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almostnugget · 2 years ago

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another installment of the emotional rollercoaster this fic presented me with 🫡

02 — haunted

summary: “something’s gone terribly wrong, you’re all i wanted.”/“you’re not gone, you can’t be gone.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst warnings: rated 16+ for alcohol, religious talk (inaccurate portrayal of Christianity), vomit, INCREDIBLY CANON COMPLIANT ‼️IF YOU WERE TRIGGERED BY S2 EP15 REVELATIONS IN CRIMINAL MINDS, DO NOT READ THIS‼️ wc: 10.1k a/n: another special mention to @astrophileous for beta reading and hyping me up!! love you loads zahra 🤎 (she's also doing an AMAZING derek morgan series that i have the honour in beta-in so if you have time please do check it out!! it is an absolute work of art) SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

There is never a dull day when working at the BAU. After weeks of cases and paperwork, a night out was exactly what everyone needed. A place to get drunk, have fun and unwind– and O'Keefe's was the exact place to do just that.

“You know, you can at least try to look like you’re having fun,” Emily muses, nudging your shoulder.

Emily joined the team soon after Elle had resigned, and as much as you missed your friend, you enjoyed Emily’s company. She’s too observant for her own good; grinning at you from across the room whenever you have the slightest interaction with certain people. She’s a brilliant addition to the team, much to your chagrin, but you know it’s all in good fun. Well, all in good fun for her.

You shoot her a playful glare, sipping on your drink. “I am having fun!”

“Liar,” Emily says instantly, grinning at you. “C’mon, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you deny, “I’m just tired. Things have been… busy to say the least. I’m just glad that the team is getting some R&R. Well deserved, might I add. How are you? You know, with joining the team and all that.”

She smiles in your direction before downing a shot and shrugging. “It’s been good! Yeah, everyone is so… welcoming. It’s nice.”

“Different to a desk job?” You ask with a teasing lilt in your voice.

Emily laughs softly. “Yeah, totally.”

Your gaze shifts to where Spencer is sitting, for once enjoying himself in such a crowded area. He’s talking to two strangers at a table, his hands gesticulating as he explains something and the two people seem thoroughly amused.

“So… Spencer, huh?”

You frown. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Emily laughs, “You’re staring at him with heart eyes. Anyone can tell. Except for him, apparently.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“For a profiler, you’re a horrible liar.”

You let out something that sounds akin to a dying cow, turning your attention back to your drink. Your attention wavers and it shifts back to Spencer who is enthusiastically talking about something to the two amused guests. He grins at them as they drink, his own cup still full. Derek is thoroughly enjoying himself as he dances with a group of girls, and you can see Aaron and Haley dancing together on the floor as well. It’s wholesome, seeing everyone in their casual wear and just having fun.

“You should talk to him,” Emily tries again, nudging you. “I’ll buy you a drink if you do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re bribing me to talk to my best friend?”

“I’m bribing you to give me entertainment,” she corrects, laughing.

“You’re horrible,” you tell her, smiling, as you walk past her in Spencer’s direction. “I expect that drink to be delivered to me.”

“Deal!” She calls after you, downing a shot as she watches you.

Spencer smiles when he sees you make your way over to him, shuffling his chair to the side to give you more room.

“Hi,” he murmurs, pulling your seat closer to him. “Having fun?”

“I should be asking that to you,” you respond, smiling. The two people he was once talking to take their leave, giggling about something you couldn’t quite make out. “I didn’t mean to scare away your company.”

He immediately shakes his head at your words. “I’d rather talk to you anyway.”

You can’t help the silly grin that spreads across your face or the way your cheeks heat up and you cough. “Well, I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

Spencer laughs, his hand gravitating to your knee and he squeezes good-naturedly. “You exceed them.”

You think he’s trying to kill you and you swear you stop breathing as you choke out, “I’m glad.”

It isn’t long before Emily makes good on her promise, and a waiter appears on your left. He presents a drink to your table, the glass adorned with a lemon rind and a raspberry, and you eagerly take a gulp.

Spencer frowns a little as he watches you drink. “Aren’t you going to question who it’s from?”

“I know who it’s from,” you respond cheerfully, letting out a contented sigh. You offer the drink to him, moving the straw so that it’s pointing in his direction. “Want some?”

He eyes the pink drink suspiciously. “What is it?”

“It’s a Pink Bikini!” You chirp, sipping the drink again. “Like… coconut rum, raspberries, and lemonade. It’s good, Spence, you can barely taste the alcohol.”

His nose scrunches at the idea of coconut rum. “I dunno.”

“You’re not gonna get drunk from one sip,” you protest happily, a little tipsy. “It’s good! Besides, how do you know you’re not going to like it if you never try it?”

“You’re literally drunk right now!” He points out, laughing a little and moving the drink out of your reach. “Give it to me.”

“That’s only because I had a couple drinks earlier,” you argue, lunging for the glass. You’re quick but Spencer is quicker (and taller), and he chugs the drink before slamming it back onto the table. “Spencer!”

He grins at you, smacking his lips as he plays with the paper straw. “I’m protecting you, (Y/N). Who knows what you would’ve done if you drank any more.”

“You’re insufferable,” you chastise half-heartedly, “I was thirsty.”

“I have water,” he says, fishing a plastic bottle out of his satchel. He cracks the lid open, taking a sip himself before passing it to you. “Drinking even moderate amounts of alcohol can lead to dehydration. Drinking water slows down this effect, allowing the liver to metabolise the alcohol that was already consumed. This also means you won’t have as bad a hangover tomorrow morning.”

You beam at him, taking tentative sips from his water bottle. The fact that you’re drinking from the same bottle as him is not lost on you, nor the fact that he finished your drink by using your straw– your lipgloss stained straw– and he didn’t even bat an eye.

“What would I do without you?” You croon, handing his bottle back.

“Probably die of dehydration,” he responds, taking one last gulp of water, before returning the bottle back to his bag.

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” you laugh again, beaming at him. You’re not sure if it’s from the drinks, but you can feel your cheeks begin to flush. Did it get hotter in here?

“Hey, sorry to be the bearer of bad news but we have a case,” JJ pats your shoulder sympathetically, frowning. “Horrible timing, but it’s urgent.”

You all but whine. “But I’m tipsy.”

“I’ve got aspirin in my bag,” JJ says, “you’ll be fine.”

“Stupid serial killer,” you huff, getting up from your seat. “They owe me a day off.”

***

“You know it never fails. Just as I’m getting my groove thang going, bam! We’re back at the BAU,” Derek says, pouring himself a much needed cup of coffee and sitting at the roundtable.

Spencer shrugs. “You know, statistically, a case doesn’t come in with any more frequency if you’re at a party or gathering than if you aren’t. It’s a… trick of the mind. We merely remember the ones that came in that way more.”

“Besides, how long does it take for you to get your ‘groove thang’ going anyway?” You tease, sipping from your own cup of coffee, and Emily cackles from beside you.

“Only when he’s sleeping,” Gideon comments, walking into the conference room and taking off his coat.

Hotch’s brows raise in a mixture of surprise and concern. “Where were you tonight?”

“I told you, I went to the Smithsonian,” he grunts as he sits into his chair.

“You missed a good time,” Emily insists, smiling.

“I had a good time,” Gideon responds, his attention turning back to the screen where JJ was getting ready to present the latest case.

“Well, that’s definitely over,” she says, flicking the screen on. “Georgia. The Kyles– Dennis and Lacy– were murdered an hour ago in the suburban Atlanta home.”

Hotch’s brows raise in surprise. “An hour ago?”

JJ nods. “Police were on the scene unusually fast.”

“Why?” Derek asks, leaning over the table.

“One of the UnSubs called them and told them that the other was about to murder the victims.”

You huff out a laugh in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“From inside the house.” JJ purses her lips, gesturing to the transcript that was printed out in their files. “According to the dispatcher, the first male sounded terrified and begged them to get there before the other, who they both identified as Raphael, was about to kill the sinners that lived there.”

“‘Sinners’?” Hotch echoes.

JJ nods again, a grimace painted over her features. “The 911 centre is going to send Garcia the tape.”

“How fast was the police response time?” Spencer asks, glancing at the screen.

“Four minutes, twenty-six seconds. During which time Raphael was able to do…” JJ clicks a button on the remote and an array of gruesome crime scene photos popped up onto the screen. “This.”

“In four and a half minutes?” Emily asks incredulously, frowning.

Garcia immediately turns away from the screen, clutching her mug closer to her chest. You can’t help but cringe as well from the violence presented in the photos: blood everywhere, smeared across the walls and floors of the house, and the victims lifeless.

“Mr. Kyle is a dot-com millionaire. His company is one of the largest employers in the community. There’s going to be media coverage. Also, when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed.”

Another image appears on the screen, this time a page of the Bible placed into a plastic evidence bag with a certain section highlighted.

“Revelation, Chapter 6, Verse 8,” Hotch reads for the rest of the team.

Derek can’t help but scoff. “They’re killing sinners.”

“These guys are on a mission. And mission-based killers will not stop killing,” Spencer says with a wince.

“‘And I looked, and behold, a pale horse, and his name that sat upon him was Death,” Hotch begins, eyes trained on the Bible page.

Gideon continues, his voice quiet and grim, “And Hell followed with him.”

***

You sigh tiredly as you slump into the seat beside Spencer, playing with the cap of your water bottle. The sky outside is painted in oranges and purples as the sun begins to rise, and you try to hold back the frustrated groan when you see the blaring ‘4:22AM’ flash on your watch.

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks quietly, looking over at you.

You shake your head, running your fingers through your hair. “I just… I have a bad feeling about this case. There’s something… off about it.”

He hums in thought, “we’ve dealt with religious motives before, though.”

“I know but just–” you huff, leaning against the headrest. “It’s just weird. I mean, usually if one of the UnSubs were partnered with someone who was a liability, they’d eliminate them. But that’s just not happening here.”

“Don’t think about the case,” Spencer says gently, resting the palm of his hand flat against your knee. “It’ll be fine, trust me.”

When you don’t respond, he pokes your cheek gently shooting you a lopsided smile. “Hey. It’ll be okay.”

“I hope it will be,” you respond quietly, moving so that your cheek is pressed against his shoulder. “But you saw those images; what the UnSubs can do in less than five minutes. I know it’s nothing we haven’t seen before but–”

“(Y/N).” He squeezes your knee again and you flush as he continues to speak. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be back home before you know it. Trust me.”

You nod, although you can’t shake this feeling off. “Promise you’ll be safe?”

Spencer smiles at you. “Promise.”

***

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you mutter, turning away as the video of Mr. Kyle being murdered plays on repeat. Your stomach churns at the mere mental image that pops up in your mind, and a chill run downs your spine.

