#[yes I gave dave blue blood]

[sumbier0]

Girl we should be put in a saw trap and [saw noises, screaming, smooching, crying of relief and despair, gunshots] you know

[drewharrisonwriter]

One Day at a Time - Ch. 1: Lifeline

Pairings: Dave York x Female Reader

Series Summary: A man washed ashore, with no memory, and no name, finds a home and a life in the middle of nowhere.

Author's Notes: This story has been sitting in my drafts for over a year, waiting for the perfect moment to see the light of day. It wasn't until recently that I found the inspiration to finally finish the last two chapters, thanks to the incredible Keri @absurdthirst. Her story, "Washed Up," struck a chord with me—it had such a similar plot and concept to what I had in mind, and it reignited my passion to bring this piece to life. Keri's writing has been a constant source of solace and inspiration, and I'm endlessly grateful for her creativity and the way she crafts stories that speak to the soul. If you haven’t checked out her work, you absolutely should!

Warnings: Please be aware that this story contains elements of violence, explicit sexual content, and pregnancy. Additionally, there are medical inaccuracies throughout—because I don’t work in the medical field, so please take it all with a grain of salt. Enjoy the ride, and thank you for reading! 😊

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The morning sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, casting a soft golden light across the shoreline. The waves rolled in gently, their rhythm a soothing backdrop to the solitude of the early hour. You walked slowly, your feet sinking into the cool, damp sand with each step, your slippers hooked between your fingers. The beach was your sanctuary, a place where the world’s noise seemed to fall away, leaving only the whisper of the sea and the thoughts in your mind.

But today, something broke the calm. A shape—dark, unmoving—lay where the tide met the shore. You froze, your heart quickening as you squinted to make out what it was. A piece of driftwood, maybe? But as you moved closer, the shape took form—a man, his body half-submerged in the shallow water.

You rushed forward, the sand slipping beneath your feet as you dropped to your knees beside him. His clothes were torn and soaked through, clinging to a body that looked unnervingly still. You caught your breath as you took in the sight of him—his face, turning blue from the cold, was battered and bruised, one eye grotesquely swollen, and a deep, angry wound at the back of his neck, crusted with dried blood. He looked like he’d been through hell and back, and somehow survived.

Your breath caught in your throat as you reached out, pressing two fingers to the side of his neck.

A pulse—weak, but there. Relief surged through you, though it was quickly followed by a rush of panic.

"Hey," you said, your voice trembling. "Can you hear me? Please, wake up."

He didn’t respond, his face pale and still. You glanced around, your mind racing. The beach was empty, the nearest houses too far for anyone to hear you shout. Fumbling with your phone, you dialed 911, trying to keep your voice steady as you gave them the details.

“I found a man on the beach. He’s barely breathing… Yes, I’ll stay with him… Please hurry.”

You stayed crouched beside him, keeping your hand on his shoulder as if your touch alone could keep him tethered to life. The minutes stretched unbearably long until the distant wail of sirens broke through the sound of the waves. The paramedics arrived, their quick, efficient movements a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in your mind.

They loaded him onto a stretcher, and as they did, one of them turned to you. "Do you know him?"

You shook your head, still reeling from the shock of it all. "No… I was just walking by and saw him here."

They nodded, not pressing further, but you could see the concern in their eyes. “We’ll take him to the hospital. You should come, just in case.”

You didn’t hesitate. As they drove away, you followed closely behind, your thoughts tangled in worry. Who was he? How had he ended up there, and so close to death?

At the hospital, they rushed him into surgery, leaving you to sit in the sterile, too-bright waiting room. Time seemed to stretch and blur, each second ticking by with agonizing slowness. Finally, a doctor emerged, his expression serious but not without hope.

“He made it through,” he said, “but he’s in critical condition. It’ll be some time before we know the full extent of his injuries.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. ���Thank you.”

“Do you know his name?” the doctor asked. “We couldn’t find any ID on him.”

You shook your head again, feeling a pang of guilt that you had nothing to offer. “I don’t. I found him on the beach, that’s all.”

The doctor frowned, considering. “For now, we’ll have to call him John Doe.”

You nodded absently, the name feeling oddly fitting for the man who had washed ashore like a ghost from the sea.

–

The hospital room was quiet, save for the soft beeping of the monitors that tracked his vital signs. You sat by his bedside, reading aloud from a worn paperback, your voice low and soothing. It had been days since you found him, and though the worst seemed to be over, he hadn’t woken up yet.

You often found yourself talking to him as if he could hear you, filling the silence with stories about the sea, the farm, or whatever came to mind. It was comforting, in a way, to speak to him, even if he never responded.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” you said softly, placing the book down on your lap, “but I’ve been thinking… about how strong you must be to survive whatever happened to you. I can’t imagine what you went through, but you’re still here. You’re going to be okay, you know?”

You reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. His skin was warm, no longer clammy with fever. “I don’t even know your name,” you whispered. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

As if in response, his hand twitched. You froze, watching as his eyelids fluttered, and then slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes.

You leaned forward, your heart pounding. “Hey… Can you hear me?”

His gaze was unfocused, confused, but there was life in it now. He blinked, his voice a rough whisper. “Where… where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” you said gently, relief washing over you. “You’re safe now.”

He frowned slightly, his hand moving slowly to touch the bandages on his throat and neck, wincing as he felt the damage. “What… what happened to me?”

“I found you on the beach,” you explained, trying to keep your voice calm for his sake. “You were in pretty bad shape. They said you’d been in the water for a while.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to piece together fragments that refused to form a whole. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

You hesitated, then asked, “What’s your name?”

He opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. But nothing came. He shook his head, frustration and fear flashing across his features. “I… I don’t know.”

You swallowed, trying to keep the concern from showing in your voice. “Okay. Do you remember where you’re from? Do you have someone we could call?”

Each question was met with the same blank stare, the same pained expression as he struggled to find something, anything, to hold on to. But it was like grasping at shadows—nothing solid, nothing real.

“I don’t remember,” he finally whispered, his voice trembling with frustration. “I don’t remember anything.”

You reached out, placing your hand over his, trying to offer comfort. “It’s okay. Don’t push yourself too hard...”

But before you could say more, you realized he needed more help than you could give. You pressed the call button for the nurse, hoping they would come quickly.

Within moments, the nurse arrived, her expression professional but concerned as she took in the scene. "He’s awake," you said, your voice filled with relief and anxiety. "But… he can’t remember anything."

The nurse nodded, her demeanor calm as she checked his vitals. "I’ll get the doctor," she said, giving you a reassuring glance before hurrying out of the room.

The wait felt agonizing, each second stretching as you sat there, he reached for your hand as if to ground himself, feeling his grip tighten as if he feared losing his only anchor in this strange, blank world.

Finally, the doctor arrived, his face serious but gentle. He moved to the bed, checking the monitors and looking over the nurse’s notes.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked, his tone measured, as if gauging both the physical and mental state of his patient.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” the man muttered, then winced as the movement aggravated his injuries.

The doctor nodded, not surprised. “That’s understandable, given what you’ve been through. But I understand you’re having some trouble with your memory?”

The man—this “John Doe”—nodded slowly, his hand still gripping yours as if it was the only thing he could hold onto. “I don’t remember anything,” he admitted, the frustration and fear clear in his voice. “Not even my name.”

The doctor nodded in understanding, making a note on the chart. “It’s not uncommon for someone who’s been through severe trauma to experience amnesia. Your body went through a lot, and sometimes the mind tries to protect itself by blocking out memories.”

You leaned forward, the concern clear in your voice. “Will his memory come back?”

The doctor hesitated, then gave a small, noncommittal shrug. “It’s hard to say. In some cases, memories return slowly over time. In others, they may never come back at all. It’s something we’ll just have to wait and see.”

The man closed his eyes again, his tight grip on your hand still strong. “So… what happens now?”

“Now,” the doctor said gently, “we focus on your physical recovery. We’ll take it one day at a time, and see where that leads us.”

You nodded, offering him a small, encouraging smile. “One day at a time,” you echoed.

But as you sat there, holding his hand, you couldn’t help but wonder what those lost memories held—and what they might mean for the man who now lay beside you, a man without a past, and for yourself, tied to him by fate and circumstance.

–

The days that followed were a blur of tests, conversations with doctors and nurses, physical therapy sessions, and quiet conversations in the quiet of his small sterile hospital room. Each day, he grew a little stronger, his body mending, but his mind remained a blank slate. You continued to visit him, bringing small comforts—fresh flowers from the market, a warm blanket, a new book. The nurses had started to smile when they saw you, happy and appreciative of that fact that you did not leave the infamous John Doe hanging, providing him company throughout this entire ordeal. 

One afternoon, as you sat by his bedside, the doctor came in with the news you’d been waiting for: he was well enough to be discharged. But as the doctor spoke, you could see the uncertainty flicker across this John Doe’s face—what now? Where would he go?

He had no name, no memory, no past… no cash. The hospital couldn’t keep him indefinitely, and yet, sending him out into the world without any support felt wrong. You could feel the weight of the decision pressing on you, the responsibility of it, but you couldn’t shake the connection you’d felt since the day you found him, and the friendship that developed throughout his initial recovery in this place.

You hesitated, then, almost surprising yourself with the words that came out, you said, “You could come with me.”

He looked at you, the confusion in his eyes deepening. “What?”

“I mean,” you continued, gathering your thoughts, “I live on a small farm by the sea. It’s quiet, and you could continue your recovery there. I won’t ask for anything—just… consider it?”

His brow furrowed, and you could see the tension in his posture, the way his hands gripped the blanket as if trying to anchor himself to something familiar. “I can’t do that,” he finally said, his voice rough with strain. “You don’t know who I am. And… and I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You wouldn’t be a burden,” you replied quickly, sensing his resistance. You chuckled and continued, “And you don’t know who I am too… I’m offering because… well, because you don’t have anywhere else to go. You can’t just leave here with nothing.”

He shook his head, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “I can’t just rely on someone I don’t know. What if… what if I’m not the kind of person you think I am?”

You paused, considering his words. “I don’t know who you were before,” you said carefully, “but I know who you are right now. You’re someone who needs a place to heal. And I’m offering that place.”

He looked away, staring at the wall as if the answers he sought might be hidden there. “It just doesn’t feel right… accepting charity.”

“It’s not charity,” you insisted gently. “It’s… it’s a way for you to get back on your feet. To figure things out. And you don’t have to stay forever. Just until you’re well enough and ready to move on.”

He was silent for a long time, the internal struggle clear on his face. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I don’t like this… not knowing anything, not even who I am. But the idea of just… walking out of here with nothing, not even a name… it scares the hell out of me.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of his words. “Then let me help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He glanced at you, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that made him seem far younger than he appeared. “What if… what if I remember something, and it’s not good? What if I’ve done things… things I don’t want to remember?”

You met his gaze steadily. “Then we’ll deal with that when the time comes. But until then, you deserve a chance to recover, to find out who you are now, not just who you were.”

Another long silence, and then he nodded, a small, reluctant gesture. “Alright,” he said quietly. “I’ll go with you. But… only until I can figure out what to do next.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “That’s all I’m offering. A place to start.”

–

The drive to the farm was mostly silent, the two of you lost in your thoughts. He stared out the window, watching the landscape change from urban to rural, the city slowly giving way to open fields and winding roads that led to the coast. The ocean appeared on the horizon, a vast, endless expanse of blue that seemed to stretch into forever.

You stole a few glances at him as you drove, noting the way his hands rested tensely in his lap, his jaw set in a way that spoke of unease. It was clear that even in his amnesiac state, he was someone used to being in control, someone who didn’t easily rely on others. Yet here he was, putting his trust in you, a stranger who had found him half-dead on the beach.

When you arrived, the farm was bathed in the soft light of late afternoon. It was a modest place, with a small house and a few outbuildings surrounded by fields and gardens. The air was filled with the scent of salt and earth, mingling with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers that grew along the path.

You parked the car and turned to him with a small, reassuring smile. “This is it. Home.”

He looked at the house, then back at you, his expression unreadable. “Home…” he echoed, the word sounding foreign on his tongue.

“It’s not much, but it’s quiet and peaceful. Good for recovery,” you said, hoping to ease the tension you could feel radiating from him.

He nodded slowly, though you could see the hesitation in his eyes. “I appreciate this… I do. But I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You won’t,” you assured him. “You can stay as long as you need to get back on your feet.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t even know what that means for me. Getting back on my feet… when I don’t even know where to start.”

You opened the door and stepped out, then moved around to his side to help him. “We’ll start with the basics. Rest, food, getting some strength back. The rest… well, we’ll figure it out as we go.”

He hesitated, still sitting in the car, as if reluctant to fully commit to this next step. Finally, with a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped out, leaning on you for support as you walked up the path to the front door.

Inside, the house was warm and inviting, with wooden floors and large windows that let in plenty of light. It was simple, but it felt safe, like a place where one could find peace.

“I’ve got a spare room,” you explained, leading him down the hallway. “It’s not much, but it’s comfortable. It’s yours while you’re here, and if you need anything, just let me know.”

He followed you slowly, his eyes taking in the surroundings with a mix of curiosity and wariness. When you opened the door to the guest room, he paused in the doorway, his gaze lingering on the bed, the dresser, the window that looked out over the garden.

You opened a door on the side of the room revealing a modest bathroom.

“This room has its own bathroom, too.” You said a little cheerily.  

“It’s… nice,” he said after a moment. “More than I expected.”

You smiled, setting down his small bag on the bed. “I’m glad you think so. You’ll be comfortable here.”

He stepped inside, moving with the careful, deliberate movements of someone who hadn’t yet fully recovered. He sat down on the edge of the bed, running a hand over the quilt. “I don’t know how to repay you for this,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret.

