.”

If they had been they would have regretted it, he thinks, bitterly.

Pushing the dark thoughts away, he lifts the bottle out of his pouch and unscrews it.

“Here, this should…”

He stops short as the fairy darts forward. The lighting in the room is decidedly dim, which he supposes is why he hadn’t seen it before. But now in the pinkish glow of the fairy’s magic it’s painfully obvious.

The word “murderer” is carved in jagged, blood-red lines into Warriors’ left arm.

Time’s vision goes crimson.

“Captain…” It’s everything he can do to keep his voice level. Suddenly, he’s a child once more, kneeling on the battlefield, begging his brother to stay alive, to stay with him. He’s a child being hurtled back through time without truly understanding what that even means. He’s a child being laughed at and thrown aside by the man he has been tasked with defeating.

He’s a child helpless and weak.

Late. Much too late.

“...did they do this to you?”

For a long moment, Warriors doesn’t reply. He merely watches the fairy do her work, gaze dull and almost detached. There are tear-streaks on his cheeks, Time realizes now, curving through the patches of blood and dirt.

“Their fa-families died in…in the war,” he murmurs at last, voice hollow and defeated. “They…they blame me.”

Time forces himself to take a breath.

Of course, they do. That is always the reason the traitors give, as though placing the blame on the hero can assuage them of their own guilt, justify their horrific deeds.

“Well, they’re wrong,” he says, firmly. “And believe me, anyone who does a thing like this was never in their right mind in the first place. You do not carry the blame of a war you didn’t even begin, but fought bravely to end. You are a hero, captain, not a murderer.”

Warriors drags his gaze up to him, something terribly vulnerable within it.

“Y-you’re really somethin else, Sprite,” he whispers, breath hitching. A small smile tugs at his lips and somehow it makes him look even more young and broken than before. “How c-come you say everything like…like you mean it?”

Time places a gentle hand on his good shoulder and he seems to melt beneath his touch.

“Because I do. I meant every word. Why hide from someone who can always tell when I’m lying?”

Warriors chuckles, slightly. It almost sounds like a sob.

The fairy finishes her dance and zips back to Time.

“I’ve done all that I can,” she whispers. “The word that they hurt him with…I lightened it as much as I could.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, inclining his head. And with a soft jingle, she disappears. He turns his attention back to Warriors. “We’ll see if there are any spells or potions capable of stopping that from scarring. There is no reason for you to carry the false burden they have placed on you.”

The captain merely gives a small nod, eye downcast once more. His shoulders are uncharacteristically slumped and he hugs his arm to his body, as though eager to hide it. At the sight, the anger abates somewhat, replaced by the ache of his heart.

How dare they do this.

Time reaches out and draws him into his arms. Warriors slumps, bonelessly into his embrace, trembling slightly with pain and exhaustion and emotion.

“It’s alright. It’s over,” he says, softly, echoing the words Warriors had soothed him with so many times during the war. “I’ve got you.”

Carefully he rises, lifting the captain up as gently as he can. He wants nothing more than to tear this place apart, to find those who did this terrible deed and make them wish they had never been born. But his priority right now is Warriors. He needs rest and healing and for that cursed word to be wiped off of his skin. He needs safety and reassurance.

Vengeance will have to wait.

Though if he has his way it will not wait very long. The perpetrators were gone when he got here, likely cowering from the punishment even they knew they deserve. But once he finds them – and he will – he won’t hesitate to do what must be done.

No one touches his big brother without coming to regret it.

[nade2308]

"The family is the test of freedom; because the family is the only thing that the free man makes for himself and by himself."

— Gilbert K. Chesterton

Part 1 || Part 2 (part1 || part2) || Part 3

@whumptober

@thethistlegirl

Ao3 link here

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #20

Day 20 - Devil May Cry - "You will regret touching them"

*

“Hope you guys saved some fun for me,” Nero muttered to himself as he raced through the streets.

Vergil and Dante had left him behind to deal with a horde of demons while they moved ahead to the big guy causing this mess. Nero felt a little irritated that they’d left him on cleanup duty so they could get the real challenge, but he supposed they were hoping smaller jobs would give him a chance to practice with his devil form. 

He supposed he was just relieved they’d invited him along. It was a job they could’ve easily handled on his own, and he’d been nervous Vergil would actively try to avoid him. But Dante made it sound like it was Vergil’s idea to bring Nero along for this mission.

They certainly weren’t a conventional family, but Nero would take whatever he could get when it came to his father at this point.

“Better still be a fight going on so I can show you how strong I am,” Nero said, grinning to himself. He knew Vergil watched him on missions, and for all his grumblings and criticisms, Nero was sure he was starting to earn his father’s approval. 

He rounded the corner, and the grin dropped off his face slowly. It took him a long moment to process the scene before him, but slowly, it presented itself.

Dante was hanging limply over the hood of a smashed car, his fingers twitching but motionless aside from that. His sword was on the ground a few feet away from him and blood coated the cracked windshield where Dante must’ve been thrown into it.

Vergil was trying to get himself to his feet and failing miserably. One of his legs was twisted at an unnatural angle, but he grit his teeth and dragged himself to the Yamato, holding it with determination. 

The demon before them was large with a thick outer shell over its body. It had sharp claws and flames licking up its back. Its muscled tail swung back and forth slowly, anticipation in its dark eyes as it stalked towards Vergil.

Nero was sliding into its path before he’d made the conscious decision to move, bringing his sword up at a small bit of exposed flesh. The demon moved aside with surprising speed, the blow clanging off its armor.

“Another one,” it said, its voice deep and raspy. Its tail moved a bit faster, like some demonic dog getting excited to play. It flexed its claws. “You smell more human. This will be easy.”

“Nero, get out of here,” Vergil snapped, using the sword to help himself to his good leg, arms trembling as he tried to balance his weight and stay upright.

Nero didn’t back down. “Not as easy as you think, jackass. I’m the real challenge.”

Dante was getting into a sitting position now, shaking his head weakly at Nero. “Get out, kid.”

He was too injured to fully dodge the building debris that the demon’s tail whipped at him, knocking him off the car. The demon snorted, smoke clouds coming from its nostrils. 

“You pathetic humans don’t know how to stay down,” it said.

“You will regret touching them,” Nero promised, his voice low and deadly. Maybe they were dysfunctional and unconventional, but this was his family. Seeing them injured and mocked sent rage boiling through Nero.

He closed his eyes, opening them only once he felt his demon form take over. He brandished his sword, an immovable force between this bastard of a demon and his father and uncle.

This demon would not lay another finger on his family.