The case is a lot more gruesome than you expected it to be, especially when it came to the team’s attention that a video of the murder was circulating the internet. The video was currently being played on loop, with the voice of the UnSubs playing out of the computer. You thought you saw it all but this was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

That is, until Spencer stood from his seat.

“Agent Franks?” He whispers, looking towards the lead detective. “Does this building have wireless internet?”

Agent Franks nods. “Yeah. Why?”

Spencer swallows, gesturing to the computer. “That camera’s on right now. The computer has connected itself to the internet; it’s streaming a video feed somewhere.”

Hotch’s concern only deepens, along with the frown on his face. “Can we trace the stream to the destination?”

“If we keep it open, Garcia might be able to–” Spencer begins, only to be cut off by a beeping from the computer.

In bright red lettering, the words: ‘THE ARMIES OF SATAN SHALL NOT PREVAIL’ flash against the black screen before turning off.

“So, they’re controlling it remotely?” Hotch asks, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Is that even possible?” Emily asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, you can totally access someone’s computer remotely. It’s actually done a lot today when a mortal calls for tech support. Instead of giving you instructions the tech can work on your computer from wherever she is,” Garcia explains through the phone.

“And they maintain the access even after the work is done?” Hotch asks.

“They’re not supposed to, but I suppose you could install a Trojan horse.”

Spencer turns to Gideon. “Something left in the computer to be turned on later. It’s the same way that websites get pop-up ads onto your computer.”

“Garcia can you check the Kyles’ phone records and see if they called tech support in the last six months?” Hotch requests as he flips through the Kyle family’s folder.

“Right-o. Oh, and if you get me the laptop I can search the drive for anything implanted there.”

Hotch nods. “As fast as we can.”

“By the way, this video? It’s gone crazy viral.”

Gideon frowns. “What does that mean?”

“That means it’s the most downloaded video on the entire Internet. Worldwide. And judging by the responses people seem to think it’s pretty cool.”

“Call us if you find anything on the Kyles’ computer,” Hotch mutters, before the phone hangs up.

“Honestly, they probably don’t even realise that the video is real,” you say quietly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I mean, you see a video on the internet. The last thing you’d think is that it’s actual people being murdered.”

“They probably think that it’s marketing for a horror film or something,” JJ adds on, but the look on her face is just as disgusted.

“Well, the UnSubs were right about one thing,” Derek mutters, nodding grimly. “The world is pretty screwed up.”

***

After hours of going through files and trying to find a paper trail, you’re left with a mountain of paperwork in front of you and sore eyes. You press the pads of your fingers against the corner of your eyes, slumping over the table.

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice brings you out of your thoughts and you peek a look at him. “Hm?”

A takeaway cup of coffee is placed in front of you and you immediately perk up. He chuckles softly, patting your head. “You looked like you needed it.”

You spy the name written across the paper cup and frown. “It’s your coffee.”

“You need it more than me,” he says honestly, smiling. “Besides, I’m okay.”

You take a tentative sip of the drink, the sweetness of the sugar overwhelming the bitter taste of the coffee but you don’t mind it. Instead, you didn’t actually mind it; especially because it’s from him.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “We can share it if you want.”

He shakes his head ‘no’, turning back to the files on the page. “Where did you get up to?”

“Nowhere special. Agent Franks is right; there’s nothing in any of the files relating to knife fights that are remotely similar to the case,” you say, slumping against the table and leaning your head on your arm. “I’ve got six or so left to go through but I’m not getting much luck anyway.”

At that moment, JJ enters the room, holding another cream coloured file. “What if we were looking at this the wrong way?”

Hotch turns to her. “What do you mean?”

“I looked for unsolved home invasions. Three months ago there was a prowler called in directly outside of the Kyles’ house.”

Your brows knit together at her words and look up at her. “A prowler?”

JJ nods. “The witness was walking his dog in a nearby park. Going back to his car, he saw a man in dark clothing go over the back wall and start sneaking up to the house. By the time the police got there, the prowler was gone.”

“Only one man?” Hotch asks.

“Apparently.”

“Was the witness able to describe the man?” Spencer questions.

JJ looks into the papers before shaking her head. “If he did, it’s not in this case file.

Hotch looks at JJ then back at the corkboard. “Is there a name and address to the witness?”

“Tobias Hankel,” JJ reads. “Lives about an hour from here.”

Hotch lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. “It’s a long shot, but he might be able to give us a description. Why don’t you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr Hankel, and see if he remembers anything.”

You immediately frown, perking up at his words. “I can go too, sir. There’s a safety in numbers.”

“You’re exhausted and we need you here,” Hotch says, immediately shutting your suggestion down. “We don’t need three people to talk to a witness.”

Your face falls and your stomach churns. “I understand that, sir, but it’s late and wouldn’t it be safer if more people go?”

“We’ll be fine,” Spencer reassures, squeezing your arm. “We’ll be armed and we’ve got our phones.”

A small breath escapes you and you nod slowly, chewing your bottom lip. “Okay. Be safe.”

He smiles. “I will.”

JJ snickers lightly, turning to Hotch. “Be safe,” she echoes, grinning.

Hotch can’t help but chuckle as he returns with, “I’ll be so safe.”

“Oh shut up,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “I’m gonna kill you.”

JJ grins. “But how will that keep us safe?”

You throw an eraser at her shoulder in response and she laughs loudly, walking out of the room. Spencer squeezes your arm again, rubbing your shoulder through the fabric of his jumper before following after her.

It isn’t long before the lead detective rushes into the room, his words flying out of his mouth. “Agent Hotchner, we got another murder.”

***

“Tobias Hankel is the UnSub.”

Five words is all it takes for your world to come crashing down around you. Hankel? The UnSub? Your mouth is dry as the head detective explains about the dogs and you think you’re going to throw up. Your mind spins and your chest pounds with anxiety because oh God, what’s going to happen to the others?

“We sent Spencer and JJ there,” you whisper, your throat closing up. You tug desperately at your collar, trying to breathe. “Oh my God, we sent them there. We sent them there.”

“Hey, hey,” Derek is quick to ground you, gripping your shoulders firmly. “They’ll be okay. It’s Spencer Genius Reid and Jennifer Bad-ass Jareau. They’ll be okay.”

You shake your head firmly, pulling away from his grasp and clutching your head. “I should be there with them. I should have gone with them. We don’t know what Tobias is capable of, Morgan, something could have happened to them.”

“We’re dispatching police now,” the detective says, getting off the phone.

Tears spill from the corners of your eyes and you try to keep your breathing steady. It doesn’t work. The room is spinning and you can’t see straight. The words your team are trying to get through to you fades into background noise and you let out a choked sob.

“They could be–” Your words don’t make it off your tongue and you turn, gesturing to the black screen that was once playing the video of the woman and the dogs. “Oh my God.”

“(Y/N),” Emily holds your shoulders tightly, her words a mixture of firmness and care as she tries to snap you out of it. “They’re going to be okay. We have to go there now.”

“They can’t be gone. Spencer can’t be gone,” you say, more to yourself than anything. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go. We have to find them.”

The others don’t need to be told twice. You get into the passenger seat with Emily, trying to calm your breathing. One hour is too long. Why does Tobias have to live so far away? You press the palm of your hand to your mouth, the lump in your throat getting bigger. Hot tears fall down your cheeks as the world becomes a blur of flashing lights and you try not to cry. It’s your fault. You should have been there with him. There’s safety in numbers. Why didn’t you trust your gut?

“Don’t do that,” Emily says sternly, gripping the wheel tighter.

You can’t bring yourself to respond, merely shaking your head adamantly.

“Stop blaming yourself,” Emily tries again, glancing at you for a second before turning her attention back to the road. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should be there with them.” Your voice cracks pathetically and you wipe furiously at your eyes.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have.”

She looks at you again. “Stop. You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.”

The rest of the car ride is silent. You’ve learned that this is the hardest part of the job: losing someone. Losing someone because of a job. It seems ridiculous, considering that it’s something so miniscule in the grand scheme of things, and yet it is the most common factor in divorces. A lack of commitment. Instead of committing to something that actually matters and can’t be replaced, their attention turns to something so lacklustre. If Spencer were here he would tell you the exact statistics. If Spencer were here, you wouldn’t even need to think about the statistics.

The sound of sirens echo through the once quiet country area and the police officers file out of their cars. You fasten your Kevlar vest over your chest hastily, fumbling with the clasps as you jump out of the car.

“John, Bobby, take the house with Hotch, Gideon and (L/N),” the captain orders, pointing towards the house.

Your stomach lurches as Hotch busts the door open, and you move upstairs with your gun pointed out.

“Clear!” You yell, rendezvousing with Hotch and Gideon soon after.

“Downstairs is clear,” Hotch says, nodding towards you.

“Then where the hell is he?” Gideon mutters, looking around the rooms of the house.

The blood rushes to your ears and the air grows thick. You can’t breathe. The house is unmaintained with mould growing in the corners of the rooms and dust gathering on the shelves, the paint on the walls cracking from water damage. Your eyes sting as the air pricks at your skin, and your legs carry you down the stairs and out the house.

“JJ,” you breathe, your eyes wide as you meet the blonde sitting at the back of an ambulance. You pull her into a hug. “You’re okay.”

It’s a different JJ to what you’re used to. She’s always been put together with not a hair out of place. She’s usually so full of life and mirth, bringing a sense of serenity and security when you need it most but this…

Her blue eyes are red and puffy from crying and she’s shaking miserably against your body. She scratches at her wrists and picks at the bandages, her bottom lip trembling. Her gun is set beside her, not in the holster she usually carries it in.

“(Y/N),” she sobs, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” You demand. “Where’s Spencer?”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, shaking her head. “I tried–”

“Where is he, Jennifer?” You ask, pulling away from her like she burned you. “Where is he?”

She sobs again, clutching her head. “I don’t know, we separated–”

“What do you mean you separated?!” You’re trying not to scream. Your thoughts are running a million miles an hour. Spencer is gone. He’s gone. “Why would you do that?”

Jennifer lets out a wail, trying to explain herself through broken words. “We didn’t– he said– I’m sorry I’m sorry–”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t bring him here, does it?” The words are harsh and low, and you tug at your collar again. “He’s not here, Jennifer! Does that mean nothing to you?!”

“(L/N), that’s enough.”

Hotch’s voice makes you snap your head in his direction and you see red.

“I told you I should have gone with them,” you snap, and it doesn’t even occur to you that this man is your boss. “If I went with them, Spencer would still be here right now!”

“(L/N).”

“No.” You glare at him menacingly, too deep in your anger to even comprehend anything else. “He should be here right now! He should– he should be spouting out statistics or coming up with some theory! He should be here and he’s not!”

“We’ll find him. Trust me.”

“I did!” You yell, your voice fervent. “I trusted your judgement! And look where that got us. Spencer is gone. He’s not here, Hotch, because I trusted you!”