“You don’t need to repay me,” you replied softly. “Just focus on getting better.”

He nodded, but you could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between accepting help and maintaining his pride. “It’s hard… accepting this. I feel like I should be able to stand on my own two feet. But I can’t even remember how to do that.”

You sat down in the chair by the bed, wanting to make sure he understands what you’re about to say. “You don’t have to do this alone. It’s okay to need help, especially now.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know why, but it feels wrong… relying on someone else. But I guess I don’t have a choice right now, do I?"

“Maybe not,” you said, offering him a small, understanding smile. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t find your way back to being independent. It’s just going to take time.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, perhaps, or just a sign that things would get better. “I hope you’re right,” he murmured. “I really hope you’re right.”

You reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “One day at a time, remember?”

He nodded, finally allowing himself to relax a little as he lay back on the bed. “One day at a time,” he repeated softly, as if trying to convince himself.

“I’ll come by to bring dinner in a few…” You said quietly and he nodded again in response.

With that, you left him to rest, closing the door quietly behind you. As you walked down the hallway, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of hope and uncertainty. You had offered him a place to heal, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning—of what, you weren’t sure yet. But something told you that whatever it was, you’d face it together, even if the future remained uncertain.

Next Chapter 👉🏻

[purifycantyouhelpme]

Poison Was The Cure | Yandere! Dave Mustaine x Fem! Reader • Chapter 1

Warning: Blood, Murder and Violence

General Audiences Rating

A03Link

Word Count: 2582

Summary: Dave is in love with (Y/N). He loves her so much where he could do anything for her. Even hurt and kill anyone that gets in the way of him and his beloved (Y/N).

This is all going to be in Dave’s P.O.V for now.

Dave’s P.O.V

Friday, 2:00 PM, It was a warm day today. I was wearing a black shirt with light blue jeans and white Nike shoes. I was walking to the library because obviously I wanted to read. What else do you think I’m going to do at the library? Study? Why would I do that? I walked into the library and it smelled like clean laundry, weird. There were a lot of people here as usual. It has been a while since I last went to this place anyways. I looked at the front desk and I saw David Ellefson, typing at the computer. David turned his head slightly and saw me. He looked pretty happy that I was here. “Hi Dave, I haven’t seen you in a while.” David shouted at me. People in the library were now looking at me. Whatever. “Yeah, I know.” I replied back. I laughed a little. I walked towards him. The person I’m talking to is David Ellefson, he has long blonde hair. He was wearing a plain white medium sized t-shirt with navy blue pants and black matte shoes. We both have the same name but we all call him Junior so that there’s no confusion. Me and David Ellefson have been friends for 18 years now. We met at a bar when I was at my lowest. He tried to help me out and comforted me a little. I rest my hands on the front desk. “Junior, I’m looking for a Martial Arts book.” I told him. He stopped typing on the computer and looked at me. “Can you help me find one?” I asked him. “Sure, just hand me that ladder right there.”

He pointed “Alright.” I handed him the ladder. Man, I really do miss this place.

Junior was setting the ladder up while I was looking at the books. “So where have you been?” Junior was concerned. I was a bit shocked when he asked that. Junior went up the ladder. I put my hand on my arm and said, “I have been dealing with a lot of personal problems lately.” I looked down on the floor, I took a deep breath. Junior kinda knows what has been happening with me. Even if he didn’t know what the problems were, I wouldn’t tell him either way because I’m not comfortable opening up to people. “Is this the book you wanted?” Junior showed me the book. It was The Ultimate Book of Martial Arts by Fay Goodman. Yes, that’s the book U “Yes.” I said happily. Junior grabbed the book and was going down on the ladder. I looked up and I crossed my arms in anger. “Why are the Martial Books at the top anyways? It should be at the bottom.” I complained. “Martial Artists have to deal with pain every time they train or fight. Putting the books on the bottom shouldn’t be an issue–" I continue to complain and yell. People were staring at me. “I’m glad to have you back.” Junior smiled at me. I'm glad too, Junior. I was walking back to the front desk while Junior was on the side of me, holding the ladder.

Junior was behind the front desk, scanning my library book. I gave him the money and he gave me the book. The book was 7 dollars. "I'll see you later.” I smiled a bit at him and walked out with the book in my hand.

I was walking back to my house so I can put my book up and go to work. Going to work is awful. I have to deal with angry customers and I have to deal with my shitty coworker, mainly Nick. While I was walking, I saw (Y/N), standing at a street/crosswalk light. She was wearing her work clothes and a black purse. Her job is a stocker. He puts stuff up on the shelves at a grocery store named, Better Bites Food Mart. I was walking towards her and I said, “Hey (Y/N).” She looked at me. Me and (Y/N) have been friends for a couple of years and I'm in love with her. She's so beautiful, kind and fun to hang out with. I love her crooked teeth, I love her white, soft skin, I love her medium length, black curly hair, I love her pretty, sparkly blue eyes… I could go on all day about how much I love her. I was standing next to her. “Hey Dave. I’m so happy to see you.” She hugged me. I smiled and hugged her back. She let go of me and saw the book in my hand “What are you holding?” She asked as she pointed at the book I was holding. I gave her the book so she could see it.

“This is that Martial Arts book that I have been wanting for a couple of weeks now. Now, it is in my hands.” I explained to her. She was reading the book, flipping through the pages. “How many Martial Arts books do you have at this point?” She gave the book back to me. “I just like having martial arts books. I love reading them and learning more about Martial Arts.” I told her

“I don't know why you ask that when you have a brown belt in Martial Arts.” She put her hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. I chuckled a little. The light turned green and we were walking on the crosswalk. This is the time to ask her. “Umm.. do you want to go with me to that martial arts place? You know that one where I fight? I promise you will like it.” I asked her. I was tugging my shirt, I was really nervous. We stop at the sidewalk. “Sure, I love to.” She smiled. That smile, that damn smile… She is so cute when she smiles. “I’ll talk to you later, Dave.” She left and was walking to her job. Oh (Y/N). How I love her. I wish I could confess my feelings to you but I’m afraid that you might not feel the same way. Especially since Junior and my other friends keep getting in the way. I hope one day we could be boyfriend and girlfriend, then we will get married and have kids… It would be a dream come true.

3:00 PM, At Dave’s job

I work as a barista at Palm Brews. I have to deal with angry customers and I always have to deal with my stupid, incompetent, coworkers, especially Nick. We have been working at the same job for a few years and we never got along. We always argue and even sometimes fight. The only time we get along is when (Y/N) is involved or here. Right now, there’s a lot of customers and a pretty long line on a day like this. I just want the day to end already. Nick was making the orders/food while I was taking the orders and giving people their food. “Can you make the orders a little faster?” I told Nick. He turned around and looked at me. He looks really pissed off. “There’s a lot of customers–”

“I know, Dave! Hold on!” Nick yelled at me. The customers are staring at us now. My god. I crossed my arms in anger. “What is Jeff doing anyways?” I asked Nick as he grabbed the food and drinks and handed them to me. I haven’t seen Jeff in a few weeks. Jeff Young is one of our coworkers and right now, we are short staffed. The previous coworkers left because they think I’m too difficult to work with. That’s their fault, not mine. “He has a broken foot and he’s slowly recovering. He can only do so much.” Nick said. I grab the food and drinks. My coworkers always have excuses to not do their work and let me do all the work. “What a worthless cunt he is.” I said to Nick. Nick rolled his eyes at me and went to the tables to take their orders. As soon as I walked back to their drinks, Nick bumped into me and the coffee spilled all over me. Thank god it was hot coffee, just ice coffee. But still, it sucks. My work clothes were all covered in coffee and smelled like coffee. I looked at the customer, the customer was obviously not happy. “Sorry, I’ll get you another one–” The customer stepped on my foot. “Ow!” I shouted. Fuck, that hurt. She was wearing black platform boots, that’s why it hurt pretty bad when she stepped on my foot. “Fuck you! I’m never going to eat at this place ever again!” The customer yelled at me and angrily walked out of the place. They slammed the door. I turned my head and looked at Nick with an angry look on my face. I was so angry at him for bumping into me. He did that on purpose because I told him to hurry up. I leaned in and punched him in the face. Nick pulled my hair hard and punched me in the stomach. Holding my stomach, bending over in pain, I looked at him to see what he was going to do next. I was vulnerable at this point. He grabbed the food tray and swung it at my face. God damn, that hurt. We both ended up fighting, everyone was staring at us. I heard someone walking towards us. “Dave! Nick!” It was Jeff, he yelled at us. We stopped fighting immediately. I was on top of Nick, pouring hot coffee all over his body. I looked at Jeff, he had a cast around his left foot. So Nick wasn’t lying to me. “You guys need to stop fighting or both of you guys are losing your jobs!” Jeff yelled again. Jeff was serious, I really don’t want to lose my job. It's the only job I have at the moment. “Whatever, Jeff.” I let go of Nick and got him off of me. I crossed my arms. “Let me try to help you guys. I’m getting so sick of you guys fighting everyday.” Jeff said. I think I might have a concussion, lost a couple of hairs and a swollen cheek, ow. Me and Nick acted like nothing happened and were continuing our job like normal. For the next 20 minutes, everything was going fine and dandy until Nick had to open his mouth. “I don’t know what (Y/N) sees in you.” You never get along with anyone and you’re always picking fights with people, including me.” Nick said as he was making people’s food. Did he say what I think he said? (Y/N) does see something in me and I see something in here.

“One day, she’ll find out about your true colors and stay away from you.” Nick whispered in my ear and went back to his station. My fists were clenched and my teeth were grinding. I was really angry at what Nick said. I wanted to attack him so badly but I don’t want to lose my job and I want to get this day over with. I ignored him and continued doing my work. I grabbed the customer’s coffee and walked to their table. I’m getting tired of you, Nicholas Menza. All you did is piss me off and make my day worse, especially when (Y/N) is involved. You know that I'm in love with (Y/N) and you know that I want to marry her. So why would you say that? You said that to just mess with me. You don’t like me. You should have kept your mouth shut because karma's a bitch. Just so you wait.

At Nick’s house, night time, 12:30.

I was staring into Nick’s window. Yeah, I know where he lives. I have been to his house a couple of times. He’s washing the dishes late at night and I’m pretty sure his girlfriend is asleep. I stopped looking inside the house so I wouldn’t get caught right away. This is perfect. I was wearing gloves and I had a metal baseball bat in my hands. Thank god, Marty is into sports and decided to give me a metal baseball because he’s too nice. I knocked on the door loudly and I quickly stood next to the side of the door so that they wouldn't see me. I could hear Nick’s footsteps from here. Nick opened the door and said, “Who is it–” I immediately swing my bat at Nick’s legs, breaking them. He was on the floor, laying on his stomach in agony. Struggling to move, he looked up slowly and saw me. “Dave! What the–” I swung my bat in Nick's face, hitting his face over and over again until he died. My god, look at his face. It's so deformed, mangled and bloody. Look at all the injuries I did to his face. “That’s what you get Nick. You should have kept your damn mouth shut.” I spit on his lifeless dead body and walked away with the bat in my hand. If I leave the bat here, they will ask Marty about the bat. He will say that he recognizes that bat and say that it's my bat, linking me to the murder, even though I have gloves on. At least I don’t have to deal with him at work anymore because he’s dead.

The next day, 6:00 AM

I was sitting on my living room couch, watching TV while eating some potato chips. I couldn’t sleep last after what I did to Nick. Part of me feels guilty, but the other part feels like he deserves it and I don’t feel guilty at all. Someone knocked on my door. Who would knock on the door this early in the morning? I walked to my door, opened it, and it was Marty and (Y/N). Marty is another friend of mine. We met through (Y/N), he was (Y/N)’s friend. Marty and (Y/N) looked so sad and depressed. They look like they’re about to cry. “Dave, have you heard about what happened to Nick?” Marty asked me. Oh shit, they found out. “No.. I-I haven’t heard. What happened?” I asked them. Marty took a deep breath. “Nick was killed…My best friend was murdered…” Marty said softly. “Oh Nick!” (Y/N) started crying pretty hard. I feel so bad for her, I hate seeing her like this. “I’m so sorry for your loss, (Y/N)” Marty was comforting (Y/N) by putting his hand on his shoulder. That should have been me comforting her, not Marty! Ugh! “He was like a brother to me…” (Y/N) sniffled. (Y/N) and Nick were really close friends. “I can’t believe that Nick was killed…” I said to them in a sad voice. “He was a great guy and he will always live in our hearts. I hope the person who killed him gets what they deserve.” I lied to them. Nick was never a nice guy, he kept on getting in my way and annoying me and I killed Nick. I hugged Marty tightly. “I can’t believe he’s gone too, Marty.” I said softly. Today is going to be a long day.

[starskyssluttyredlongjohns]

"Possession", a Starsky and Hutch story

Characters:

David "Dave" Starsky

Ken "Hutch" Hutchinson

Captain Harold Dobey

Huggy Bear

Don DeMarco (ghost)

Don DeMarco´s men

Don DeMarco´s widow (Isabella)

A stunning woman dressed in a long black dress was weeping before her husband´s stone.Her long,black hair,along the skirt of her dress flowed with the wind while tears ran down her olive coloured face and made her chocolate brown eyes shine like the morning sun.

"Vincenzo", she sobbed.Tears already ruined her black kohl,but she didn´t care.She only cared about her first and only love,Vincenzo.She remembered the day they first met.She was a waitress at an Italian restaurant her parents owned.One day he entered along his men.Her parents were scared for their lives.When their eyes first met,they flet love at first sight.Her parents told her not to fall in love with a man like him,but she didn´t listen to them,as she was already head over heels for him.Their first date was at the opera (Verdi´s "La Traviata.") For that occasion,he bought her a navy blue cocktail dress and a beautiful ruby necklace with a matching ring and earrings.That day she felt like a princess,like a powerful woman.

Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by two men: a curly haired one and a blond one.

-Morning,gentlemen.

-We are sorry for the loss of your husband.

-Thanks-she answered,her voice almost a whisper.

-What´s your name?-the curly haired man asked her.

-Isabella.

-A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.

Hutch cleared his throat.

Both men showed her their police badges.

"We are here to investigate your husband´s death,he was a mob boss,he had enemies.It´s rumoured that someone close to him was planning to kill him".

"I,I didn´t know that.When I asked him about his bussiness he changed topics or gave me ambiguous answers.He cared so much about me and he didn´t want me to worry about him.He was such a sweetheart,I know,I know,he was a mobster but those who really knew him knew he really cared about his friends and his famiglia".

-I see.Let´s continue this conversation in the police station.Get in my car.I forgot to tell you I´m Starsky,he´s Hutch.

Starsky drove to the police station.At first Isabella was scared by his reckless driving but she easily got used to it.

-We have arrived.

The three got out of the car.

-Morning, Captain.

-Morning.Starsky,morning Hutchinson.

-Dobey,Isabella,Isabella,Dobey.

-Good morning,Isabella.You known why you´re here?

-Yes,sir,for an interrogation.

-Well,come to my office,Hutchinson and Starsky will ask you some questions about your husband.

S: What did you know about your husband´s illicit bussiness or bussinesses?

I:Nothing.As I told you before,when I asked him about them,he gave me ambiguous answers or changed topics.I´m afraid I can´t give you information about them.The only thing I knew about him is that he was involved with the mob,nothing more.

S:Did you always knew he was a mob boss?

I:No.When I started dating him,my parents told me not to do so because he was a dangerous man,a criminal.I thought they were talking about petty crimes like shoplifting or stealing something small,I never suspected he was involved with the mob.

Hutch started coughing.Dobey offered him a glass of water.But it didn't stop him front coughing.

A white mist appeared out of the blue.It started to surround Hutch who continued coughing uncontrollably.Suddenly it took the shape of Vincenzo DeMarco,before Isabella´s surprised look.The ghost of Vincenzo entered Hutch´s body.His appeareance was transformed with his jeans and leather jacket transformed into an elegant dark blue suit with a blood red tie,his hair was now immaculately slicked back.But not only his looks were transformed.He now spoke with an Italian accent.

"Isabella,cara mia".

"Vincenzo,is that really you?"

"Of course,my bella".

"Where you took me to our first date"?

"To the opera,to see "La Traviata".

"And what colour was my dress"?

"It was a beautiful navy blue.I remember it like it was yesterday".

Isabella ran to the possessed Hutch´s arms and passionatelly kissed him.

"Cara mia".

He kissed her hands and neck.Neck kisses were her weakness.

Dobey and Starsky watched the scene,flabbergasted.They looked at each other,in confusion.

-What the fuck happened?-the Captain whispered.

-I don´t know but it seems to me like the ghost of Vincenzo DeMarco possessed Hutch.

-Usually I wouldn´t believe this, but I think you´re right.

-We need to talk to Huggy,he´ll probably know something about exorcisms.

"No",Isabella sobbed,"no,please,don´t exorcise him,I beg you,please,I don´t want to lose my husband again".

"I´m sorry,but we have to do this.I understand that you don´t want to lose your husband again,but I don´t want to lose my friend".

She stared at him,her eyes full of tears,tears full of sadness.

Starsky,who could feel Isabella´s sadness,hugged her.He carefully touched her hair."I understand your sadness,I really do.Believe me".He held her tighter.He felt a pair of cold eyes staring at him.

"What are you doing to my wife".His cold stare hit the curly haired man´s blue eyes.He reached for his gun and pointed it at Starsky;"if you dare to touch or flirt with my wife again I´ll make sure my men find you and kill you,capisce?" He was about to pull the trigger when Starsky slapped his hand,making the gun fall to the ground.

"You bastard",he muttered.He tried to reach out for his gun again but both Dobey and Starsky tackled him.His partner had no other choice but handcuff him to a chair.The possessed blond muttered various obscenities in Italian.

"I´m sorry,darling,but they have no choice".

He growled in anger. "You,you traitorous bitch.First I see you cuddling with other man, and then this"? Tears of anger ran down his cheeks. "I´ll get both of you killed".

Isabella started to cry and shake in terror.

-Please,don´t hurt me,darling,please.

He held her face and kissed her,it was a kiss filled with venom,with hate,with a thirst for revenge,with salt,with indifference.It was the kiss of death.She was sentenced to death by the man she once loved.She was now dead to him.

"Starsky".

"Yes,Captain?"

"Take her somewhere else".

"Yes,Captain".

-C'mon,Isabella.

He took her to Huggy Bear's bar.

-Hey,fella, who's the lady and where´s Hutch?

-She is Isabella,a mob boss´s widower,well,wife.Vincenzo DeMarco.Hutch is possessed by his ghost.

-Mmh, and where is he?

-Handcuffed,at Dobey´s office.Do you know anything about exorcisms,right,Hug?

-My knowledge about exorcisms is limited,but,hey,at least I known something.

In his office,Dobey was laying dead on his desk, bullet marks all over his body and the paper sheets painted red with his blood.Hutch was no longer there.Instead he was driving an stolen car to a seedy brothel where he and his men usually reunited to talk about bussiness and to have affaires they never told their wives about.When he arrived,Vincenzo´s men looked at him in disdain and pointed their guns at him.But one of them recognised his boss´s mannerisms and way of walking.

"Vincenzo,boss,is that you?"

"Who do you think I am,a dirty cop"?

The other men laughed.But their boss´s face turned serious.

"And speaking of cops.There´s this cop, David Starsky who dared to flirt with my wife and touch her.I want him dead,her too",And for that task I have to send two of my most competent men."Rocco,Alfredo",he called,go for them.

"Yes,sir".

Starsky stared in shock at Dobey´s dead body.He could only blame himself for his death."It´s my fault,I shouldn´t have left the police station,it´s my fault Dobey died".A cold sweat ran through his body and bitter tears through his face.His conscience felt heavy.

He got on his knees and started sobbing uncontrollably.Isabella patted his shoulder and Huggy softly spoke reassuring words to him.

-Isabella,do you know what places did your husband frequent-Huggy asked.

-Fancy restaurants,the opera and brothels,seedy ones.He thought I didn´t know he went to this places,that I was dumb and naïve.

They searched for Hutch everywhere in elegant restaurants,in theaters and in seedy places,unsuccessfully,until they entered The Velvet Lips.They found him passionately kissing a stunning redhead.They were greeted by Rocco and Alfredo who begun shooting at them.Starsky shot back at them and protected Isabella from the bullets.People were hear screaming.

"Well,well,well,look who we have here,he exclaimed,a sardonic smile drawn on his lips".

-I always knew you were having affairs with prostitutes,I knew it and you´re the one to accuse me of cheating? I hate you,you pig.I only dated you because of your wealth and your power,I didn´t love,I don´t love and I will never love you.

"Forget about the cop,kill her".But the men were bleeding on the floor.

He felt someone hitting him on the back of his head.When he woke up,he was in a room in Huggy´s House in the middle of a circle formed by red candles.Huggy and Starsky were chanting.

"You foolish mortals",his voice sounded eerily distorted,"you think you can defeat me".An evil laughter inunded the room.

But Starsky and Huggy never lost their hopes.They continued chanting until the ghost got out of Hutch´s body and dissapeared.He fainted.

They stood on his side,taking care of him until he regained consciousness.

-Hutch,buddy,I´m glad you´re OK.

He looked at Starsky,confused.The curly haired man hugged him.

-Starsky,stop,you´re suffocating me.

-I´m glad you´re yourself again.

-What?

He explained to his partner everything that happened.

-I,I killed Dobey.

-No,you didn´t,it was Vincenzo.

But he couldn´t help but feel a twinge of guilt.But Starsky was OK,that´s what he mattered most to him at that moment

THE END

[the-bau-quinjet]

Please Don't

Summary: Hotch and Y/N have been pining for each other but everything changes after they go undercover for a case.

Warnings: Criminal Minds level violence, angst

Word Count: 2289

a/n: Thank you for this request!! I love a good Hotch moment. I hope you like it!

Masterlist

"Alright ladies! Here's the first round." Emily smiled as she set the four glasses down in front of you all.

Girl's night had just started. It being Penelope's turn to pick the nights events meant you, Emily, and JJ were in for a long night of bar hopping.

"Yes!!!" Penelope nearly screamed, grabbing her drink and taking a large gulp. "First question of the night goes to Y/N."

Your eyes widened as everyone turned to look at you. Whatever game Penelope was trying to play was clearly not going to go well for you.

"Oh, God. What is it?" You grimaced, eyes flitting between the three of them.

"When are you going to do something about your crush on Hotch?" Emily wasted no time in getting into the hard hitting questions.

"And don't even bother denying it! It's so painfully obvious." JJ added on, eyeing you skeptically.

"First of all, rude. Second of all, fine. I have a hopeless crush on our boss. Are you happy now?" You playfully glared, knowing there was no use in even trying to pretend.

"So? When are you going to do something about it?" Penelope was giddy, always one to celebrate new relationships.

"Uh, never." You deadpanned.

"Why not?" She whined in response.

"Pen, he's my boss for one. Plus it's highly unlikely he feels the same. I mean, how would I even bring that up?" You shook your head, trying to avoid the conversation.

"Y/N, Hotch is totally into you-" Emily's rant was cut off by the sounds of all of your phones buzzing.

You all shared a glance before confirming your suspicions.

"Another girl's night cut short." You shook your head. "Who needs a ride?"

The four of you quickly made your way out of the bar before piling into your car and heading to the Bureau.

-

"Damn ladies, looking good." Derek greeted you when you piled into the elevator together.

You hadn't thought about changing before coming in. None of you were wearing anything wildly inappropriate. Your outfit was just a bit more form fitting than a typical day in the field required.

"Thanks Derek." You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the elevator and immediately heading for the conference room.

Aaron's eyes were on you almost instantly. He always looked for you first when a new case came in.

"You ever gonna tell her?" Rossi asked from next to him.

"I have no idea what your talking about." Hotch kept his face neutral despite knowing there was no real point in denying it to Dave.

"I see the way you look at her. You know, I see the way she looks at you too. you deserve to be happy, Aaron." He replied easily, a smirk on his face as he took a seat in the conference room.

Hotch merely shook his head, trying to supress the smile forming at the idea of you returning his feelings.

He quickly moved on to debrief the team ultimately telling everyone to meet at the jet.

-

Three days later, another couple was dead, and you were no closer to catching the guy.

"Wait, there's a new pattern." Reid jumped up, pointing out the abduction sites on the map. "He's moving south, alternating between 11th and 14th Street. Each abduction happened at a different club on those streets. If he follows pattern the next abduction will be tonight at Cameo." He pointed out the next club on the map.

"So we'll stakeout the club, stop him before he gets another couple." Morgan suggested.

"We can't risk a takedown inside the club." Hotch ran a hand over his face.

"What if two of us go undercover? Pretend to be a couple and then we can stop him when he tries to abduct us." You suggested a new plan.

"That could work." Dave added on, sending you a nod. "You and Hotch fit his victimology."

"What d'ya say, Hotch?" Your heart was beating rapidly, but you refused to let it show. "Wanna go on a date?" You playfully nudged his side.

"It's our best plan." He nodded resolutely. "Go with Emily to get something to wear."

You smiled at him before turning to see a mischievous look on Emily's face. She whispered in your ear as you walked out of the room.

"Get ready. Hotch won't be able to keep his eyes off you tonight."

-

"Are you sure I should wear this?" You pulled the dress down a bit, trying to cover more of your thighs.

"Yes. You look amazing, and this is definitely going to catch the eye of our unsub." JJ complimented as she added a few finishing touches to your hair.

"It's just now dawning on me why we don't do undercover work." You flinched away from Emily as she attempted to add a third layer of mascara.

"Oh, hush. This was your idea. Everything will be fine. Better than fine if you're lucky." She winked, capping the mascara and throwing it back into your makeup bag.

"Em, this is work. I'm absolutely not making a move on Hotch while trying to lure an unsub to abduct us." You deadpanned.

"I'm not saying make a move! This is your opportunity to flirt a little and see how he responds." She shrugged casually.

You were about to provide another rebuttal when a knock sounded on the door to the bathroom.

"Y/N, you almost ready?" Derek called from the other side of the door.

"Coming out now!" You nearly ran out before Emily or JJ could try to convince you to flirt with Hotch again.

"Damn, L/N." Derek smiled when you exited the bathroom. "Looking good. You know who else might think so?"

"Can it, Derek. I'm in no mood." You swiftly walked past him. You could hear Hotch arguing with Rossi about something as you walked up to the conference room door.

"Dave, cool it will you?" Hotch rolled his eyes, not noticing you yet.

"I'm just saying Aaron-" He tried again.

"Well, don't." Hotch's playfulness rarely came out on cases, but you could see a glimpse of it in the way he bantered with Dave.

"Ready to go?" You asked from the doorway, putting your comm's device in your ear. You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at the way Aaron looked at you.

"Ready." He gave you a tight smile, diverting his eyes from your tight dress.

"We'll be right outside. All the exits covered." Dave reminded the two of you, nodding as you walked out the door.

-

"Here you go, one vodka cranberry." He winked when he passed the glass over, a subtle reminder about the lack of alcohol coursing through you.