“(Y/N), enough.” Hotch is firm and he stares you down. “That is enough, do I need to remind you who you are speaking to?”

In an instant you stop, your heart lurching and you quiver. “... This is my fault.”

He immediately shakes his head no. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should have gone with him. I should have– it’s my fault. It’s my fault.” Your eyes well with tears and you tug at your hair erratically. “He can’t be gone. He’s not gone. He’ll figure something out. Why didn’t I do something? I should have–”

“Stop it. (Y/N), stop.” Hotch grips your shoulders squarely, bending down so that he’s eye level with you. “Take deep breaths.”

Your lungs burn as you try to breathe, hot ragged breaths leaving your lips shakily as you cover your face with the palms of your hands. Tears fall down your cheeks and gather in your hands as you make a desperate attempt to calm yourself down. It’s all too much. The sky is pitch black and the feeling of cold rain stings and bites your skin. The sounds of sirens fade away and for a moment it’s just quiet. Quiet, except for the words and the voices that swirl in your mind.

“A man that matches Hankel’s description was spotted in the next town over.”

Derek’s words bring you out of your thoughts and you manage a soft, “What?”

“Alright,” Hotch nods, before turning back to you. “Go back to the police department.”

“What?” Your ears are ringing. You must have heard wrong. “No. No, no, I can’t– no, Hotch, I’m not going back to the police department. Spencer is missing.”

“You’re too close to the case.”

A humourless laugh leaves your lips as you stare at him. “We’re all too close to the case, Hotch. Look around!”

“You attacked JJ and you raised your voice at me. I want you to go back to the police department and work the case from there.” He speaks to you as if he were speaking to a child and it makes you feel sick.

“Oh, so you’re punishing me?”

“No, I’m using you,” he says firmly, and then his voice softens. “It won’t do you any good to be here, (Y/N), you know that.”

“Aaron,” you try again, your voice wavering. “Please, don’t do this to me.”

“Go back and find us something that we can use.” He turns to one of the policemen. “Make sure she gets there.”

The policeman nods, tipping his hat, and gesturing for you to follow him.

“Wait I– let me talk to JJ. I need– just, please,” you say quickly, clearing your throat. “Sir.”

He’s sceptical before nodding. “Go ahead.”

You don’t need to be told twice. In moments you turn back to the ambulance, letting out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry.”

JJ shakes her head adamantly. “No, you’re right. It was my fault.”

“It’s not,” you say quietly. “I know Spencer and I know you. It was… probably his idea to split up.”

She smiles wryly, fiddling at the bandage on her arm.

“It’s not your fault,” you say again. You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince anymore. “You went through something too and I ignored that and that wasn’t right of me. I’m sorry.”

JJ sniffles, pursing her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you respond quietly, patting her arm. “I need to go. Um, Hotch wants me off the case, or something.”

She nods. “Okay.”

You look at her again, the guilt building like bile in your stomach. “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” she whispers, wiping the tears away from her eyes. “We’ll find him.”

You don’t respond.

***

Everything hurts. His head is pounding and he can feel the sticky blood drip from the side of his head and against his cheek. His feet hurt from each thwack of wood, and his wrists hurt from the handcuffs. It’s cold. So, so cold, and he feels so weak. No amount of knowledge or training could have prepared him for this.

Spencer’s throat throbs from crying. No matter how many times he tries to convince whatever personality is taking over Tobias, it never seems to work. What’s the point of being a profiler if he can’t even save himself?

The creaking of the door brings him out of his thoughts and he jolts. Tobias, at least who appears to be Tobias, enters the room carrying a slaughtered animal. A shiver runs down Spencer’s spine and all he can do is watch.

“You need to eat,” the man says, his voice strangely soft and oddly calm.

“What’s your name?” Spencer asks, his voice small.

The man looks back at him. “Tobias.”

“Tobias, who was here before?” The fear is obvious in his voice and Spencer just wishes for an ounce of Hotch’s stoicism or Derek’s bravery.

Tobias chuckles weakly. “It was probably my father. I’m sorry if he hurt you.”

Before he could comprehend his movements, Tobias takes off his belt and walks over to him. Spencer fears the worst. Did Tobias’s father take over again? He tries to inch away, struggling against the restraints as best he could.

“W-What are you doing?” Spencer asks shakily, trying to pull away from him.

Tobias doesn’t respond, slipping one end of the belt above his elbow. Everything begins to click.

“No, no. Don’t. Please, please don’t.” He resorts to begging.

In this moment, Spencer hates the way his mind works because he doesn’t need to know the statistics. He doesn’t need to know that 75% of drug abusers started out using pain killers. His head swirls with what Tobias could be using. Codeine? Heroin? Opium? The list goes on and he tries to keep his breathing steady.

“It helps,” Tobias says, ignoring the way Spencer trembles and shakes his head adamantly. “Don’t tell my father. He doesn’t know they’re here.”

Tobias takes the syringe and the bottle out of his pocket and Spencer sobs even harder. He tries to appease him again, shrinking away as best he could in his chair.

“Please,” he tries again, his chest heaving and tears wetting his waterline. “Please, I don’t want it, I don’t want it.”

“Trust me. I know.”

“Please,” he begs, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Don’t.”

Tobias doesn’t listen.

The effects are far too quick for codeine, heroin or opium and Spencer can feel it hit. He knows it’s wrong. He can go on for hours about the statistics about it but the feeling so euphoric that he can’t help it. And then he sees it.

“We have another recruit as well. Came in a couple weeks ago,” Derek told him, walking him through the halls of the BAU headquarters. “She’s part of the academy Honours program. Top of the class, apparently.”

“Oh.” Spencer nodded slowly, fidgeting with the zip of his bag.

Derek grinned. “Relax, kid. You still have the most impressive résumé. She’s just an intern; doing paperwork, mainly.”

“I wasn’t– I wasn’t worried about that,” Spencer stammered, wetting his bottom lip. “I mean– not that I think she isn’t smart or anything. I just meant–”

“Kid, I mean it when you have to relax,” Derek snorted as he opens up the door to the bullpen “Meet the rest of the team.”

He walked through the doors, ready to make his mark. He’s spent so long believing that he was nothing but now… he took another step, meeting Hotch’s gaze and– he didn’t get very far when something catapulted into his side. There was a flurry of paper work and cream coloured files, case details splayed all over the floor. Spencer grunted a little, tumbling to the ground like a house of cards.

“Oh, my God, I am– I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going and I was running and I am not used to office attire! I am so sorry!”

The ramblings of a girl– she couldn’t be older than him, at least, not by much– filled Spencer’s ears and he grimaces. “No, it’s– it’s okay. Don’t– uh– don’t worry about it.”

“(Y/N)...” JJ huffed out a quiet laugh, helping the other girl to her feet. “Are you guys okay?”

“I’m okay,” Spencer said, slowly getting to his feet.

The girl didn’t do the same, instead scrambling to pick up the multitude of papers that litter the floor. “I’m fine! Just– great. Great. Brilliant.”

Spencer immediately started to reach for the papers, trying his best not crumple them up anymore than they already were. “You’re… the intern?”

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, breathless. “I’m still getting used to all…” You gesture wildly to the interior of the bullpen. “... this.”

“(Y/N), meet Doctor Spencer Reid. He’s the youngest addition to the team. Reid, meet (Y/N) (L/N). She’s part of the Academy Honours Program,” Gideon introduces, peering at the two of you from behind his glasses.

“Hi,” you said meekly, stretching out your hand.

His words hitched in his throat because once he’s gotten past the flying papers and the fact that you literally ran into him, he realises just how beautiful you are. You were right there in front of him, close enough to touch but–

“I don’t shake hands,” he said quietly, the anxiety gnawing at his stomach. His fingers twitch at his sides and he moves them to grip the handle of his satchel. “Sorry.”

You smile at him and his heart thunders in his chest. Is this how Romeo felt when he met Juliet? Or how Charles Bingley felt when he met Jane Bennett?

“It’s okay,” you told him, tucking the papers under your arm. “Don’t worry about it. So, you’re a doctor? That’s really cool!”

“Reid here got accepted into the BAU without even taking a physical exam,” Derek chimed in, practically bragging about Spencer’s intellectual prowess. “Isn’t that right, kid?”

“I’m not an athletic person,” Spencer said awkwardly, his worries dissipating when he heard you laugh good-naturedly. Regardless, he felt the urge to defend himself. “I’m not weak.”

JJ laughed along. “We know, Spencer.”

“I’m not weak… I’m not weak…”

“I don’t give a damn whether you’re weak or strong.”

Spencer barely manages to blink his eyes open as he hears the familiar timbre of Tobias’s father’s voice fill the room. He’s slowly coming down from the high of the drugs and the room spins as he does.

“Yell all you want boy,” Tobias sneers, bending down so that he’s eye level with Spencer. “Ain’t no one gonna hear you where you are.”

As if to prove his point, he begins to scream. Deep and rumbly, and it jolts Spencer back to reality. He wishes he was careful. He wishes he was with you.

***

“Tobias has dissociative identity disorder,” Garcia explains to you through the phone, and you slap a hand to your forehead.

“That makes so much sense,” You mutter to yourself, pacing around the room of the police department. “I should have seen it. It was right there in front of me and I missed it.”

Penelope hums, her voice tense with worry. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. No one knew until we started digging into the journals and cross-checking dates.”

“I know but–” You rub your eyes, cringing as stars litter your vision– “it was just so obvious. What else have you gotten?”

It has been a little over ten hours since Hotch sent you back to the police department and you haven’t gotten much sleep. You tried, you swear you tried, but every time you see the terrified face of Spencer and it makes you sick. The whiteboard in front of you is littered with different evidence files and profiles. Profiles on Tobias, profiles on the victims, geographical profiles… the list goes on.

“We know that Tobias is an addict,” Emily says. “He picked dilaudid as his poison.”

“For someone so hellbent on following the Bible, he’s incredibly hypocritical,” You say, jotting down the words onto the whiteboard.

“His personality is split into that of his father, Charles, and Raphael,” Emily continues, and you can hear the frown in her voice.

You’re about to say something when Garcia’s voice raises by an octave.

“Oh God,” she squeaks, and you can hear the clicking of keys in the background. “Morgan? Emily, get the others, oh my God!”

“What’s going on?” You demand urgently, gripping the phone tighter. “Garcia, what’s going on?”

“It’s Spencer,” her voice is hushed and far from the speaker, and your heart sinks to your stomach.

“What happened? Penelope, what happened?”

“We have to go,” she says hurriedly, and the sound of footsteps from the rest of the team fill the speaker.

“No! Wait, don’t hang—“

The sound of the prolonged dial tone echoes in your ears and you resist the urge to scream. You press the pads of your fingers to your eyes, hot tears wetting your skin. Crying will get you nowhere and you know that. You know that Spencer is holding on. He’s relying on the BAU to save him.