"Thanks." You shifted awkwardly, unsure of what to do now. You'd been by the bar for about an hour, and nobody suspicious had caught your eye.

"Do you want to dance?" You surprised yourself by asking the question, watching as Hotch's eyes widened slightly. "I just, the other couples? Didn't witnesses say they were dancing?" You whispered the last part, obviously trying to limit anyone overhearing your conversation.

"Right. Of course." He looked nervous, but you chalked it up to not doing undercover often.

You lead him to the middle of the dance floor, trying to find the best view of the doors. It took a few minutes of awkward swaying, but the two of you found your rhythm.

"Behind you, there's a man watching us." Hotch whispered in your ear sending a shiver through your spine.

You nodded slightly in response before turning around. You pressed your back to his chest to cover the movement, eyes flitting around the room to observe anyone suspicious.

It didn't take long for you to spot the man Hotch was talking about. You moved your arms up around his neck, pulling his head closer to you so you could whisper to him.

"Got him. How do we get him outside?" You suppressed the urge to grind your hips against Hotch's. It was hard enough to deal with the feeling of his hands on your hips.

He spun you around, pressing your chests close together. Again, he moved his mouth close to your ear to whisper, "we just need to give him a show."

He pressed his lips to yours lightly, waiting for your response. You kissed him back with passion, relishing in the feeling of his lips moving against yours.

Your breath caught in your throat when he pressed a series of light kisses to your neck. You involuntarily tilted your head to the side, giving him more room to work.

"I think we've got his attention. Let's head out the back door." Hotch grabbed your hand, pulling you behind him toward the back of the club.

The cool night air sent a chill through your body, but you didn't have long before the man burst through the door behind you.

Hotch easily overpowered him, knocking the gun from his hands. He pulled handcuffs from his pocket, quickly securing his hands behind his back.

"Morgan, we got him out back." You spoke into your comms, turning slightly when movement in the shadows caught your eye.

"Y/N, get down!" Hotch jumped in front of you just as you heard a gun being fired. He fell into you, slumping against your body. Everything happened so quickly.

"FBI, drop your weapon!" Morgan yelled, running closer to the man in the shadows.

He quickly handcuffed the partner, leading him to a waiting officer while Emily collected the other unsub.

"Aaron?" You looked at him in your arms noticing the blood soaking through his light blue shirt. "I need a medic!" You called down the alley, watching in terror as two medics removed Aaron from your arms.

You were frozen in place as they put him on a gurney and pushed him into a waiting ambulance.

It wasn't until the ambulance was completely out of sight that you realized Reid was talking to you.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" He gestured to the blood on your dress and hands.

You nodded silently, pointing to where the ambulance just was.

"Let's get you to the hospital okay?" He spoke softly, not wanting to add to your distress. He grabbed a shock blanket from a paramedic before leading you to an SUV. Derek and Emily sat in the front, ready to drive as soon as you got in.

You don't remember the ride to the hospital. You don't remember JJ helping you wash the blood from your hands. You don't remember a nurse updating you on Hotch's surgery. You don't remember anything except the look in Aaron's eyes as he bled out in your arms.

"Aaron Hotchner?" The doctor called out into the waiting room. All six of you stood up, eyes fixed on the woman in scrubs. "His surgery was successful. I can take one of you to see him."

The whole team gestured to you, knowing how you felt and how much you needed to see that he was okay.

"Follow me." The doctor lead you down the winding hallways to a recovery room where Aaron was asleep. "He's still under anesthesia for now. It should wear off in a few hours."

You nodded as she left, still unable to form any words as you took in his pale appearance.

"Aaron." You whispered his name, eyes brimming with tears. You pulled the chair as close as you could next to his bed, both hands wrapped around one of his.

You must've fallen asleep because before you knew it, the hand in your grasp was squeezing you back.

"Aaron?" You lifted your head from the side of his bed, eyes focusing on his. "Oh, thank God." You felt the tears brimming again.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm okay." He murmured softly, moving his free hand to wipe your tears.

"No. You're an idiot who jumped in front of a bullet for me." You whispered back, voice breaking.

"I'd do it again." He took no time to craft his response, only causing more tears to fall down your cheeks.

"Aaron-"

"Y/N, I don't have anyone else in my life quite like you. I haven't in a long time." His eyes never left yours as he spoke. "You make me feel like I could be happy again. Like Jack could have two people to provide him unconditional love everyday in his life again. Like maybe, just maybe, I could love someone again. I would jump in front of countless bullets for you because I can't imagine my life without you in it."

"Please don't." You whispered, eyes still watery.

"What?" Hotch could feel his heart breaking at the thought of you not returning his affection.

"Please don't jump in front of anymore bullets for me. I don't think I could survive this feeling again." You took a deep, shuddering breath. "Watching them wheel you away on that gurney... it felt like my heart was being cut open. Aaron, there's not a day that goes by where you don't make me smile. Even if it's just the thought of you. I can't imagine my life without you either."

He continued to wipe tears from your face as you spoke.

"Would now be a good time to ask you out to dinner?" He smiled when you laughed.

"I think now is a great time for that." You smiled, leaning your head into his hand.

"Perfect. So, will you get dinner with me?" He nearly whispered.

"I'd love to." You pressed a soft kiss to his lips before setting back against your chair.

It didn't take long for him to fall back asleep. This time, when you leaned your head against his leg, your heart felt full.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

Criminal Minds taglist:

@mac99martin

@goldeng1rl8

@measure-in-pain

[maybe-itll-be-someday]

From the prompt list - General 7.

Seems peak Hotchniss let’s be honest.

For you, my dear friend.  Prompts are from this list - if anyone would want to send me more! 

“Is that blood?” “Yes but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” “You are literally bleeding.”

Words: 800

Prentiss has always been relentless. 

Aaron has always admired that about her; the sheer bravery that she seemed to own in spades, hands steady and eyes unblinking as her fingers flexed over the trigger of her gun, analyzing crime scenes with an objectivity that was hard to teach. She pursued leads with an unwavering belief that every lead she had was worth looking into - even when those leads ended up with them getting lost in the woods attempting to look for a cabin that housed years of transgressions against the women of Ohio. 

His feet are already aching, the long miles trudging up to the peak of some mountain he’s already forgotten the name of taking a toll on his already exhausted state. He regrets not bringing proper boots, instead trudging up almost four miles in an old pair of sneakers he had the foresight to bring because he thought he might have time to go for a run. 

If only they had taken the compass, like Dave insisted, but the park ranger had clearly said if they had just followed the trail that it was a little less than a mile. 

But Prentiss had insisted on taking the lead, and he let her because it was her lead, but now he’s pretty sure they had gone in circles. 

They definitely should’ve taken the compass. 

“Prentiss?” He calls out, when he realizes that Emily is nowhere in his line of sight. There’s nothing but a flash of silence that causes his throat to seize. The unsub was still out there, his identity only partially built but they only had a rough profile and absolutely no clue if this was even the mountain that his cabin was in. 

She’s a grown woman and a good agent, he reminds himself, but he picks up his pace and follows down the corridor of tall trees that she had disappeared down only minutes before. 

“Prentiss?” He calls again, his heart pounding with a ferocity that he’s unsure if it’s attributed to all the hiking they had done or the fact that Prentiss had disappeared into the woods without backup and a serial killer of women who looked similar to her was still lurking somewhere. They didn’t have reception since they lost it a mile back, so calling for help wouldn’t be possible. 

What if the unsub had taken her, and they were still lost in these fucking woods...

“Hotch! I think I found it.” She startles him when she emerges from behind a dense gathering of thick pine trees. His eyes immediately catch the streak of red that’s dripping down her arm, from a large gash that peeks out from underneath the tight-fitting shirt that she had worn today. 

The one that had grabbed his attention instantly when she walked into the precinct this morning. A dark blue shirt that highlighted her curves, tight in a way that made him clear his throat and divert his attention immediately when she strolls up to him, asking for an update on patrols from the night before. 

It also grabbed the attention of pretty much every cop within a twenty feet vicinity of her and he thinks he feels something akin to jealousy when the lead detective appraised her with wanton eyes. 

“You’re bleeding.” Hotch says, pointing out the trail of blood that seeped at the edge of her short sleeves. She barely glances at it, barely acknowledges that the gash that looked like it would probably need stitches. 

“Yes but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-”

“You’re literally bleeding.” He says, already looking behind him and trying to figure out which way they came from and how to get down this godforsaken mountain. But she just has her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed in a look that he’s seen before. It was the same fiery look she gave him when he contested her being hired into the BAU - an unwavering commitment towards what she believed in and he would be annoyed if he wasn’t in awe of her. 

She definitely wasn’t coming down the mountain with him until they found the cabin. 

“I found the cabin.” She huffs, wiping the blood on her arm with the back of her hand and Aaron has half a mind to create a tourniquet with his belt to stop the bleeding but he had a feeling she would punch him if he tried. “I’m not going to die from a superficial cut on my arm.” 

“You look like you had a knife fight with the unsub.” 

“Well, luckily for you, it was only a poorly placed branch that I got in the way of.” She stalks off in the direction she came from, ignoring his pointed looks at her wound. 

He thumbs the wedding ring on his left hand, the secret of his crumbling marriage heavy on his finger as he follows her towards the cabin. 

Maybe one day, he’d learn to be as relentless as she was.

[noladyme]

Spencer Reid: Pure Intentions - part 2

TW: liberal use of incorrect legal terms and titles, fluff, blood, violence, misogynistic dirtbags, death, slow burn, hand-holding, angst.

Still working on finding her place in the BAU, Annabel Leigh suddenly finds herself in the heart of one of the members of the team. But is it real, or is she a replacement? A murder-case in a close-minded, very patriartichal town becomes the background for her musings.

2.

Hotchner, Rossi and Blake arrived just before dawn, all with solemn expressions. “I take it, it wasn’t a pretty sight”, I muttered, as I handed each of them a mug of coffee, and Blake a black pen. “It was all I could find. Sorry”. She gave me a defeated smile. “By the time we got there, we had to spend the first hour holding back onlookers; until the local deputies finally got back out there, to take over”, Rossi grunted with an irritated tone. “Onlookers in the middle of the night?”, I said confusedly. “Small town. Not a lot goes on”, Hotch said. “As soon as anyone heard sirens, they were probably already packing their picnic-baskets, to camp out by the scene”, Rossi added.

Spencer was gleefully filling the blackboard with equations. He had chalk all over his cardigan, and I had to halt myself from going over to brush it clean. “You’re having a hey-day”, Blake said to him. “I am! I love the feeling and the sound of an old-fashioned blackboard. It reminds me of geometry-class in high-school”, he smiled. “I can see fourteen-year-old Reid at the front of the class, commenting on every wrong calculation the teacher made”, I chuckled. “Actually, I was ten by the time I finished high-school geometry; and the teacher would usually leave it to me to explain problems to my class-mates”, he replied. “Thanks for getting me those measurements between the bodies”. “No problem. Rossi held the flash-light, while I crawled over them to measure”, Blake said, raising a chiding brow at Dave. “Hey. Italian leather”, he said, and gestured at his shoes. “I thought CSI made them, and gave them to you”, Spencer frowned. “No. Chief deputy Mills sent them home as well”, Hotch said. “How could he do that? It’s a crime-scene. They need to do their work”, I said. “I don’t know how or why, yet. But it seems like he’s doing whatever he can to hush this thing down”. Hotch sighed. “I’m going to call up sheriff Clapman. See what she can tell me”. He walked off with his phone in hand.

“Alright, what do we have so far?”, Rossi asked. “Two the three victims identified were locals”, Blake said. “Garcia’s going through missing persons reports and Amber alerts, to see if anyone matches the last girl”. “I’m looking at the placement of the bodies”, Spencer said. “According to my calculations, they weren’t necessarily placed in a mathematically exact pattern; but I still can’t help but feel like there’s a meaning to how they were found”. “How so?”, Blake said. Spencer placed a print of a picture taken from the scene on the table. “Look at this”, he said, and pointed at the four victims. “If the UnSub just wanted to bury the vics in the sandboxes, there would have been plenty of room in just one of them. He’d just need to lay them side by side”. I went over to look down at the picture with the others. The grotesque grins carved into the teenage-girls’ faces made me shudder. “Instead, he laid Justine on her side, bending at the knees; Amanda next to her, slightly slanted in her posture; and the last two victims were laying in almost a ninety-degree angle, meaning Gabby had to be buried in the other box… The placement is part of the staging”. “Like they were laid in some kind of symbol?”, Rossi asked. “Yes. Or alignment…”, Spencer muttered, narrowing his eyes at the picture again.

He turned around, and snatched a pencil from behind my ear – I’d left it there, during my search for a blue ballpoint for Blake – and bent over the table again. It was quite a suave move, reminding me of one of his magic tricks; and I bit my lips to keep from grinning. “Virgo”, he said, after he’d drawn lines over the picture. “The zodiac sign?”, Blake said. “From Latin. An unwedded maiden…”, Spencer muttered. “So the innocence angle might not be wrong”, Dave said. “At least, if he finished the symbol, we can hope no more bodies will show up”. A distraught looking man and woman came into the station, and I sighed. “Amanda Luther’s parents”, I said.

I took a deep breath, and readied myself; before walking over to meet the couple. I brushed non-existing lint off my blazer, and reached out my hand in greeting. “Mr. and Mrs. Luther. I’m UA Leigh, with the FBI. We spoke on the phone”, I said. The man shook my hand weakly. “We’d like to see our daughter”, he said. “They’re sure it’s her?”. “Yes. Amanda is one of the girls found”, I said; avoiding elaborating with the word dead. Mrs. Luther began sobbing, and her husband put an arm around her. “Then let us see her”, she whimpered. “You want to remember Amanda like she was, last time you saw her”, I said. I held out my hand, to lead the couple over to a quiet corner. “Please, come this this way. An agent will be with you shortly”. I locked eyes with Hotch, who was finishing his call. He gave me a short nod, and waved Blake over to join him. As the two agents approached, I got the couple seated by a free desk. “This is SSAs Hotchner and Blake”, I said, and looked at Hotch. “Mr. and Mrs. Blake just drove for eight hours to get here”, I muttered. The agents both nodded, and took their seats across from the couple. “We’re very sorry for your loss”, I heard Hotch say, before I slipped away; trying to look like I wasn’t hurrying.

I went back to the conference room, and looked down at the pictures. A large hand squeezed my shoulder, and I looked up at Dave. “You good, Abbie?”, he asked. “Yeah. I’m just trying to… de-sensitize to this”, I said. “I love the part of the job that’s reuniting families, and getting dangerous people off the streets. But that…”. I looked in the direction of the crying parents. “All that pain…”. “The moment your heart stops breaking for people, is the moment you know you have to step back from this gig”, Rossi said. “That’s when you’re too broken”. “But I can’t go around feeling horrible all the time”, I said. He turned by the shoulders to face him. “Here’s what you do. You give yourself exactly ten seconds to feel all those things”, he said. “Let it hurt, let your heart break; and then remind yourself what you’re here for”. “To help people feel safe”, Spencer said, looking at me with warm eyes. I gave him a slight smile, and nodded.

I looked back down at the picture, and frowned a little. “What?”, Spencer asked, and came over to look. “These dresses…”, I said. “If the UnSub was trying to infantilize the victims, wouldn’t he have dressed them in something more… childish?”. “Good point”, Rossi said. “These look like prom-dresses”. “Of the risqué kind”, I said. “But it’s not prom-season, though. Where’d he get the dresses?”, Spencer asked.

Lt. Mills was passing the door as we spoke. “Chief deputy?”, I called after him. He halted in his steps, and plastered on a smile. “Yes, miss Leigh”, he said. “UA Leigh”, I corrected him. Distaste shone from his expression, but I continued undeterred. “Is there a place in town that sells prom-dresses?”. “No. Girls usually have to order on the internet, or drive in to Madison on roadtrips”, he said, almost growling the last word. “In my day, a girl would sew her own dress. Not go off half-way across the state, unaccompanied by her father”. “Ok…”, Rossi muttered. “These victims were all found in prom-dresses though”. “Well, the winter-formal is coming up, at the high-school”, Mills said. “These might be the girls own gowns”, Spencer said. “That would make sense if all the girls were locals…”, Blake said. Spencer hummed thoughtfully, and went back to his calculations.

I went in search for a take-out menu, to get breakfast for everyone. On many an occasion, when we’d go to small towns, helping on a case at a local precinct, some kindly person would show up with a box of donuts or a warm breakfast for the team; delighted that the FBI was there to help. In this place, though, we’d yet to meet any friendlies. I received disgruntled stares from every deputy I passed, and though I’d usually not have a problem with asking for help from local cops, right now I was feeling like they’d rather direct me in the direction of the local land-fill, than a restaurant.

A good old-fashioned phonebook lay on the reception-desk, and I went over to scroll through it. A newspaper was laying on top of it, opened to a page of horoscopes. I’d just picked it up, when a plump woman, in a grey skirt going to her mid-calf, and a neatly buttoned shirt, came through the door of the station, and rushed over; pulling the newspaper out of my hands. “Excuse me! What do you think you’re doing?”, she hissed. “Looking for breakfast-options…”, I said. I stuck out my hand. “UA Leigh, with the FBI”. The woman scoffed, and went over to put the phonebook and paper in a drawer. “Well, missy. Around here, we don’t go riffling though other people’s work-areas”. “I’m sorry…?”, I said. “But we have three agents who just got back from working a crime-scene in the freezing cold. I just thought they’d like a somewhat decent breakfast”. I matched the venom in my voice to hers.

“Flora! I see you’ve met miss Leigh!”, Mills exclaimed, coming out of his office to meet us. “Sure have…”, Flora sneered. Mills put a hand on her back, and rubbed it. Had I been her, I’d have reminded him to keep a professional distance. “They’re just not used to our ways”, he chuckled. “Flora here is pastor Collins’ wife. He’s the head of local church”. “Nice to meet you, ma’am”, I said, trying to make nice.

Mills gave me a once-over. “I see you still haven’t changed your clothes”. “Excuse me?”, I croaked. “Your attire might go over fine in the big city”, Flora grunted. “But around here, when a woman walks around dressed like you, one might think she belonged on a street-corner, and not in law-enforcement”. I cleared my throat to keep from growling in anger; and plastered on as polite a smile as I could. “I am not going to go over my wardrobe choices with either of you; but I can assure you, I am always well within the guidelines of FBI-personel”. I was only half-lying. Though I’d never met her, I wasn’t convinced the director would appreciate my own personal dress-code; but if Spencer could get away with converse sneakers, and Garcia could wear pompoms in her hair, I should definitely be allowed to wear the occasional novel t-shirt or ripped jeans. Mills let out a disbelieving, snorting chuckle. “I’m surprised any of the men on your team get any work done, with you parading around in those skin-tight pants”, he said.

I opened my mouth to speak, but decided against it, and simply stomped back towards the conference room; passing a vending-machine on the way. Feeding it a few bills, I pulled out my haul, and went in to join Rossi and Spencer again. I threw the content in my hands on the table. “It’s chips and chocolate-bars for breakfast”, I snarled. “And if you have a problem with that, you can kiss my tight-pantsed butt!”. Rossi snatched up a packet of salt and vinegar chips, opened it, and put one into his mouth; smiling warily at me. “Yum…”, he said, and left the room, seemingly to go join Hotch and Blake.

Spencer took a few hesitant steps towards me. “What happened?”, he asked softly. “He…”. I shook my head, unable to continue. Spencer tensed up. “What did he do?”, he demanded. “Nothing. It’s what he says, and how he acts… Makes me want to shoot him in the nuts!”, I growled. “I should arrest you for even saying that”, he chuckled, making my lips twitch into a smile. “Lucky for him, you haven’t gotten the license for a service-weapon yet”. “Yeah, lucky him”, I muttered.

Spencer caught my hand, and his eyes started towards the door, to make sure no one was watching, before leaning down, and placing a soft kiss on my cheek. Delightful shivers ran all over my body, as his full lips met my skin. “Let me know if he bothers you again”, he said. “I’ll kick his ass”. I let out a bubbling laugh, and Spencer shrugged. “Ok, fine. I’ll have Morgan do it”. “You could take him”, I said. “I know I could. I just prefer using my brain to tear up bad-guys”, he smirked. “Well, you do it well”, I said.

He let go of my hand, and went back to his blackboard and maps.

---

JJ and Morgan were both half-asleep when they finally came in to the precinct about an hour later. Both of them more or less collapsed on a chair each, and I went over to pour them some coffee.

“What did the Howards have to say?”, Hotch asked. “It all backed up what Garcia already gave us”, JJ said, and held up a hand at me. “No thanks. No more caffeine. It won’t do me any good anyway”. “I’ll have it”, Spencer said, and took the mug from me. He had dark circles under his eyes, and I stopped myself from looking to empathetically at him; as we were surrounded by colleagues. “Justine’s room didn’t hold any surprises”, Derek said. “She was as apple-pie as they come”.

Hotchner looked gravely at us all. “Alright. Blake, Rossi and I will stay here, and keep working. The rest of you, go to the hotel and get a couple of hours of sleep. Be back here at noon… That’s an order”. Morgan had been about to protest, but sighed in defeat, and got to his feet. I went over sort some files, when Hotch spoke again. “You too, Leigh”. “But I need to…”, I began. “You’ve been working overtime for weeks, and you’re sleeping standing up. Go to the hotel”, Hotch said. I nodded, and picked up my go-bag, to follow the others out of the precinct.

“It’s actually a motel”, I said, as Derek held the door for all of us to step through. The early morning sun was vicious, and I hurried towards the one of the two cars that had been made available to us. Mills had taken me on my word. Two cars; no more, no less. “Seriously? I was hoping for at least a continental breakfast”, JJ said. “Small town”, I said. “I’m sure they have a vending-machine”. She let out a disgusted groan, and got in the front-passenger seat. Derek got behind the wheel, and Spencer and I got in the back. “There’s one more thing”, I said, suddenly very happy I was in the back, and out of reach of the people carrying guns. I was pretty sure Spencer wouldn’t pull on me. “What is it…?”, Derek said warily. “The local church has a big coming-home service tomorrow”, I said. “So, they only had three rooms…”. “You’re kidding…”, JJ groaned. “Come on!”, Derek exclaimed. “I am not bunking with Reid! You ladies will have to share”. “It’s fine. I’ll take the couch”, I said, smiling at JJ in the mirror.

We rolled up at the motel a few moments later. Wecklenburg truly was a small town, as we could have probably walked the distance. A group of people were gathered outside the motel’s reception, which apparently doubled as post-office; but none of them seemed to be picking up or delivering mail. Instead, they stood studying us. “Does anyone else feel like the circus just rolled in to town?”, Derek muttered. “And we’re the performers”, JJ said. “I’ll go get the keys…”, I said, and moved towards the reception warily. I nodded politely at the onlookers, and slipped inside.

A man in his mid-thirties smiled at me from behind the counter. “Can I help you, miss?”, he asked. “I’m UA Leigh, with the FBI”, I said. “I called to make reservations last night”. “You were my middle of the night phone-call”, he chuckled. “Not often I get pulled out of bed by a call from the FBI”. “You don’t have a night-clerk?”, I asked. “In Wecklenburg? No need. We go to bed at normal hours around here”, he said, and put a form for me to sign on the counter. “I suppose crime doesn’t sleep”. “Sure doesn’t”, I muttered, and put my name on the form; before sliding it back towards him. I looked at him expectantly, waiting for the keys to the rooms. “You’re here about those girls that were found, right?”, he asked, making no move towards handing them to me yet. “Yes”, I said shortly. “Heard two of them were locals, right...? I’ve seen them around”. “I can’t get in to it, sir”, I said. “We will be using the rooms in shifts. Can you please hold on to the keys when we’re not here?”. I held out my hand, but he still didn’t give the keys to me. “You know, I’m also the editor of the local paper”, the receptionist said. “I’d love to get an interview…”. “Sir, I’m sorry, but I really can’t talk about the case”, I said.

Derek came in to join me. “Is there a problem? JJ’s one step away from just sleeping in the back-seat”, he said. “No problem”, I said, raising a brow at the receptionist. “He was just about to hand me the keys”. The receptionist handed over the keys with a disgruntled expression. “Of course. You’re in luck we have I had any rooms to spare at all”, he said. “Had you come a week later, I’d be completely booked out”. “Really…”, I said disinterestedly. “Yeah. I got every room occupied the night of the winter-formal. After a big dance like that, teenagers tend to book a room to finish the night with a…. bang”. I heard Morgan make a scoffing chuckle behind me, and gave the receptionist a final, half-hearted thank you; before stepping outside again.

“It’s so cold out here. Can we go sleep now?”, JJ sighed, when Derek and I came back to the car. She and Spencer were leaning against the hood; both blowing warm air into their clutched hands. I chuckled, and handed Spencer and Derek a key each. “Yeah”, I smiled. “Apparently we’re lucky those girls were killed this week, instead of next weekend”, Derek grunted. “He’s got all his rooms booked out to horny teenagers, planning to get down and dirty after the winter-formal”. “Huh…”, Spencer muttered, the gears in his genius brain clearly working in overdrive. “What?”, JJ asked. “Nothing. I’m just… It’s nothing”, he replied. “Look, I’m beat. I’m gonna hit the hay”, Derek said. “See you all at 11.30?”. We all nodded, and JJ and I headed for our room. Spencer shot me slight smile, and I bit my lip shyly. “Sleep tight”, he said. “You too”, I said, and put the key in the lock. He let himself into his own room, and went inside.

A smell of bleach hit my nose as I opened the door, and I instantly shuddered. JJ passed me, and threw her go-bag on the bed. I stood in the doorway, finding it difficult to move. “You’re letting in the cold…”, JJ said. “Yeah… sorry”, I muttered, and closed the door behind me. Collapsing next to her bag, JJ tugged off her shoes, and pulled down the white covers. “It’s a big bed. We can share”, she offered. “No, that’s fine”, I said. “Well, do you want one of the sheets?”, she asked. “No!”, I said shortly. “Thanks… I’m good with the couch”. I sat down on the couch under the window, and took off my own boots. “At least take a pillow”, she insisted, and threw one at me from the bed. I laughed as it hit me in the head, and put it against the armrest.

My phone vibrated, and I saw I had a video-call from Penelope, so I picked it up. “Hey. What’s up?”, I asked. “What’s up with me? What’s up with you? You look run over”, she said giddily. I turned slightly, so that JJ could join the conversation from where she was perched on the bed. “Called Hotch with some info he’d been asking about, and he said you guys, my fantasy-hubby and Boy Wonder we’re going to get some rest. I still haven’t slept. I’m on my third energy-drink. They’re not very tasty, but momma needs her gogo-juice. Anyway, how’s things…?”. “Garcia… you need to lay off the caffeine”, JJ chuckled. “And the sugar”, I added, as I saw Penelope pop a handful of vegan gummy-bears into her mouth. “And we’re fine”, JJ said. “Just working a case in the deadest town ever”. “And Reid? How’s he? I worry about that precious brainiac”. I held my tongue, and let JJ do the talking. “He’s quiet”, she said. “But he seems ok”. Penelope’s eyes lit up. “Good! That’s good. Maybe this anniversary hasn’t hit him as hard as we thought it would”, she smiled, before her eyes lit up. “Ooh! Maybe he’s seeing someone”.