You gather all the available files on Charles Hankel, spreading them around the table. There’s not much to read; he’s lived a relatively quiet life. He was a farmer, his wife left him… dead end. Again. You’re at your wit’s end and you grab your keys.

“John, want to work on a federal case?” You ask, shaking your keys. The younger policeman nods eagerly and you point to the door. “Great. Let’s go.”

It’s a small country town in Atlanta. Someone has to know something, especially if Tobias was a drug abuser.

“We’re going to a few Narcotics Anonymous groups,” You explain to John who looks a little too excited to be sitting in a federal car. “Ask questions on Tobias Hankel and Charles Hankel. Someone has to know something.”

“All due respect, um, ma’am,” John stammers, and you raise an eyebrow amusedly. He coughs before continuing, “why aren’t you with the rest of the team?”

You falter, turning your attention back to the road. “They need me to work it from here. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

Two miserable hours pass by with not much luck. Two hours that could have been used for something more meaningful than asking a bunch of drugged up assholes about the UnSub. Anxiety claws at your chest again as you flick through the answers. It’s nothing you didn’t already know.

“I got something,” John says a little breathlessly, jogging back over to you.

“Yes?” You need something. Anything.

“A few sheep were stolen off of a farmer’s property,” he says, flipping through the notebook and reading off his scrawny handwriting. “Wasn’t Charles a farmer?”

“What does that have to do with–” You feel your mouth go dry and you turn to him. “Which farm?”

“Which– um…” He swallows. “Mcallister? Shawn Mcallister.”

In seconds you’re dialling Garcia again and she picks up with a trembling, “hello?”

“Is Spencer alive?” You ask firmly, slamming the car door.

“Y-Yes. He’s– it’s not good, (Y/N),” she whimpers, clicking on the keyboard. “There was another murder. Spencer had to– he had to– he had to choose who to save. The UnSub fed a video to us, (Y/N), it’s horrible.”

There was another murder? John seizes up beside you and you grimace. You keep forgetting that John is practically a kid, barely twenty-one, and he hasn’t even seen the horrors of the world yet.

“But he came back, right? To Spencer?” You ask, gripping the steering wheel tighter in an effort to keep yourself steady. “Penelope, Tobias posted a video of the latest murder, right? When was it posted?”

“9:23,” she says woefully, typing away.

“Okay, and…” you check the police radio, biting your lip nervously. “Okay, it says that the call for the murder came in at 9:04.”

There’s a little static in the background along with some shuffling before she responds. “Um… okay?”

“John, I need a map. Where’s– goddamn it– where’s the map of the area, John?!”

He fumbles, spreading the paper open. “Here!”

“That road– it’s 60 miles an hour, right? That means he needs to be–” you scribble across the map, frowning. “That’s within seventeen miles of the crime scene. There’s a farm, uh, poaching or something. Mcallister farm?”

“We’ll find something,” Penelope says quietly. “I’ll try find the farm area. He is going to be okay, I promise.”

You let out a heavy breath. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

***

The guilt alone is enough to kill him. Spencer knows that he is not at fault for this; Gideon said so. Regardless, he can’t get their faces out of his head. They were happy. What if they had kids? They were good people; they didn’t deserve to die the way they did. Spencer’s head pounds as he slumps against the chair, his breath quickening when he realises that Tobias is right there.

“Sorry, I had to leave for a while,” Tobias, the real Tobias, says quietly, strapping the belt to Spencer’s arm again.

He’s felt this so many times now. The high, and then the inevitable low. There’s no point fighting it, Spencer tries to justify, it’s biology.

“You can leave again,” he says softly, “and you can take me with you.”

“My father would be angry,” Tobias says, drawing the liquid up the syringe.

“Not if he can’t find us.”

Tobias scoffs. “He always finds me.”

“If you tell me where we are, my friends will come and they’ll save us,” Spencer pleads, trying to look him in the eye.

“We can’t be saved,” he says dismissively, flicking the syringe.

Spencer sniffles, and for a split second he feels the fear course through his veins. “We can. We can, I promise, if you tell me where we are I’ll save us both.”

“Listen to me. It’s not worth fighting.” Tobias pauses, readying the syringe. “Tell me it doesn't make it better.”

The silence that follows is humiliating. He hates the way that he isn’t fighting anymore but he can’t. It’s almost as if his body doesn’t even want to listen to him. Tobias doesn’t waste another moment and the familiar feeling of artificial ecstasy floods Spencer’s mind.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

The phrase was so unfamiliar and Spencer’s brows furrowed as he looked at you. It has been a couple weeks since you were officially indoctrinated into the BAU and he couldn’t be any happier. It felt nice to talk to someone who was his age, especially because he never really knew anyone of his age back in Las Vegas.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

You laughed and his heart fluttered in his chest. He remembered the feeling distinctly; how could he forget? The feeling is still the same now.

“I mean… tell me something not a lot of people know about you. Like… okay, I’ll go first. Um… my favourite flowers are hydrangeas. The purple ones.”

He committed that information to memory. Every year for your birthday he would buy you a new pot of hydrangeas for your apartment or something flower related like an automatic waterer or a replacement sun lamp.

“Hydrangea macrophylla,” Spencer said slowly, his cheeks flushed. “It means… gratitude, grace, and beauty. It’s fitting.”

He relished in the way your eyes lit up and the way you smiled at him. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Um… my middle name is Walter?” He chuckled awkwardly, wetting his bottom lip. “No one really calls me that, though.”

You typed something on your computer, reading out loud, “The name Walter is Germanic in origin and means ‘commander of the army’.”

His cheeks burned in embarrassment and he nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“I like it.” You grinned at him. “Walter.”

Spencer choked a little, the hairs on his neck standing on end and heat crawling up his cheeks. “You– you don’t have to call me that.”

“I won’t if you don’t like it,” you told him.

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” he said quickly, his eyes widening. “I’m just not used to it.”

He remembers the way you beamed at him and the way he felt knowing that he made you happy.

“Well then,” You began, meeting his gaze, “I guess that means I just have to call you that more often.”

Tobias’s yelling brings him back and all he can do is stare as he watches him slam on the keyboard angrily. A bright red pop up is flashing on his computer, and Tobias turns to Spencer with a murderous scowl.

“They’re trying to silence my message.”

“I can’t control what they do,” Spencer defends tearfully, his voice wavering. “I’m not with them, I’m with you.”

Tobias scoffs again. “Really?”

He types something onto the keyboard and Gideon’s face show’s up on the screen. He’s leaning towards the camera, his words a mantra that Spencer repeats in his mind.

“Reid,” the crackly audio sounds with Gideon’s voice, “if you’re watching, you’re not responsible for this, understand me? He’s perverting God to justify murder. You are stronger than him. He cannot break you.”

Tobias slams the computer off, walking back to him. “You think you can defy me?”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about–”

“You’re a liar!”

Spencer can only grimace in response, the words caught in his throat. Tobias must have been able to see something and the fear creeps into his heart again as the man lunges for his arm. Tobias forces Spencer’s sleeve up and the guilt crashes like waves.

“You’re pitiful,” Tobias sneers, “Just like my son.”

Spencer wracks out a sob, silent pleas of mercy never leaving his lips. Maybe he does deserve this. Maybe, in some sick and twisted way, the universe is out to get him for all his shortcomings. Maybe, he thinks to himself as he watches Tobias turn the camera on, maybe he does deserve to die this way.

“This ends now,” Tobias snarls. “Confess your sins.”

“No,” he whimpers.

Tobias’s fist collides with the side of Spencer’s face with a resounding slap.

“Confess!”

“I haven’t done anything…”

His fist meets Spencer’s cheek again and all he can do is recoil in his chair.

“Tobias, help me,” he manages, but his plea is shut down almost instantly.

“He can’t help you, he’s weak. Confess!” He hits him again and the pain is almost too much to bear. “Confess your sins.”

Spencer sobs. “No…”

In a fit of anger, Tobias throws Spencer to the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts as he feels the back of his head meet the cold musty ground. He can’t breathe. He feels like he’s underwater. Have to breathe, he needs to breathe, why can’t he breathe? He needs to see you again. He can’t die like this. He can’t, he can’t, he needs to breathe. He tries to take a breath of air but it’s like his mouth is full of water. And just when he thinks he reached the surface, he’s pulled under once again.

Warmth. The feeling of his blood pumping to his ears is the first thing Spencer feels and his fingers twitch. He’s alive. There’s only one reason why that must have happened.

“I was given CPR,” he rasps out, Tobias’s words swirling in his head.

“There are no accidents,” Tobias says slowly. “How many members are in your team?”

Spencer can barely whisper the word. “Eight.”

“Seven, not including you. ‘The seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound. The first sounding followed hail and they were thrown to Earth’.” He hoists Spencer’s chair upright, standing before him. “Tell me who you serve.”

“I serve you.”

“Then choose one to die.”

Spencer blanches, looking up at him. “What?”

“Your team members. Choose one to die.”

He doesn’t need to think when he responds, “kill me.”

Tobias jeers. “You said you weren’t one of them.”

“I lied.”

“Your team has seven other members. Tell me who dies.”

Spencer breathes in as if it were his last. “No.”

Tobias pulls out a revolver from his jacket pocket, spinning the cylinder before aiming it for Spencer’s head. “Choose, and prove you’ll do God’s will.”

“No.”

Tobias clicks the trigger and nothing happens so he repeats, “choose.”

“I won’t do it.”

The trigger clicks again and nothing happens. “Life is a choice.”

“No.”

Spencer’s mind is racing. His first thought goes to you. He knows you would understand any and all references he throws in your direction, but it makes him sick just thinking about putting your life on the line. He needs something. He needs to think.

“Choose.”

“I choose…” his voice stammers and he can barely see straight. “Aaron Hotchner.”

***

“We got him.”

The words echo in your mind as you pace up and down your hotel room, chewing on your destroyed nailbeds. It’s nearing two in the morning and you can’t sleep. The rest of the team are awake. Why should you be given the privilege of rest when none of them were able to? Why should you be given the privilege of rest when Spencer is out there fighting for his life? It’s not fair. Life isn’t fair.

When you hear the sirens outside you run out the door. Blood is pulsing in your ears and you’re still wearing the thin hotel slippers but it doesn’t matter. How could anything else matter? The car door clicks open and Emily helps Spencer out of the car. She whispers something to him and he looks in your direction. Those big hazel eyes stare at you with so much hurt and you can’t contain it anymore.

“Spencer.”

His arms wrap around your waist, his nose pressing against your neck as he holds you, breathing in the smell of your vanilla perfume. He almost doesn’t believe you’re real. He pulls you impossibly closer, sniffling, and he can feel your fingers run through his hair.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, trying to be reassuring, but he can hear the way your voice cracks. “You’re okay.”

“I should have listened to you,” He whimpers, feeling the cold wet rain soak through his shirt. “I should have– I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be, Walter.”