I felt my cheeks beginning to burn, while JJ let out a worried groan. “That’s probably not a good idea. Not right now”, she said. “Why?”, I squeaked. “Spencer’s good at hiding his emotions, even from himself, sometimes”. “Maybe meeting someone nice would be good for him”, Penelope said. “I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of him while he’s vulnerable”, JJ said. I wanted to speak up, to defend the woman Spencer was showing interest; but as it was myself, I couldn’t. I swallowed thickly, and shrugged a little. “That sounds harsh… I mean, as long as he’s happy…” I said. “Will he be happy, though? If he’s hooking up with someone, just to forget Maeve?”, she said. “Dr. Reid hooking up”, Penelope snorted laughingly. “Those two things in the same sentence sound Russian to me”. “He knows Russian”, I said. Both of my friends looked at me in surprise. “I-I’m guessing”. JJ yawned. “I need sleep”, she said. “Yeah, me too…”, I muttered. “Ok, I hear you. Get some rest, my sleeping beauties. Ttyl”. She hung up the call, and I put down my phone.

JJ laid down, and her breathing soon steadied, letting me know she’d fallen asleep. Even as I lay down, my own rest came slower. Her words lingered in my mind. There was no way I would ever take advantage of Spencer; I was sure of that. But, on the other hand, what is he was vulnerable right now? I had to admit to myself I’d been feeling butterflies in my stomach about him, ever since he gave me that quirky wave, the day we met in the BAU conference-room. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he finally noticed me enough to ask me out, just when he came up on one year since he lost the woman he loved. If I accepted his seemingly budding feelings towards me, would I in reality be taking advantage of the fact that he was having a weak moment? I studied the ceiling, as I tried to convince myself that everything was ok; that Spencer was showing interest in me for all the right reasons. Once I’d finally accepted that the beige plaster above me wasn’t going to give me any answers, I turned to my side. The bleach-smell from the pillow-covering hit me instantly, and I tore the pillow from under my head, and threw it across the room. JJ jostled in her sleep, but didn’t wake.

After what felt like forever, I finally dozed off into a restless sleep.

---

I woke to the sound of someone knocking enthusiastically on the door. “We didn’t ask for room-service!”, JJ yelled, and covered her head with her pillow. “This place doesn’t have room-service”, I yawned. “It’s Spencer!”, he called from the other side of the door. “Go away! It’s only 10.30”, JJ replied. The knocking continued, and she jumped out of bed, and threw open the door. “Henry is about ten seconds from losing his godfather to a stray bullet”, she growled. I heard another door open, and Derek came running. “What’s going on?”, he barked.

Spencer stepped into our room, and began pacing the floor. His hair was especially mussed up from obviously having tossed and turned in his motel-bed. “In a town this small, wouldn’t it be normal to bring an out-of-town date to a big dance?”, Spencer said. “What, like when you brought your cousin to prom?”, Derek smirked, stepping inside himself, and closing the door behind him. “I didn’t go to prom. Marina Sirtis never answered my letter, so I didn’t have a date”, Spencer said. JJ looked at him confusedly. “Deanna Troi in Star Trek”. JJ let out a silent oh, and I let out a soft chuckle; which was halted by another yawn. “It was probably the age-difference”, I smiled. “I guess in a town like this, a change of scenery might be nice for a teenager”, JJ said. “And if the senior class is small enough, and the boy-girl ratio is uneven, you’d have to bring a date from out of town”, I said. “I doubt same sex-couples go over well around here… People seem pretty conservative”. “So, the out-of-town girls may have been planning to attend the winter-formal”, Spencer said. “Sure… But, what’s this about, Spence? Why did you wake us an hour early?”, JJ asked.

Spencer stopped pacing, and looked at the three of us in turn. “Right. Sorry”, he said. “It’s just, all these things pointing towards the UnSub focusing on purity; and the receptionist telling you he was booked out, because of teenagers planning to come here to have sex…”. “Yeah?”, Derek said. “What if the four victims were all coming here next weekend, after the dance…?”, Spencer said. I cleared my throat. “Well, for some teenagers, prom-night – or any other night of a big school-dance – is prime time to have their first sexual experience”, I said. “Exactly”, Spencer said. “So, you’re thinking all the girls were virgins?”, Derek said. “They might have been”, JJ said, finally looking completely awake. “Meaning the UnSub was either trying to protect that fact about them, by killing them before they could have sex; or punishing them for planning on it”, Derek said. “I know I’m not an expert, but I think the stabs to their chests and genitals point to the latter”, I said. “A knife to the heart, sounds almost like a lover scorn”. Derek shrugged in agreement. “Let’s get back to the station, and fill in the others”, JJ said. “First we need a list of the reservations made for the night of the dance”, Spencer said.

We locked up our rooms, and I gathered the keys, to bring to the reception. Spencer and I began crossing the parking-lot, while Derek and JJ got into the car. “You need to stop saying that about yourself”, Spencer said as we walked. “Saying what?”, I asked. “That you’re not an expert”, he replied. “It’s true you don’t have the same credentials or training as the rest of us, but your natural inkling for profiling and crime-solving is better than many an agent I’ve ever met”. I bit my lip shyly, and felt my cheeks burn all the way up to my ears. “Thanks…”, I muttered. “Are you ok, by the way?”, he asked me quietly. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”, I replied as casually as I could. “The sheets in our rooms… They use bleach to wash them; the smell was pretty rank”, he said. “I just thought…”. “I’m fine”, I cut him off. He was being too kind, and I still hadn’t made up my mind on whether whatever was going on between us was real.

He was still frowning at me confusedly, as we entered the reception. The man behind the counter lit up when he saw us. “That was a quick nap. It’s not even noon”, he smiled. “We have work to do”, I said shortly, and placed the keys on the counter. Spencer came up next to me. “Actually, could I have a look at the reservations made for the night of the dance?”, he asked. “Well, I can’t just hand over…”, the receptionist began. “It’s possible that all four victims were planning to come here next weekend. Not handing over evidence could make you look very bad, and possibly like you’re involved”, I said. Spencer stifled a smile. The receptionist shifted uncomfortably, and finally nodded. “I’d like to go on record as saying that every reservation in this establishment, is always made by someone of legal age”, as he put the motel-calendar in the copy-machine by the P.O. boxes on the wall. He handed over a copy to Spencer; who looked over the sheet of paper. “And the 16- and 17-year-olds who use those rooms with the people of legal age?”, he grunted, not looking up. He was exuding confidence, and my knees went slightly wobbly for a moment. “Well, the age of consent is…”, the receptionist began. “18 in Alabama. And aiding and abetting in statutory rape will get you at least ten years behind bars; probably more”, Spencer said, finally looking at him again. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to help us, if we have any further questions”. “O-of course”, the receptionist stammered.

Spencer walked towards the door, and held it open for me gallantly. I was still doing my best to keep from grinning, when we made it back to the car.

---

It took me three phone calls to finally get a hold of a list of the students having bought tickets for the winter-formal. A grumpy looking woman, who turned out to be the school-secretary, showed up at noon to hand it over to me. She’d blatantly refused to e-mail it, and as I handed over the list to Spencer, to compare to the motel-reservations, she stood muttering quietly with Flora. He was blatantly staring me, and I closed the buttons on my blazer; feeling exposed. I’d even put on a t-shirt, instead of the strappy top I’d worn earlier; but apparently, she still thought I deserved being looked at as a piece of trash.

“I’m not in love with this town”, I said quietly, and went to stand next to Spencer, as he hung the papers on the blackboard with blue-tack. “Hmm…”, he said absentmindedly. “The coffee sucks, and the people are rude”, I said. “Uh huh”. “What do you need the ticket-list for, anyway? Aren’t we looking for kids who booked rooms?”, I asked. His eyes flickered, as he went over the names in front of him. I sighed in annoyance. “Spencer…? I’m considering making out with Morgan a bit. Then I might take off all my clothes, and dance on the chief deputy’s desk”. “That would be a bad idea. It’s quite chilly, and you might catch a cold”, he said, and finally looked at me. “And if you’re trying to make me jealous by mentioning Morgan, it’s not working.”. He raised a brow at me. “You weren’t listening to me”, I croaked; unable to hide a pout. “I was. We’ve had worse coffee”, he said. “The list, Doctor”, I sneered. “The school is obligated to list the attendees, even the out-of-town ones. I’m trying to find the name of the last victim. She might have been the one who booked the room”. He lowered his voice, even though we were alone in the conference room. “I always listen to you. Your voice is one of my favorite sounds”. I looked down embarrassedly. “Oh. Ok…”, I squeaked.

He looked back at the lists, and I cleared my voice awkwardly. “I doubt the last victim made a reservation”, I said. “When I tried to get rooms for us last night, the receptionist kept asking me if he could talk to my husband; even after I told him I was FBI”. “You’re right…”, Spencer said. “All the names from the motel are male”. He sighed defeatedly. “I was hoping we’d be able to get some closure for her family. We’re going to have to get Garcia to go through all the girls’ names, to sort out the locals”. “That’ll take a while. Mills might know which are local, and which aren’t”, I suggested. “Good point”, he said. “Could you go get him?”. I nodded, and headed out to fetch the deputy sheriff.

The school secretary turned up her nose at me as I approached the counter, where Mills had joined the two ladies. I’d printed out the ME’s report for Hotch, and he was going over it with JJ and Derek nearby. It was our team-leader’s turn to look like he needed sleep, but he still hadn’t gone back to the motel with Blake and Rossi, to get some rest. “I’ll see you at the service tomorrow”, she said to Mills and Flora, and headed towards the door. “Absolutely, Agatha. Make sure to bring enough of that potato-salad!”, Mills said cheerfully, as he waved her off. “Deputy sheriff?”, I said. “What can I do you for, sweetie?”, he asked. I clenched my jaw, trying to calm myself at his patronizing tone. “Dr. Reid needs you in the conference room”, I said. He smirked, and gestured for me to take the lead. “After you…” he said. I could feel his eyes on my bottom as I moved back towards our work-area. Locking eyes with Hotch as I walked, he raised a questioning brow at me. I shook my head slightly. I’m fine, I signaled with my expression, and he seemed to accept it.

“Miss Leigh tells me you wanted to talk to me”, Mills said, when we joined Spencer by the blackboard. I’d just pulled out a pen from the bun on my head; and nearly broke it between my fingers, in sheer rage at his disrespect. Spencer shot me a wary look, before clearing his throat. “Yes… I was wondering if you could tell me which of the girls on the winter-formal attendee list are from out of town”, he said. Mills reached out his hand at me. “Hand me that pen; will you, sweetheart?”, he said. I gave the pen to Spencer, fearing I might claw the deputy sheriff’s eyes out, if I got within reach of him.

Mills began underlining names, muttering to himself with small grunts. “I see four… no, five names here”, he said. “That would be including Amanda Luther”. “Do you possibly know which young men might have been their dates?”, Spencer asked. “We want to be able to match them with people who might have made reservations at the motel”. “Why?”, Mills asked. “It’s for victimology. There’s a chance the girls were planning on having sex the evening of the dance”, Spencer said. “The UnSub might be fixated on purity; and if the victims were all virgins, he may have been punishing them for wanting to change that fact”.

Mills looked almost disgusted at the thought. “This is a nice town”, he said. “The women around here know not to act like common whores”. His eyes flickered towards me, and I almost blew a fuse. Spencer took a step towards me, and covertly held out a hand to keep me in place. “Still, we need to cover all bases”, he said. “Then have the ME check to see if the girls were virgins before they died”, Mills huffed. “They already checked for sexual assault, and other than the stab-wounds, they didn’t find any proof of it”, I grunted, having looked at the ME’s report, before giving it to Hotch. “Well then, there’s your proof”, Mills said. “They were virgins”.

Unable to hide my disdain, I chimed in again. “Virginity is a societal construct. You can’t do a medical exam to determine if a woman is a virgin or not; it’s not a physical thing”, I said. Mills sighed and looked at me overbearingly. “Sweetheart, you should probably let people who know what they’re talking about handle…”, he began. “Chief deputy, I would appreciate it if you used a professional tone, when speaking to her”, Spencer said. I felt a rush of warmth go through me at his support.

Mills chuckled self-importantly. “Doctor Reid. With your title, and all my years on the force, I’d say we’re more than qualified to have this discussion without this young lady…”, he smiled. “This young lady is a highly valued member of the BAU, and a grown woman with more knowledge of the female anatomy than either of us. It shouldn’t be necessary to inform you of her academic success on top of that, just because she is a woman; but let me tell you, her scholastic success would be enough to impress any man with half a mind”, Spencer said unsmilingly. I was a little overwhelmed at his praise, and if I had to be honest to myself, he was probably taking a bit too far. True, I’d done my stint in school, and made it out with a good record, but I was no near his three doctorates. Spencer continued unabashed. “Leigh’s title is unit assistant, and you may call her UA Leigh, if you have any reason to do so; which – as I believe she made clear to you when we arrived – is only when you have something regarding the case, that you need to share with us”. Mills clenched his jaw, and looked hard at him. “I’ll remind you, that you’re in my house, agent. You best keep a respectful tone”, he said, and looked at me, a sneer on his face. “And you, missy...”.