The moment he hears that name spill from your lips he begins to cry. He’s okay. He’s with you now. You’re right here.

“I thought–”

You shush him for the first and last time, squeezing his arms. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

He wonders how a person could be so warm. Even in the cold Atlanta weather you’re still so warm.

“Hotch wouldn’t let me work the case from the house,” you tell him quietly as you sit beside him on the bed. “Understandable. I screamed at him.”

He chuckles a little, flinching when you gently pull the bandage off the side of his face. He feels a lot better now that he’s clean, the shower more than necessary and he savours the feeling of warm water on his skin. The gash on his head is oozing sticky blood and you dispose of it accordingly, reaching into the first aid kit.

“It’s gonna sting a little,” you tell him, pressing a damp cloth to the wound.

He hisses at the contact, gripping your arm and he tries to change the subject. “Why did you scream at Hotch?”

You hum, continuing to clean the blood off his head. “I was mad at him.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“I know.”

You smile at him, applying a new bandage to his head. “It’s okay. I was able to help the case from here, anyway.”

“Stay with me,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. “Please?”

Your gaze softens. “Of course, Walter.”

He curls into your side, an arm wrapped around your middle and he breathes in the scent of your strawberry and honey shampoo. Your fingers curl in his hair, untangling the knots when your eyes flicker to your desk, the letter of resignation tucked inside your bag. He doesn’t need to know that. At least, not yet.

***

You knock at the door of Hotch’s office, chewing on your bottom lip. You remember being in this office for the first time four years ago when you were an intern; the way you shook with nerves and anticipation as you handed in your résumé for the honours program and then again when you were hoping to take the job full time. It’s ironic that you’re back at his office again, but for a very different reason.

“Come in.”

The breath that leaves your lips is shaky and you take a seat in front of his desk. “Hotch.”

“(Y/N).”

You place the pristine white envelope onto the desk,watching the way his face shifts from stoic to surprised.

“You don’t have to do this,” He says, not touching the envelope. “The situation at hand was stressful. No one blames you for reacting the way you did.”

“It’s not just because of that,” you say slowly. “You were right. I was too involved.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” you say quickly, a humourless laugh slipping at your words. “I would have killed him.”

Hotch looks at you, his eyes meeting yours. “You wouldn’t have.”

“I would have,” you say surely. “After what he did to Spencer, if I had found him I would have killed him. And I would have– I would have slept well. I love this team, Hotch, but I can’t separate those feelings when I’m on the field no matter how hard I try.”

He’s quiet for a moment before nodding, rising from his seat. “I’m assuming it’s a two-week’s notice?”

You nod, also getting up from your chair. “Yeah. I– I don’t want to just leave, you know?”

“We’re going to miss you,” he says, walking with you to the door, “but this will be good for you.”

“I know.” You can feel the stares of the rest of the team through the glass and you can’t help but smile. “They’re horrible at being nonchalant.”

“They’re profilers,” Aaron chuckles. “Can you blame them?”

“I guess not,” you muse, pulling the door open. “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You always have a place here, (Y/N),” he says gently as you walk back down to the bullpen.

It doesn’t take long before the overflowing dam of questions burst and in moments Emily is crossing the room and sitting next to you.

“You’re leaving the BAU?”

You look at her with wide eyes before laughing a little. “You… are very good at your job, huh?”

“Oh…” Penelope tackles you in a hug, her arms tight around your frame. “We’re going to miss you.”

JJ sniffles a little, joining the hug. “Don’t forget us.”

“As if I ever could.” A bittersweet smile rests on your lips.

Derek hugs you as well, his chin on the top of your head. “Look after yourself, kid. We’ll make these last two weeks the best you’ve ever had.”

“If you ever need anything…” Emily begins slowly, squeezing your hands. “I’m here, okay?”

Gideon pats your shoulder lightly, a sad smile on his face. “You’re a good person. Never forget that.”

You nod, trying to blink away the tears that fill your eyes. “I know. Thanks, you guys.”

The opening and shutting of the BAU doors brings you out of your thoughts and the familiar head of brown hair stalking away makes your face fall. Gideon meets your gaze, gesturing towards the door. That’s all you need to run out of the bullpen.

“Spencer– Spencer, wait, please.” You tug on his arm desperately. “Please–”

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” He asks, his voice cracking. It has only been a few days since the incident and he looks a little better. The scratches on his face are still visible, but they’re fading slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I–” you falter, flinching at the pain and hostility in his voice. “It was never a good time.”

He scoffs quietly, rubbing at his arm. “You should have told me.”

“I couldn’t just randomly tell you,” you say, frowning. “How would that be fair?”

Spencer rubs his eyes, the dark bags beneath them even more prominent. “Why are you leaving?”

“I have to,” you say gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I love this job but I can’t do it anymore–”

“Why not?!”

“Because–!” You exhale, trying to calm yourself down. “Because I swore an oath when I took this job that I will put this country above myself. And I can do that. I would die for this country to protect the people in it, I will hunt down the people who make this country so unsafe and I will sacrifice myself willingly, but you? I can’t– I can’t lose you. If I had to choose between catching the UnSub and saving you, I would save you in a heartbeat. Even if that meant letting a bad guy go. Even if that meant more people would get hurt I would still choose you and I can’t let that happen.”

Your words deem him speechless and he shifts his weight on his feet. For a moment, all he can do is stare at you as your reasoning sinks in. It makes sense. He hates that it makes sense.

“So that’s it?” He asks quietly, finally looking you in the eye. “You’re actually leaving?”

“Not for another two weeks,” you tell him truthfully. “Besides, you can still text me. And call me. You know where I live so you can always visit.”

He bites the inside of his cheek anxiously, teetering on his feet before hugging you tightly, burying his nose into your hair. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I’m going to miss you too.”

His grip is tight around you and if you paid attention you could feel him tremble. “I can’t do this job without you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You can, Walter. You’re stronger than you think you are.”

There are so many things he wishes he could tell you. You’re right here. He doesn’t have to yearn for your touch anymore because you’re right here in his arms. He wants to tell you so many things. Like how he adores the colour of your eyes, or the way you smile, or the way your hair falls. He wants to tell you how much he likes spending time with you and how he feels so good with you but he can’t. The words are at the tip of his tongue so how can he not say anything?

“I–” love you– “I’m really going to miss you.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “Me too.”

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full work

reblogs are always appreciated!

#as we all can see i am so mentally stable and normal about this #i am NOT climbing the walls of my enclosure at all (lie)#this was great tho im so very obsessed #and the friend im texting is obsessed by proxy!#spencer reid x reader #reader insert #this is a fic rec babeyyy

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dykeza · 1 year ago

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Do u like my star stable girl boy . Does she compel you. God I sure hope so bc I like her a lot and she’s very cool

#I’ve basically headcanon’d myself into actually paying attention to my ocs through elaborate bastardizations of canon #like . [talking to myself] oh if you like that sniper guy so much how about THIS ? [headcanons him to be married to a bleach AU character]#[and then makes their daughter my star stable oc that I’ve had for like . almost a decade{#BOOM! now Quinn is getting attention bc she’s technically part of my hyperfixation by proxy #hahahahahahahahahaaaa

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briarlovesclara · 7 months ago

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is this anything? (details/analysis under cut)

(closeups have more extensive ids)

EDIT: this is now outdated and made post ep 9 i believe!

UPDATED VERSION POST FINALE HERE:

Sam and Evan: need no explanation. Neither of them have confessed to each other but COME ON. whether or not you think they Should be together, there is no way at this point that danielle and brennan are unaware of what their characters are doing which is falling in love. on screen in front of us.

Sam and K: this is where it gets less obvious-- I can't remember exactly why but K in the last episode just felt so down bad to me. Even before last ep, I was starting to see a future where Evan and Sam got together and K was really fond of Sam "totally by proxy" (see K and Evan later).

Evan and Jammer: this one I struggle with if I'm being so honest, so I decided to make them struggle with it too. If you think either of them would ever know what was happening you'd be wrong in my personal opinion.

K and Evan: they're in love. I'm sorry. Not saying they're in a healthy or stable relationship but they are in fact in love. I'm part of the theory that Evan broke up with K and if you've seen his face this season he's dead in the water for them.

Jammer and Sam: he has no idea what's in his brain about Sam. I didn't put an arrow back because I don't know what she feels about him in my head so I didn't even want to make her confused.

Similarly, Jammer and K: I have no read on them. I can however see K being at least platonically into Jammer (they seemed a little too into the Weugan thing). But that's just a thought. A film thought.

That's it! This is all in good fun :) lmk your thoughts if you'd like!

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rainrot4me · 14 days ago

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How would each of the creeps react to their partner being severely injured?

✦ . jeff the killer

Freaking the fuck out.

His first instinct is blind panic masked as rage. Blood makes him giddy—but not yours.

“Who did this?” His voice shakes as he crouches beside you, hands trembling. “Who fucking did this?”

Jeff presses his hoodie into the wound, even as it soaks red. He tries to laugh, but it comes out cracked. There’s no humor in the moment no matter how hard he tries to make you giggle, even just a smile would give him some relief.

“C’mon, don’t close your eyes. Look at me. You’re gonna be okay. I’m not letting you die, not when I just got you…”

He threatens every single person in the room. When he can make sure you’re steady, at least long enough for him to get you to EJ, he goes quiet. Deadly quiet. And whoever did it? They’ll wish they’d never been born.

✦ . ticci toby

Absolutely lost, unsure what to do.

He freezes. Just freezes. You’re hurt, and his brain short-circuits. It takes a beat, but then the panic hits like a tidal wave.

“Shit—shitshitshit—okay. Okay. Breathe. You’re breathing, right?”

He hovers, hands shaking, unable to decide whether to pick you up or yell for help. He does both.

When you reach for him, he nearly breaks.

“Don’t move! Don’t move, just—just stay with me, okay? You’ll be alright. I’ll fix it. I pro-promise.”

He carries you like something precious and doesn’t leave your side. Sleep? Eating? Not until you’re better.

✦ . eyeless jack

Goes emotionally numb—long enough, at least.

It’s surgical, controlled, and practiced perfection. He’s done these same movements on the proxies endless times, but his jaw is clenched so tightly it looks painful.

“Lie still. Don’t talk. I’ve got you.”

He’s already halfway through assessing the damage before you can even speak. Blood doesn’t faze him—he knows how bodies work, but watching you in pain has a different effect.

You notice his voice get gentler, more reassuring. That’s how he keeps from freaking himself out.

“This will hurt, but I can’t let you bleed out. I’m going to fix this, love. I swear to God, you’re not dying on me.”

Later, when you’re stable, he won’t say much, but he’ll sit at your bedside all night, eyes never leaving your sleeping form. It may seem possessive, but he needs to be close enough to hear the rhythmic beat of your heart in your chest or he’ll drive himself mad.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Uncontrollable.

He’s angry at everything. At you for getting hurt, at himself for not stopping it, and at whoever’s responsible.

“What the fuck happened?” he barks, already pressing something to the wound.

He doesn’t say it, but you see the tears in his eyes.

“You keep your fucking eyes open. Don’t even think about it.”

Masky becomes hyper-focused, mechanical in his actions, but his hand won’t leave yours. Even as he snaps orders, even as he sews or stabilizes you just enough to clot the blood, and even as he has to forcefully lift you off the guard despite your pitiful crying.

Once it’s over, he drops the mask beside your bed and just sits, rubbing his face like he’s trying to wipe the guilt off. His fault or not, he’s taken it as a personal act against him.

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

Deathly quiet in the most terrifying way.

He doesn’t say a word. Not at first.

Just kneels beside you, hands already working fast to stabilize. But there’s a tremble in his touch that you can feel despite your state.

“Shh,” he finally murmurs when you cry out. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His tone is so soft—and you never hear him like this.

Brian lifts you in his arms like you weigh nothing, like you’ll break if he breathes wrong. For all he knows, you certainly could.

Later, when you’re safe, he won’t let anyone else near you. His hoodie stays wrapped around you even while you sleep, even as he watches the heart monitor like a hawk. He won’t leave until you’re up again.

✦ . ben drowned

Spiraling.

At first, he thinks it’s a joke. Then he sees the blood.

“No. Nope. Don’t—don’t do this.”

Ben glitches across the room to you in an instant, hands on your face, scanning your injuries like he’s buffering through a nightmare.

“Hey. Eyes on me. Don’t you dare pass out. Don’t you fucking dare.”

There’s real fear in his voice, the kind that cuts through even his arrogance.

Once you’re stable, he clings hard. Refuses to log off the mortal plane until you’re laughing again.

✦ . clockwork

Commanding, as if you could follow the orders.

“What the hell happened to you?” she barks—but it’s fear, not anger.

She presses her fingers into the wound and winces like she’s the one hurt.

“You dumbass. Why’d you take the hit?”

She works fast, precise, muttering curses under her breath as she keeps you conscious. If it takes grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you back awake, so be it.

“You don’t get to die, got it? I didn’t come this far with you just to watch you bleed out.”

Later, she curls into bed beside you when you’re stable, whispering, “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

✦ . laughing jack

Tries to find the humor. Fails miserably.

“Oh, look who decided to play with knives and lose,” he giggles, voice unsteady.

But when he sees the blood—real, dark, your blood—his smile falters.

“Oh no no no. This isn’t a joke. This isn’t funny. Not you. Never you.”

Jack doesn’t know how to fix it, but he tries. Hands clumsy, clown outfit soaked. He holds you like porcelain, like pottery crumbling in his arms. All he can do it cry out for help.

When you wake up, he’s humming a lullaby at your bedside, stuffed animal on your chest, eyes glowing like fading candles.

“Next time,” he whispers, “let me be the one who gets hurt, okay?”

✦ . slenderman

Pray to whatever god you believe in, man.

The air cracks. He appears in an instant, tendrils lifting you before you hit the floor.

His presence alone stills time. He doesn’t panic, but you feel the terror in the way his limbs tighten protectively, coiling just a little tighter than comfortable.

“Unacceptable,” his voice hums inside your head. “No one harms what’s mine.”

He doesn’t need medics. You’re healed within minutes by a pulsing energy, but it costs him energy in return. It doesn’t matter, whatever caused your pain has been erased from the universe within seconds.

Afterward, he keeps you hidden, locked in the safety of his realm. He holds you in silence, a powerful force cradling something fragile. It takes a long time before you can go anywhere without the looming presence following you around.

꩜ .ᐟ

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carnationnrecollection · 2 months ago

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in all the years I've had kanade as my special interest I have seen a plethora of bad takes about her but besides the more obvious ones another really bad one I've seen recently is that kanade has one of the most stable mental health because "she does what she feels like and doesn't hide her true feelings" which has got to be the single most surface level reading of her character I have ever seen. it goes back to this pattern I see in which prsk fans can't pick up on when a character is sad unless they show it as clearly as possible because what even is subtly. kanade hides her negative emotions just as much as mafuyu and mizuki do but the difference between her and them is that she hasn't slipped up yet. we've seen this as early on since kana1 where she does it twice; when she quickly leaves the hospital after finding out her dad doenst remember her and later on when she recalls her childhood picnic and cries because of how bittersweet it is and it's very clear that she was trying not to cry in both scenes just from the tone of her voice. this is seen again in kana4 where rushes to leave the sekai after telling rin the story about when she made her first song but then remembers what happened to her father, rin points out that she looks upset but kanade doesn't wanna admit it because she believes her problems aren't that serious (which apparently is a sentiment that the fandom agrees with). these aren't even subtle anyone who bothers to pay attention to any of these can pick up on kanades habit of repressing her negative emotion. and while yes she does love music, her dedication to composing isn't as simple as "I make music because it's fun and I like it :)" it's also somewhat of a job to her, a thing she does to give herself a purpose which she believe she needs to deserve a place on this earth. kanade’s saviour complex has been misunderstood in many different ways and one if them is this aspect with how much it's negatively affected her life both physically and mentally but it's been watered down to the simplest degree possible. it's why I hate the notion of "kanade can't heal until mafuyu does" when if anything that would just send her into an emotional spiral and an existential crisis because while kanade's desire to save people applies to everyone (its why n25 was created) it would still leave her feeling useless and therefore worthless as a person we've seen this in kana2, the event where kanade is at her lowest (and also hasn't met mafuyu yet), is still overworking herself to death despite how many times she's gotten comments from people saying her songs have saved them because in her eyes she will never be enough. to this day she still has this mentality, ena and mizuki have told her multiple times that she's gotten them out of rough periods in their lives and kanade’s saviour complex still lingers because it was never about just mafuyu. once mafuyu is out of the picture she'll just find someone else to latch onto for the desire of approval and it'll just be an endless cycle of misery until she breaks out of this mentality. saving mafuyu isn't the thing that's gonna heal her, she needs to let go of her guilt, realize that it was never her fault, and by proxy detaching herself from the desire to be useful. to live because she wants to, not because she needs to. so no, she's not "doing whatever she feels like" she's fulfilling an impossible goal she set for herself in an attempts to make herself happy but hasn't realized that it's the very thing that's been making her miserable

#project sekai #kanade yoisaki

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purplemoonfox · 2 months ago

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On and in defense of Commander Fox and the Corries, and why I think they were set up to fail

Summary at the bottom because I like to go on.

Things we know for sure about clones and Fox and the Corries in the strictest canon sense (which ain't a lot):

1. They are stationed on Coruscant.

That is definitional, now remember what Coruscant is.

2. They have no Jedi in charge of the Guard, they report directly to Palpatine.

Although I adore the fanon that Quinlan Vos is their Jedi, it’s not canon.

3. Clones love their brothers dearly.

That is almost without exception, even the clones we see acting against the Republic (hi Slick) at least believe they were acting in their brother’s interests.

4. They seem to accrue extra responsibilities as the war goes on, up to the point of being the ones we see Palpatine with in ROTS.

Even if they don’t, the idea of a law enforcement/military unit answerable only to Palpatine is a shit idea. There’s reasons people worry about accountability in real life, and sneaky little shits who act all nice and innocent at first but eventually show their true colors once they have power in the bag is one of them.

These are all very obvious.

In very short terms, it's very likely Palpatine uses the Coruscant Guard to sow public dissatisfaction.

And all those that hate Fox fall for it by proxy, because I think you're essentially seeing of him (and the Guard, and by extension the clones) what Palpatine wants the public to see and think of clones.

The Coruscant Guard are probably the most consistently accessible and visible of the clones in the galaxy to its biggest cultural and political hub. Most of the time the 501st or 212th or any other seems to drop in, fights a battle, and apparently fucks off afterwards? Obviously, planets like Ryloth have a stronger personal connection--some GAR contingent seem to have been there practically the whole damn war and Howzer was obviously very familiar with the Syndullas, and they with him (and look how personable Howzer is, and how quickly and somehow easily he extricates himself from the rationale clones held about their orders; maybe it makes sense to think of it like how leaving your little hometown where everybody thinks the same affects a person)--but otherwise I feel like the clones, to the rest of the galaxy, are (expensive) theoretical constructs.

The vast majority of the public aren't likely to have any personal experience with a clone, let alone a develop personal rapport with one, unless they happen to go to specific places like 79s where they can be found, and that still doesn't necessarily lend itself to extended relationships since most of the clone patrons would only be on Coruscant temporarily. Some fics portray clones as being refused entrance to establishments (especially later in the war when people were protesting clones themselves) or restricted in where they can go (like grocery stores, etc.). I think that's plausible, even realistic--but it doesn't seem to be a focus of canon aside from showing some protests so I'll let it alone.

What we know of that IS canon is that clones aren't allowed to even think about having families or doing anything with their lives besides being soldiers (even though all of them have thought about it, even just secretly; I'd wager that all of them have secret dreams they don't share); it's against regulations as we see with Cut Lawquane in season one of TCW. So to effect this, clones are probably actively or passively discouraged from forming close friendly relationships with anyone who isn't a clone and who they have no reason to be speaking with—aka most people besides Jedi (and if the fanon can be believed, if decommissioning/euthanization is a concern, they would have the motivation to avoid even the perception of such a relationship). Obviously there are going to be exceptions, but you can scrutinize a stable population a lot better than an itinerant one.

The point is, if your only tangible frame of reference is a rigid hall monitor that doesn't demonstrate much of a personality (even though clones have real, complex personal lives beneath that surface) and is behind a faceless mask--and we see so little of the Guard that what exists of their personalities is, let's be real, nearly all fanon--then you never really have a chance to acquire a sense of their humanity, and a strict enforcement of regulations tends to breed resentment in a population for whom strict adherence to regulations isn’t normalized. There will be cultural differences in play.

This is not the clones' fault, they neither asked to be created nor put into this position, they’re only doing what they’ve been asked to do, but it plays directly into Palpatine's goals.

Moving on.

Sure, the Guard answers to Palpatine in the chain of command, and we see them actively serving him in ROTS, but Palpatine definitely isn't doing shit for fuck for the Guard's administration in a daily sense, so Fox basically runs that whole bitch by himself in every practical sense--a clone, with no rights of his own, considered property, in a situation increasingly hostile to him and his.

Now let's think about the clones we see: as far as we can tell, clones' social lives are largely insular. They mostly see and talk to each other, and that's not necessarily by nefarious design (as discussed above), that's just what happens (military people tend to hang out with other military people, that’s just how it is; you’ll spend most of your day around other military people, most likely stationed in a place you’re not so familiar with that it’s easy to do anything else). Remember: we as viewers get access and insight that people in-universe don't.