“Ok, that’s it”, I growled. “Annabel…”, Spencer said warily. “No, Reid. I’m done with this. He is the last person who should mention respect”, I said, and stared straight into Mills’ eyes. “Deputy sheriff Mills. You’ve been rude, condescending and sexist towards me, since the moment I first arrived at this station. I don’t know what makes you think you can speak to me like you have, but it ends now!”. “Miss Leigh…”, Mills began. “Unit assistant Leigh!”, I said angrily. Spencer swallowed thickly, but I couldn’t help but see something like an awestruck expression form on his face. “I will not take any more of your abuse, and you will treat me with all due respect; not only because I represent the federal authorities, that are cleaning up your mess right now, but because I have both more education, decency, and professionalism in my fingertip, than you have in your entire useless being. Now if you have an issue with that, you can take it up with the watercooler, because no one else cares, or can help you; you dehydrated, dense, little toenail!”

“Leigh!”. I spun around, and stood face to face with Hotchner. He’d walked in to the conference room just then, with Derek and JJ in tow. They both looked at me with wide eyes. “Take a walk”, my boss said brusquely. “Hotch, I’m…”, I began. “I said, take a walk!”. He put a hand on my shoulder, sternly led me out of the conference room, and around the corner to a more private area.

“I’m sorry, sir…”, I muttered when we were alone, feeling like the apology put a foul taste in my mouth. I took a deep breath. “No, actually; you know what? I’m not sorry. That man has been nothing but rude and blatantly misogynistic to me since the moment I stepped into this station. I’m not going to…”. “You need to cool down”, Hotchner said shortly. “He just…!”, I began. “You know part of this job comes with being bated and goaded by people, who want to get to you”, he said. “Yeah, UnSubs. Criminals. Not law-enforcement professionals”, I snapped. “I’m not going to let someone step all over my personal integrity!”. “Right now, everyone in this precinct seems to be working against us. We have to look at them as we do all reluctant witnesses, or even potential suspects”, he said quietly. “You think someone in here is…?”, I began. “So far, the profile fits on most every deputy in this place. We can’t know yet. But we have to keep our heads cool”, he cut me off. I ground my teeth and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not going to apologize. I don’t regret a word I said, even if it does mean you’re…”. “I wouldn’t expect you to. That’s not who you are. But you will have to leave. I can’t have you around chief deputy Mills. You trigger him”. “He triggers me. The man is…”. “I agree. But for now, you go back to the motel, and wait for further orders”. I nodded, and he began moving back towards the conference room.

“Sir…”, I called after him. He turned to look at me. “I appreciate that you’re not like the chief deputy, and I’m grateful that you haven’t just thrown me on a plane home…”. “Yes…?”, he said, gesturing at me to continue. “But, with all due respect, please don’t cut me off at every other sentence I speak”, I said. “Being your inferior doesn’t make what I have to say any less valuable”. I felt cold all over as I spoke; sure, that the next words out of Hotch’s mouth would be; get your ass off my team. Instead, he frowned at me for a moment, before giving me a short nod. “Noted”, he said earnestly. He stood for a moment, looking pondering at me. “Actually. We may be able to use this to our advantage, if we play it right”. “How so?”, I asked.

He thought for a moment longer, and then nodded to himself. “This is what we’re going to do…”.

---

“I’m not going to say it again, young lady. Get your things, and go back to the motel, to wait for further orders!”. I swallowed bile, and nodded with an appropriately chided expression, while Hotch barked at me. He looked at me, as I went ahead of him through the doorway to the conference room again. I picked up my tablet and my work-bag. “Chief deputy Mills; I apologize on behalf of miss Leigh. She was out of line, and will be suitably punished”.

I wiped away a non-existing tear, and gave Spencer a short look. “Hotch…”, JJ began. “Stay out of this Jennifer, or you will be going in the same direction”, Hotch growled. JJ looked visibly taken aback, but as I turned towards the door again, with my back to Mills, I looked at her meaningfully; and she nodded. “Yes, sir”, she said quietly. Mills looked at me haughtily. “Funny how the women on your team seem to think they can speak out of turn”, he grunted. Hotchner nodded solemnly. “Positive action isn’t doing anyone any favors”, he said. “I’d like to make my team out of men actually qualified for the job; but even I have to bend to political correctness”. “That sheriff Clapmann tried to make me deputize females…”, Mills said. “I’m sure that went over well”, Morgan chuckled; pushing out his chest to put weight behind his alpha-maleness. He’d obviously caught on to what we were doing as well. “That woman can kiss my ass”, Mills said. “I hear you”, Derek said. Spencer – having formerly been my champion – took a step back, resigning himself to the submissive beta-role. He didn’t speak, but took on the expression of someone desperately just wanting to keep his job and role on the team. JJ demurely closed up the top buttons of her shirt, and went over to sort some files that didn’t need sorting. The whole BAU-team deserved individual Oscars. “Agent Morgan, please escort miss Leigh back to the motel”, Hotch said. “And have her put on something more appropriate. This isn’t a night-club”. “Right away”, Derek said, and walked over to join me in the doorway. “Once again, I’m very sorry, chief deputy”, I heard Hotch say as we left the room.

We walked out of the precinct, and over to our car. I got in, and blew out a deep breath. Once he’d closed the car door, Derek turned to look at me; his eyes glinting with humor. “Dehydrated, dense, little toenail”, he chuckled. “That was beautiful”. “He looks like a wrung up, dried out old dishcloth…”, I grunted. “And smells like one too”. “You’re not wrong about that”, Derek replied, and started up the engine. “So, what’s the plan?”. “Hotch is trying to build a report with Mills”, I said. “Yeah, I gathered that much”, he said. “He’s acting like he does when doing the same with an UnSub. But if he thinks Mills is the killer, why not share that with the rest of us?”. “He doesn’t. But the lack of cooperation and the fact that the chief deputy claims the town has been crime-free for three years straight, makes him think Mills might be actively trying obstruct justice”. “And we’re on the way to try to prove that”, Derek said. He sighed deeply. “We’re not just working a murder-case, we’re taking on a possibly corrupt chief deputy”. “Not just him”, I said. “How much have you been able to get out of even one deputy since we arrived?”. “Good point”.

We pulled up at the motel, but Derek didn’t cut the engine. “So what are you and I doing?”, he asked. “Finding locals who may be willing to talk to us, about what’s really going on around here”, I said. “Likeminded people”. Derek chuckled. “You two seem to have this all planned out”, he said. “So how are we going to do that?”. “You and I are going on a date”, I said plainly. “And I’m paying”. Derek raised a brow at me. “Feminist date… I’m listening”, he said. “Not only that. Congrats, agent Morgan. You’re gonna be a daddy”, I said. “Ooh… And you without a wedding-ring”, he chuckled. “That’ll draw attention”. “And you may be able to profile the sheep from the goats”, I said. He nodded, an impressed expression on his face. “Not a bad plan. I saw a mom-and-pop diner down the street” he smiled, pulling away from the curb again.

“You know, this isn’t going to go over well with Reid”, he said after driving for a few minutes. “Why?”, I asked. “Seriously? You haven’t noticed?”, he asked. “Noticed what?”, I said, my voice slightly ragged. “The guy’s had a crush on you since you started with the team”, Derek laughed.

I didn’t know how to respond, and instead looked out of the window; trying to hide my flabbergasted expression.

---

Thanks for reading. Remember to comment.

[everything-person]

Last Voyage

Summary: Emma surprises Killian with an old fashioned voyage with his old crew then Killian has a surprise for Emma

*cough cough*

“You alright?”

“Fine love. Just needed to clear my throat.”

Killian and Emma were walking along the beach in the early morning slowly making their way to the docks.

“We’re almost there.”

“What’s with all the secrecy love?”

Emma smiles up at him there was a shine in her eyes, “You’ll see.”

They made their way down the pier where the Jolly Roger was docked.

“Do you wish to have another one of our private adventures aboard the Jolly Roger? If that’s all you could have just said Swan.”

“Not this time.”

They made their way into the deck where they were greeted by some familiar faces.

“Welcome aboard Captain.”

Before them stood Henry, Hope, Smee and some of his old crew.

Killian smiled while also furrowing his brow. Turning to his wife for answers.

“I thought you might wish to have a day at sea. Re-live your glory days.”

“My glory days started the day I met you Swan.” Picking up her hand and placing a kiss on the back of it. “Will you be joining me, love?”

“No,” she whispered, “not this time. I have somethings to take care of.”

He turned to Henry and Hope. He approached them with open arms.

“Then it’s looks like we’ll be having all the fun. Don’t worry love I’ll have them back before Sundown and we will eagerly enrapture you with our tales of our adventurous day.”

Henry looked down before meeting his eyes, “Actually we promised mom we’d help her with her stuff today. Maybe tonight we can play dice. I might just beat you this time.”

“Oh then perhaps I should give Dave a call. Show him what a pirates life was like.”

Henry shifted clearing his throat before saying, “Uh Grandpa is taking care of the sheriff office while we are helping mom today. Sorry but you stuck with your old crew for today.”

Killian nodded at Henry before turning his attention to his daughter. She had the same shine in her eyes as her mother, biting her lip, looking anywhere but at him.

“What’s wrong lass?”

She inhaled a deep breath before speaking, “Nothing Papa. I’ll just miss you.”

He cupped his daughters face, “Don’t worry, my little cygnet. I’ll be home tonight.”

She nodded embracing him. She burrows her face in his chest breathing him in. “I love you Papa.”

Killian squeezes his daughter not sure what has her so distraught, “I love you to my little cygnet. From your first breath far beyond my last.”

Hope let go heading to the gang plank quickly, without another glance to her father.

Henry approached the man that’s been a mentor, a father figure to him. Wrapping him in his arms, “Good bye Killian.”

Letting go he followed his sister down the gang plank waiting for his mother at the bottom.

Killian turned to see the love of his life standing there. She took slow step towards him her eyes never leaving his. Reaching up held his face, her eyes scanned every inch.

“What’s wrong Emma?”

She’s hooked her head offering him a smile, “Nothing. It just. . . sometimes I can’t believe that blacksmith I tied to a tree that said I need him alive would be so right.”

Killian chuckled, “Aye. Sometimes I can’t believe I forgot about that damned bar wench that kissed the hell out of me.”

She smiled, leaning up catch his lips in a soft kiss. Pulling away she rested her forehead against his, “I love you Killian. Thank you for everything.”

“I love you too Emma. Forever and always.”

Her hands slid down his cheeks to his neck over his shoulders down his arm grasping his hook and hand. Her eyes never leaving his, she started backing away holding onto his hand until she was to far away to hold on any more. Letting her hand fall she turned making her way off the ship. Henry reaches out his hand to help her off the last step intertwining her arm with him.

“When did you become such a gentleman?”

“I’m always a gentleman mom. I learned from the best.”

They made their way up the pier. They say and watched as the ship set sail. Her Captain on the quarter deck waving to his family before turning to wheel where he belonged.

As they stood watching Hope couldn’t hold in her emotions anymore. A sob escaped her lips, as tears started pouring out her eyes. “He should be home. We should be with him.”

Emma embraces her daughter, “That’s never how he wanted to go.”

“But he was fine. He was walking and knew who we were.”

“He also thought Grandpa was alive. He didn’t see us. He probably saw you as the little girl who would ask him to close the window so Peter Pan couldn’t get her. He probably saw me as the ten year old boy he helped rescue from Neverland.”

Emma pulled away looking at her children who have grown into adults that stood before her now.

“Yes but he is so proud of the people you have become. He was so happy to be a father and be apart of this family. He loves you both so much.”

Hope let out another sob as Henry wrapped an arm around her, letting one lone tear slide down his cheek.

“Besides it’s for the best he didn’t see me as I am now. A wrinkly old crown with gray straw for hair,” Emma let out a breathy laugh.

Henry shook his head, “He saw you as you actually are. He always has. The beautiful Savior.”

Emma smiled at her son, “Come on let’s go home.”

Later Emma was going through some things in their room. Remembering all the good times they’ve shared in this house. The wonderful life he shared with her.

She opened his night stand finding the copy of Treasure Island she gave him.

“This is ridiculous. This person obviously had no idea what they were bloody talking about,” Killian muttered.

Emma rolled over, “Babe Go to bed.”

“This book is an atrocity love.”

“Then stop reading it.”

“Why would I do that when they just started the mutiny?”

She laughed to herself. She would always try showing him how this realm reviews pirates with movies and books. Every time he would get riled up but any time she suggested to turn it off or throw the book out he would refuse having to see how it ends.

The next thing she pulled out was a familiar black scarf.

“So now you’re a gentleman?”

“Giants can smell blood. And I’m always a gentleman.” Hook said before putting liquid on her hand.

“Ah! Ow! What is that?”

“Rum and a bloody waste of it.”

He gently wrapped her hand with the soft material tying it off with his mouth. Her fingers lightly brushing against his cheek.

Emma sighed remembering the spark she felt. Wondering not for the first time how much more time they would’ve had if she trusted him. If they came back together. How different their adventures would’ve been.

Something shiny caught her eye and she reached in and pulled out the last item in the drawer.

It was one of his hooks.

Killian kicked open their bedroom door while his lips fused to her. Her legs wrapped around his hips her latched around his neck.

Coming up for air Emma whispers, “Never do that again.”

“I’ll never leave your side even if the gods try to rip us a apart,” he promised before capturing her lips again.

Falling onto the bed they began divesting each other of their clothing. Killian reaches to take off his hook. Emma reaches her hand up, only in her bra and underwear, looking at him through her eyelashes.

“Leave it on.”

Killian groans, “You little minx.”

Emma sighed. As the memory fades away. So many nights, and some days, filled with passion. Both of them always willing to show the other how much they love them. Always up to meet a challenge.

Moving to put the items back in their respective places the book falls from her lap and clatters to the floor. Emma places the scarf and hook back before reaching down picking up the book. When she lifts it a note falls from its pages. Placing the book on the bed she once again reaches down and grabs the fallen piece of paper.