And, significantly:

The Corries do not have a Jedi. The Jedi see value in their lives beyond their merely being expendable, faceless, and unthinkingly obedient droids wearing flesh, this point was made multiple times--and the Jedi are able to walk the line between orders and the bigger picture, which rubs off on the men they lead. Go watch Nala Se’s (bitch can catch these hands) comments about the Jedi’s influence on the clones when she’s speaking to Dooku.

I can see leaving the Corries without a Jedi being another saccharine, oh-so-magnanimous moment from Palpatine (he has so many of these) in the vein of expressing confidence in the clones' capability and in being very undemanding of the Jedi, in order to “free up” Jedi (whom he so totally trusts) to fight the war…but in effect leaving the Guard without anyone familiar with Coruscant and equipped to play referee with the environment and peoples they're bound to serve, and with no one batting in their corner or showing them any other way to exist and think.

On a side note:

Fox is an interesting clone commander anyway, not least because he doesn't have a Jedi to bounce off of. In a sense, whether or not Fox had his chip activated, we’re probably seeing how a clone commander was originally going to behave on their own initiative: see problem, address problem, think no more deeply than that. The Kaminoans did not want creative thinking in the clones. The clones were trained to fight the enemy they’re pointed at with singleminded intent, it stands to reason that that straightforward directness would transfer to other instances which might have been more kindly served by a different mindset. Their mindset isn’t even like a real life military where you’re still obligated to think about the nature of what you’re ordered to do—just following orders hasn’t been a valid defense since 1945.

TBH I've got a lot to say about fandom, the fetishization of actual violence through the lionization of fictional violence (although I don't think that fictional violence breeds actual violence; rather, I think people who were already interested in it go looking for things they think reflect their beliefs), and why we even have war crimes as a concept (and the absolute ignorance perpetrated by an increasingly illiterate populace), but...

I digress.

You cannot claim to have sympathy for clones without acknowledging their humanity and that includes for the ones who didn’t have the chance to grow beyond the limitations built around them. It was awful that Fox killed Fives, but it’s a tragedy like so much else in this franchise, not proof that Fox is awful. Part of the horror of what we see everyone go through in clone wars is how many times Palpatine’s plans almost derail but it never happens.

If your complaint is that Fox didn’t think any more deeply than what was right in front of him in the moment, remember that that’s exactly what’s been expected of Fox and all other clones: obey orders, and it’s not their role to determine what those orders are. Abstractions are for those who are not expendable, made to die. Orders are orders, and good soldiers do what again? He quite literally all but says “my opinion doesn’t matter” when he tells Ahsoka that he doesn’t blame her for (apparently) killing Letta, but she’s under arrest anyway.

Fox is put in a position of having to wield authority in a very different way than any other clone commander, has no direct support from or evident collaboration with the one group of people who generally see clones as living beings worthy of compassion, and deals with the public while having been trained to lead a war campaign. His is a war of attrition, not dropping in on a planet and fighting a battle, and he’s responsible specifically to Palpatine, who is literally the big bad. Fanon tends to think that Palpatine either activated his chip early or tortured him; honestly either one tracks, it's Palpatine after all--and in two major instances, we don't see what Palpatine says, to Fives or to Fox--but the fucker is a masterful manipulator so anything and everything is still on the table.

But in the midst of all this, because clones aren’t unthinking or unfeeling, and the dissonance is tragic but not absent:

Clones do give a shit about their brothers. Fox is no exception; he's audibly upset when he asserts that Ahsoka killed three troopers. And the immediate order to shoot to kill is pragmatic--he only issues it after he believes she was willing to kill clones to escape. That’s a fair order; if she’s willing to kill clones as he believes she did, then his men should at least be able to defend themselves as well as they can. See issue, address issue.

I mean. Shit, he doesn’t stick around after he shot Fives; we see his face once and that is not a triumphant posture. If he wanted to gloat or be an asshole about it he had the chance. Rex probably would've gone for the throat, but he had the chance.

The way he dies also suggests this. He could have thrown somebody else under the bus--called the men who fired on Vader defective, shifted blame somewhere else, somehow. He did not. There was one thing Fox ever had control over in his life, and that was how much he let anyone else take the fall. Hell, his answer wasn't even that bad, but Anakin (who is on my permanent shit list for not putting two and two together from the Sifo-Dyas reveal and what Fives told him earlier) probably did have it out for him, because Vader is an asshole. He's a Sith, it comes with the territory.

So, to summarize:

Clones are trained from decanting to do as they're told regardless of their personal feelings, and Fox in nearly so many words states that he acts regardless of his personal feelings. He is not likely to be in a position where he's shown a different way to behave, or interact with anyone that does anything but reinforce that expectation.

(Side note, I feel like Palpatine would have a great time tormenting Fox by sending him off to do shit he personally disagrees with but is technically correct according to the letter of the law..................)

Fox essentially is on his own in an environment unlike what most clone commanders deal with that he probably wasn't trained to understand much of (cultural understanding is important); it's rather likely the Guard hews very close to their training because of that. They'll stick to what's familiar and what's expected of them as they understand it. That is a very normal human response.

Leaving the Corries without a Jedi means that, as well as lacking anyone who sees them as individuals worth more the money it cost to make them and who treats them as such, they lack a go-between and likely familiarity with the population they're policing but are subordinate to, legally speaking, as clones are seen as government property, not people. This is going to breed resentment; somebody is going to bitch that no clone has the right to do bla bla bla.

The vast majority of the galaxy is going to take cues from Coruscant whether they like admitting it or not. If Coruscant has a bad impression of clones, then the vast majority of the galaxy—for whom the clones are (expensive) theoretical constructs—will have a bad impression of clones. Clones may not be in a position to pursue close relationships with someone not in their near orbit, and may be likely to actually avoid them because of regulations.

The vast majority of the galaxy would likely see them as unthinking, rigid hall monitors (whereas non-clone troopers, stormtroopers, think for ourselves and we wouldn’t act that way..........).

Which all gives Palpatine an excuse to give in soooo magnanimously to the public's demands to stop using clones as troops.

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lordprettyflackotara · 1 year ago

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till dawn || eyeless jack || bonus part

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. tw: this is unfortunately very fluffy as well as smutty. if you came here for raw intense fucking wait until i release my new one shot with ej called huntin’ wabbitz. this is for the till dawn girlies ONLY. enjoy <3

“Why are we doing this again?”

Jeff’s voice was harsh, raising the question Ben had as well. The blonde stood in front of Jack, attempting to gracefully finish tying the demons bow tie. “Well Jeff in human culture weddings are a symbolic ceremony of love and unconditional commitment,” Ben explained, not glancing up at the pale killer. Somehow your request of a wedding had managed to get every creep dressed up, including Jacks friends.

Jeff went to run his fingers through his ash black hair, frowning once he realized it was in a man bun. “Yeah no I obviously have that part down pat. But I meant why are we doing this? We aren’t exactly humans anymore you know,” Jeff pointed out. Ben smiled as he finished adjusting Jacks bow tie. The sapphire blue suited him the best, according to Clockwork anyways.

“You are aware she’s a human right?” Ben asked. Jeff sighed, refraining himself from face palming. “As everyone has been talking about for the past twenty four hours, yes I am aware she’s a human,” Jeff answered. Ben went to defend you further, Jacks voice interrupting the blonde.

“We’re doing this because it’s what she wants.”

Believe it or not, Jack was apprehensive about the whole thing. It wasn’t the ceremony he feared or the social pressure to lift his mask to kiss your sweet lips. It was having you around so many creeps at once. The residents at Slender’s mansion had grown accustomed to your presence. You became just another resident, killer or not. Even the proxies had grown fond of you, initially pushing back on your stay due to your mortality. It may not have been a life they would’ve chosen for themselves, but you had proved time and time again your love for Jack prevailed all doubts.

It was also highly convenient to have someone able to grocery shop without a swat team being called.

You hadn’t outright come out and said you wanted marriage to Jack, but he was no fool. The magazines left out with pages of rings and dresses. Weddings were apart of your kinds culture and more importantly, they meant something to you. It wasn’t long after that Jack bribed Hoodie into helping him rob a jewelry store to get as many rings as they could carry. What else was he supposed to do? He didn’t know your ring size and he couldn’t possibly acquire the knowledge and be inconspicuous at the same time.

Word of your engagement spread like wildfire, the concept alone unheard of. Creeps from all over, including the Trenderman mansion, had been invited per your request. You had never met Laughing Jack, Jason the toy maker, Candypop, etc. Yet, you wanted all of them there for your special day. Jack thought it was touching once he put aside all of his fears about having that many immortal psychopaths around you. The main reason every creep turned up to your wedding was simple: you were human.

Outside of proxies, the supernatural haze that imbedded itself into creeps. It slowed down their aging, kept their bloodlust prevalent. Many of them didn’t even recall their human life. If they even had one to begin with. The idea alone that someone like you, could love someone endlessly like them was incomprehensible. This resulted in every creep on the planet to attend, that fact alone making Jack more nervous.

Slenderman had high expectations of his residents, ensuring that although unhinged they would maintain a stable and respectable behavior. Many of the creeps attending, including X-Virus and Nina the killer, were highly unpredictable. In the back of his mind he doubted that he would be able to protect you from all of them.

“Dude you should sit down, you don’t look so good,” Ben said, guiding him to sit down on the end of the bed. It was rare Jack had his mask off and it was most certainly non negotiable during the ceremony. But here in his bedroom with his (whether he’d admit it or not) best friends, he felt comfortable enough to take it off. Just for a moment. “You look kinda pale,” Jeff said, helping Ben guide Jack to sit down. The demon stifled a laugh. “Yeah you’re one to talk casper,” He chuckled.

Jeff rolled his eyes, a knock on the door interrupting a comeback that threatened to roll off of his tongue. The pale killer answered the door, revealing you. You were mesmerizing, the white dress Jane and Clockwork helped you acquire fitting you perfect. “I’d like a moment alone with Jack, if y’all don’t mind,” You say. Ben and Jeff exchanged glances. “Isn’t there some tradition about not seeing the bride until-” Jeff began, Ben’s hand planting a sharp slap on his shoulder.

“Hey dude what the fuck-”

Ben grabbed Jeff’s suit sleeve, dragging him towards the door. “Message received, see you guys at the ceremony,” He chimed cheerfully, a confused and mumbling Jeff trailing behind him. You could hear grumbling about Ben tearing the suit, the complaining making you giggle. You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you. Jack was eager to be beside you, approaching you quickly.

“Hi there,” You greeted, giving him a genuine smile. Upon seeing your face he began to relax, the dark gray color returning to his face. “You look absolutely stunning my mate,” Jack purred, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The sound of chatter from the hallway made Jack jump, pulling you behind him. He recognized the voices to belong to Laughing Jill and Kate the chaser, two creeps he did not trust. His gaze was centered on the door, your soft hand grabbing his arm.

“Jack, I need you to relax,” You say softly. Your voice was like warm honey, temptation threatening him to look away from the door. How could he protect you if he wasn’t ready? You walked around him, looking up at him as he towered over you. “EJ seriously, it’s okay. I’m okay,” You told him. Jacks gaze finally broke from the door, the sound of the girls straying off in the distance. “It’s hard to focus when there’s so many of my kind around. You’re not a proxy you know, you don’t have Slender’s unlimited protection,” Jack explained. His eyebrows furrowed as you admired his suit, rubbing his fingers over the suit jackets fabric.

“Maybe not. But I have yours, Jeffs, Ben’s, the proxies, Jane’s grown to like me I think, oh and Smiley,” You replied, giving him a small smile. Jacks eyebrows furrowed, tilting his head to the side. “You really think we could take on all of them and win?” He questioned. You giggled. You took his large hand, guiding him over to the window. You gestured for him to look outside, the creeps all taking their seats and talking. “This isn’t a war EJ. They’re not here to kill me. They’re here to celebrate,” You say. Jack watched as Smiley chased Sally around the yard, Slender and Trender caught up in a telepathic conversation at the podium.

Where the fuck did they get a podium?

“I guess what i’m trying to say is that you worry too much. Your friends like me right? So will they,” You told him, tucking your hair behind your ears. Jack contemplated your reasoning, glancing down and spotting the bloody painter. “You invited the bloody painter?” Jack questioned. You followed his gaze, spotting him talking to X-Virus. “I guess? Does it matter?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. Jack inhaled sharply. The last time he saw the Bloody Painter it ended in a bloody brawl. No pun intended.

“He’s just uh, not my favorite person on the planet,” Jack answered dryly. His gaze was locked onto him, refusing to shift away. You grabbed Jacks chin, guiding him to look at you. “I don’t like the idea of him seeing you. Being near you,” Jack admitted. It was something primal, something he couldn’t shake off. You were his mate and an enemy was prancing around his territory. “Guess you should show him who I belong to then,” You suggested, biting your bottom lip.

Jack could hear your heart skip a beat, a smile creeping across his face. “Oh you naughty little thing,” He whispered, bringing his lips to yours. Jack was never soft or gentle, but he tried his hardest to be so he didn’t ruin the dress. His kisses were hungry and desperate, his primal instincts ensuing. “How long do we have until the ceremony starts?” Jack asked, his lips refusing to stray from yours. You giggled, lying down on his bed. “Oh I don’t know, maybe till dawn?” You teased. Jack pounced on top of you, giving you a small smile.

“Need to know how much time I have with you love,” He purred, his breath hot against your ear. The sensation made you shudder in pleasure, your body igniting itself on fire. “Maybe twenty minutes?” You guessed. Jacks hands slowly pulled up your tight dress before cupping your drenched heat. “Okay maybe thirty,” You groaned. He could feel your dampness through your lacey white panties, the feeling alone euphoric. “Tsk tsk. Dressed so pure when you know I stole that purity long ago,” Jack hummed, teasingly dragging two fingers up and down your slit.

You whined, your hips bucking upwards. “Jack we don’t have time for teasing,” You say, eager to feel him. The demon above you quietly snickered, pushing your panties to the side. “It’s our wedding, they can wait,” He said, dropping to his knees. He dragged you by your thighs to the end of the bed, playfully licking up your thigh. “Jack please,” You whined, running your fingers through his hair. You tugged harshly at the roots, trying to drag him to your cunt. “So desperate,” Jack murmured before diving into your folds.

You could never explain or process the euphoria his three tongues provided. Two would shove themselves inside of you, scissoring your walls to stretch you out as much as they could. The third would attach itself to your clit, stimulating the bud as much as possible. It was an indescribable feeling, one that always made you moan and pant like a wild animal. Jack had purposefully gave you head everyday for a month, just to train the muscles in his tongues to be able to fuck you better.

As much as you were hesitant, it paid off.

“Fucking shit, Jack!” You moaned, throwing your head back as his large hands pried your thighs open. A primal growl rumbled in the bottom of his throat, his gaze centered on watching you fall apart. His tongues curled to begin abusing your g spot, your back arching off of the bed. You yanked at his locs, trying to pry him away from your aching cunt. You bit your bottom lip. “Jack if you keep that up you’re going to get very wet,” You threatened, your face turning red. You always got embarrassed of your bodies natural functions, Jack noticed. He didn’t see the point. He had seen every part of you and adored every nanometer.

You also had squirted on his fingers, tongues, and cock more times than he could count. How you orgasmed didn’t matter to him. He smirked as he continued his motions, your thighs trembling in his grasp. You whimpered as you came, your juices squirting across his face. You could feel your face growing hot, some of Jacks suit jacket soaked. He leaned back, your juices coating some of his clothing. He could hear your heart practically pounding against your rib cage.

“Goddammit-” Inhale. “Jack-” Exhale. “Your suits now all wet,” You sighed, trying to swallow as much air as possible Jack on the other hand was gleaming with pride, helping you rise to your feet. “It’ll dry. Besides, I think it’s pretty fucking hot,” He purred. He brought you over in front of his full length mirror, bringing your hands to either side of it to hold yourself up for support. “You look so beautiful, just watch yourself crumble for me,” Jack ordered. You could hear the clinking of his belt, the demon then wrapping his arms around your waist.

The height difference was one that couldn’t be ignored. Originally you didn’t think it would be possible for Jack to fuck you standing. That was of course until one eventful morning in the shower made it possible. All he had to do was pick you up and guide you down onto his cock. He did just that, watching you awkwardly balance on your tip toes to stay standing. As many times as you took him it always felt the same, your walls spasming around him as you struggled to take his girth.

“You’re doing so well for me beautiful, now open your eyes and watch,” Jack purred, placing a kiss on the side of your head. You felt him bottom out inside of you, the bulge of his cock visible through your dress. You whimpered as he let you adjust to him, his ears twitching at the sound of your heart beat. It always sped up when he first entered you, creating an addicting sympathy he wanted to hear forever. He swallowed as his gaze fell down to your neck, the urge to cover you in marks ensuing.

Jacks large hands grabbed your hips, slowly guiding you up and down his cock. “Fucking- fuck,” You moaned, struggling to keep your eyes open. Jack couldn’t control himself as he thrusted into you, his mind emptying entirely. “Such a good mate for me, taking me like this,” He panted. He licked the tender side of your neck, a chill running down your spine as he continued to fuck you. “You like this huh? Being used like my own personal fleshlight?” Jack chuckled darkly. Your head fell forward, your eyes screwing shut.

“Oh don’t get all shy on me now. Look at yourself,” Jack ordered. He slithered one hand up to your face, forcing you to look up. “Watch as I breed you mate. Fucking watch,” Jack rambled, grinning as your lips puckered out like a fish. Your noises were sinful, Jack couldn’t help but have an egotistical sense of pride. You could feel your second orgasm coming, your hands grabbing onto Jacks arm.

“J-Jack i’m gonna cum,” You panted. Jack’s hand slithered to your throat, squeezing the airway. “Not yet mate, wait for me,” He ordered. He continued to snap his hips into yours, your body beginning to shake as you tried to listen. “F-f-fuck I can’t-” You rambled. You moaned as you felt him choke you harder. “Awe you wanna cum so badly? Go on, cum. Cum on my fucking cock,” Jack huffed. The cord inside of you snapped, your body trembling as Jack came undone inside of you. Cumming anywhere besides deep in your cunt was out of the question, your pussy often dripping with his seed.

For a brief moment Jack held you in place, enjoying the feeling of your abused walls settling down around his shaft. “EJ?” You panted, still dazed. Your fingertips traced over the bulge that showed through your stomach. “Yeah?” Jack hummed. He wiped your smudged eye makeup, trying to clean you up without taking you off of his cock. “We’re still supposed to be getting married you know,” You chuckled. Jack playfully sighed, rolling his non existent eyes. He lifted you off of him, your bare feet hitting the wooden floor.

You turned around, pressing your lips to his. You smiled into the kiss, Jacks hands going to help you fix your dress. “How kind of you good sir,” You say teasingly, both of you letting out a genuine chuckle. A loud knock made both of you jump, Jacks eyebrows furrowing.

“Guys i’m not going to come in I know what you guys are up to but everyone’s hungry can you come get married already?” Ben asked. Jack quickly redressed himself, the two of you making sure the other was presentable. Once you both were properly dressed Jack opened the door. Ben’s eyes were buried in his hands. “Ben you can look at us you know,” Jack said, reaching over to his nightstand and grabbing his mask. The blonde shook his head. You stuck your head out from behind Jack.

“You really don’t wanna see me naked?” You asked curiously. You couldn’t help but burst into a fit of giggles as Ben quickly looked at you. Jack went to hit him, the blonde dodging his hit. “You gotta be faster than that Jacky boy,” He said teasingly, running down the hallway. Jack looked at you, his blue mask secured to his face. You stood on your tippy toes, pressing a kiss to his mask before encouraging him, “Go get em tiger, i’ll make sure the bridal party is ready.”

The bridal party in question was standing in beside the alter. Toby was your maid of honor, the ticking time bomb the most excited out of the three of them. Masky and Hoodie on the other hand, could not believe you roped them into this. “They’re fucking right now aren’t they?” Masky asked. Their gazes fell on Jack chasing Ben across the yard. “Maybe Ben got a peak, lucky man,” Hoodie snickered. Masky elbowed his partner, rolling his eyes. “They’re going on a honeymoon right? We’re never gonna get any sleep if they stay here after this is over,” Masky grumbled. They watched as Jack tackled Ben, the two tumbling to the ground.

“Where could they even go for a honeymoon?” Hoodie questioned. Toby waved cheerfully as you walked out of the back door. “They’re going to a remote cabin Slender got for them, isn’t that sweet?” He asked, smiling as you wobbled across the yard. Masky and Hoodie exchanged glances before resuming a calm facade. “Ten dollars says she’s pregnant by the time she gets back,” Hoodie said immediately. Masky grabbed a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and showed it to his friends. “Make it twenty, not physically possible,” Masky replied. He raised his eyebrows as he watched Ben climb Jack like a jungle gym, the two in a petty brawl.

“They are aware they’re supposed to be getting married right now right?” Hoodie asked, watching as you smiled and greeted Laughing Jill and Jack. Masky sighed, reaching in his pocket and grabbing a box of cigarettes. “You can’t do that! This is a sacred ceremony!” Toby gasped, his head twitching to the side. Masky dug around in his suit pockets for a lighter. “Yeah yeah it’ll be fine kid. How long are we required to be here anyways? Boss was pretty vague with us,” Masky asked. Toby’s smile was cheerful as Hoodie handed Masky a lighter.

“He said till dawn.”

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