Unfolding it she is greeted with Killian hand writing.

‘Dearest Swan,

I’m sorry. I never wished to leave and now I have no choice in the matter. It seems to be a cruel joke. To be sent back to you by the gods themselves only to have my mind unravel while I’m still with you. I know I don’t have much time left. And I plan to cherish every moment with you I can.

When I do go, all I wish is to be at your side. For the last thing I hold is our family in my arms. The last thing I touch be your face. The last thing I taste be you lips. The last thing I see is the love in your eyes for me. If I am to drawn my last breath I wish it is your kiss that steals it.

And when I am gone. I will keep my promise I made all those years ago. I will move on but I promise you no heaven the gods can provide will compare to the life I have lived with you.

You are the love on my life. The mother of my children. My wife. My savior. My true love.

However long we are apart that will never change. My love will stay with you and I hope give you comfort in your time of need. And when it is your time I can only hope that the gods will once again reunite us.

Until then I ask that every day you live. Hug our children and give them an extra squeeze for me.

With all my love. Yours from the end of the realms and time.

Killian’

Tears fell freely from her eyes. They were never sure if Killian knew what was happening to him. Now she had proof that he did.

A noise pulled her from her thoughts. Still clutching the note to her chest she made her way downstairs. Sharp knocking was coming from her front door.

She opened it to find a pair of blue eye that she engraved into her memory.

“Killian.”

He bent down wrapping her in his arms, burying his face in her neck.

“Sorry ma’am I know you weren’t expecting us so soon but he insisted on turning around and coming home,” Smee explained his signature hat in his hands.

“That’s alright. Thank you for bringing him home.”

Smee nodded, closing the door as he left.

“Why did you send me away love?”

“I thought you’d like to be at sea when the time came.”

Killian finally lifted his head, his gaze burning into her, “Don’t you know Swan all I have ever wanted was to be with you.”

Emma gave him a sad smile, “I do now.”

They made their way up to their bed laying down curling up together one last time. They not sure how long they laid there just enjoying their time together.

Killian reaches up brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “I think it’s time love.”

Emma nodded scooting closer.

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“You aren’t,” she said with a shaky breath her lip quivering, “You will always be with me. And I’ll follow you shortly.”

She leaned up capturing his lips once last time. She pulls away resting her forehead against his.

“I love you Emma Swan,” he whispered.

She watched as the deep blue eyes that looked last all her walls that have always saw her closed for the last time.

A tear fell from her eye landing on his cheek sliding down his face.

“I love you Killian Jones.”

[sserpente]

Pastel Blue (Chapter 5)

Synopsis: After his lucky escape, the Tesseract takes Loki on new adventures–but unfortunately, his journeys through space do not go unnoticed and he soon ends up on TVA’s radar. Working for them, albeit reluctantly, he keeps finding himself in the company of a young woman, Jess, who works in the linguistics department and who has a truly strange effect on him. Smitten by her confidence and smugness, he seeks her presence like a bee hunting for honey and lets her wreak havoc in his heart without really knowing why. But he is determined to find out. He means to escape this godforsaken place anyway.  

Find all chapters on my masterlist! (Unfortunately, Tumblr will not display my recent posts if I add a link.)

It almost felt like no time at all. Had one whole week really passed already since Loki had accommodated himself in her unit? In the books, the characters who had to share a room usually fell in love by the end of the story or, even better, they had some mind-blowing sex and then ended up together, and yet all she had done was play with her vibrator like it would be taken away from her the next morning for good.

But unlike any of the mischief and the chaos she had expected, Loki was a rather pleasant roommate. He was respectful, calm, tidy… and she doubted he had ever entered her room without her permission. Unless, of course, he had done so in her absence.

Jess gnashed her teeth, her eyes fixed on her brown hair in the mirror. Ariana had found this lovely youth magazine in the nineties yesterday, one that had already been thrown in the bin. The only reason she had taken it was because the cover showed a blue phone booth with Paul McGann as the Eighth Doctor on the cover. Jess had spent all morning skimming through it, reading the headline article as well as chuckling about the gossip and the ads—even though some of them were rather sexist.

At some point, she found a double page on fancy hairstyles for women and now struggled to copy one of the elegant braids to spice up her own hair. Thus far, she had been failing miserably, flinching with a grunt when Loki opened the bathroom door. He tilted his head upon seeing her sitting on the edge of her bathtub with her tongue sticking out a little and her fingers entangled in her brown hair.

“Yes?”

“I meant to get washed but clearly, you are occupied in here.”

Jess huffed, flinging the hair tie into the sink. “I’ve been trying to braid my hair. Like this, look!” She pointed at the magazine. The woman in the picture looked like it had taken her five minutes to create this look, and they’d had the audacity to rate this style ‘quick and easy’.

Loki chuckled. “You look like a scarecrow.”

“Why, thank you.” She rolled her eyes. “You can take your shower, I give up on this.” She said.

His sigh surprised her. “Allow me.”

“What?” Jess’ reply was all but a chirp but Loki had already approached her and fetched the hair tie from the sink. The braid was indeed a simple one, and as he stood behind her to part her hair for her, he had to refrain from letting her know just how soft it felt.

He had often braided his mother’s hair as a child. It was an activity that had calmed him down whenever Thor and his friends had made fun of how fond he was of books and preferred to use his mind and tricks rather than raw strength in play fights. The hand movements he was so familiar with that he had no need to look. Instead, he met Jess’ eyes in the mirror. She swallowed, and for a brief moment, he found himself remembering the whimpers coming from her bedroom at night.

Quickly, he averted his gaze again, parting her hair to reveal the earrings dangling down her earlobes. They shimmered in the artificial light of the bathroom. He had never seen her without them, come to think of it.

“They are moonstones.” She said when she noticed his glance. His finger brushed against her left earring once more, making it swing a little. “M got them for me on my birthday. The stone is said to soothe emotional instability and stress, and to stabilise emotions.” After all, her own parents were unlikely to buy her birthday presents anymore. “He asked me to always wear them… that they would protect me from evil.”

Loki hummed. He was familiar with the healing properties of moonstones. They were rather common on Asgard too. Only it made him wonder why Mobius would be so keen on her keeping them on at all times.

“Do you truly believe that?”

She shrugged. “I choose to.”

His fingertips brushed against the soft skin of her neck and he sucked in a deep breath. Jess’ lips parted. She was indeed a beautiful woman, was she not? Loki pondered if she was aware of just how alluring she was. How delectable she sounded when she came undone, believing so naïvely that he was unable to hear the fun she had with herself.

Lust flared up in his blue eyes, his fingers caressing her neck once more, and him braiding her hair all of a sudden turning into a subtle excuse to touch her over and over, to explore what their physical connection meant to him. Then it hit him. The inexplicable tension between them was indeed sexual too.

It was perfect, was it not? If Jess desired him, in whatever way she imagined to… then perhaps he could make use of her attraction, especially as this meant that he too would get to blatantly act on those carnal needs simmering right beneath the surface of his very core. He could not possibly trust her beyond that.

“There.” He announced, finishing up the braid by tying the loose ends together with her hair tie. She looked exactly like the model in the magazine now—only Loki had done an even better job. Jess swallowed once more, wishing, subconsciously, that he would touch her one last time. When he stepped away from her instead, she came to suppress a disappointed whimper.

“M is, um… you’ll be sent to a different unit next week.” She said, breaking the oddly peaceful but palpable silence between them.

“Am I?”

“Yeah. Reese recovered well, I mean, that’s what M told me. He will take over after the party.”

“What party?”

Jess stood, clutching the sink behind her for support—Loki did not fail to notice how flustered she was now, almost as if him braiding her hair had intensified whatever it was she felt for him. It had been a long time since he had last had to think this way upon meeting someone of the opposite sex, let alone a mortal woman.

“Dave is celebrating his anniversary this weekend. It’s a big deal here at the TVA, much more important than birthdays. M didn’t tell you about it, then.” She concluded.

Loki shook his head slowly and decided to give her a smirk. Her reaction, blood biting at her cheeks, pleased him. “I’d dare say I am not invited to your silly festivities.”

“M is thinking about it. About inviting you, I mean. And I guess you could… use a break from all… this. Besides, apart from security, everyone will be drunk by midnight. Lots of snacking and dancing…”

Loki rolled his eyes. He had already hated these kinds of parties back on Asgard. Fandral would shamelessly flirt with three women at once, Volstagg would stuff himself into a coma and Thor would brag with his hammer on the dance floor, making the women believe they could lift it as they danced with him.

If anything, however, this absurd anniversary was the perfect opportunity for him to let his charm play and gain her trust. Jess sighed, prompting him to look up and meet her eyes. She stood, approaching him with the hint of a smile both scornful and compassionate at the same time… and then wrapped her arms around him.

Loki tensed up, his arms hanging by his side motionlessly. Physical affection was the last thing he had expected in a place like this, even from Jess. Perhaps, gaining her trust would be easier than he thought it would be, and still, part of him was unable to deny how much he enjoyed knowing that someone at least pretended to care, as peculiar as she was. Her touch felt like someone had set his entire body ablaze.

“Listen, I know you’ve been through shit and I know you hate everyone right now, including me. M may or may not have red on his ledger but you’re a part of the team now. You’re one of us. If we don’t stand up for each other, then who will?”

“I never agreed on becoming a part of the team.” Loki responded darkly.

Jess moved away from him a little, her smile faltering. “Me neither.”

~*~

“You’ll have to explain that to me one more time. When your father, I mean, Odin, fell into the Odinsleep—whatever the hell that means—your mother gave you the throne?”

Loki hummed. That was the part of the story Thor had left out upon telling S.H.I.E.L.D. and all the other silly secret organisations run by mortals how dangerous and menacing his adoptive brother was.

Jess was flicking through one of the thickest books he had ever seen. It was a collection of astronomical anomalies written down in a language not even Loki could decipher and it was so big she had to stand upright rather than sit at her desk to read the top of the pages. She gazed at him from the corner of her eyes.

“Thor was no longer on Asgard and Mother refused to leave Odin’s side. I was the only one left fit to rule—only Thor’s idiotic friends did not accept me as their king.”

“Let me guess… they pretended you were the villain so you became the villain?” Nibbling on her candy necklace, she bit off a pearl with a loud crack. Loki flinched a little. It was short of a miracle she had not chipped any of her teeth yet.

“I saw my chance,” he said. “So I took it. I never saw myself as the villain. And I never lied. I was the rightful king of Asgard.”

Jess bent over to read the small print. She was still wearing the plait Loki had braided into her hair. It swayed from side to side a bit as it fell over her shoulder, revealing her neck. Her scent was almost unnerving—unnerving in a most ferocious and desirable way. Intoxicating. He had sensed it when she had hugged him already and now, part of him was greedy to press her close to him once more and feel her body against his. He suppressed a growl. He should be enjoying his quest to tiptoe nearer and nearer to getting this ridiculous collar off his neck and make this mortal woman swoon over him—not the other way around. He was the one in control. He had to be.

So he stepped closer, his tread so quiet Jess never heard him approach her.

“So you came to like it. The power of the throne?” She said without looking up. Loki nodded, oblivious to the fact she could not see him. She cursed under her breath when his arm brushed against hers, eliciting a barely noticeable smirk from him. It was amusing how quickly he could read her reactions to him now.

The Trickster swallowed. “I meant to prove myself to the man who never saw me as a potential heir in the first place.”

“How did Thanos find you?” Jess choked out when he moved in closer, demanding all of her attention to himself. It almost scared him how fast she forgot about the massive book on her desk, her eyes fixed on his face as if it bore the answer to all of her questions. Loki’s expression hardened nonetheless, regardless of how much the urge to taste her lips rose within him.

“How much do you know?”

“I know what M told me… that you were his ally and he helped you take over Earth in exchange for the Tesseract.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at her. “Then you know nothing.” Her glance found his lips now too. He was standing close enough for his warm breath to ghost over her mouth, her heart beating more rapidly with every passing second.

Fuck. Her office was being monitored. Sucking in a deep breath, she moved away from him and closed the thick book on her desk shut. “It’s late. We should head to the party.” She cleared her throat. “You can, um… wait for me here so I can get changed. Give me five.”

Loki nodded, taken by surprise until he noticed her glancing at the chunky surveillance camera in the corner of the room. Ah… there it was. The fear or shame or both to be caught being involved with him. Loki gnashed his teeth when she rushed past him, fleeing from the scene. That, at least, was something he was familiar with.

He remained in the office, almost as if glued to the spot, for a while longer before he made his way towards the cafeteria where the festivities would take place. Jess would catch up—besides, so he had to admit, he was indeed looking forward to seeing their faces when he joined the ridiculous little party and what it might give him to work with.

“Really, that’s all? That’s almost a little disappointing.” He heard Dave say in the distance, presumably a few yards away from him, his voice ricocheting through the dark hallway.

Loki stopped dead in his tracks. As silent as a mouse, he leaned against the wall, melted into it almost, and slowed down his breathing.

“Yes…” Another voice that Loki identified as Mobius’, replied. “We did take a risk with them but I must admit, I too almost expected a little… more. I thought one of them might… feel something, you know—a connection or recognition, maybe.” Loki could hear his suit ruffle as he shrugged. “Well, timelines can be unpredictable. We do know that better than anyone else.”

Connection. Recognition? For some peculiar reason, he was certain the pair were speaking about him. Him and… Jess? Who else could they possibly mean? His gut feeling, however, told him that he should, seidr or not, get rid of the security footage in Jess’ office as soon as possible. Whatever it was Mobius wanted to see unfolding between them, he was not going to grant him the satisfaction of presenting it to him on a silver platter.

Fortunately enough, they were too far away to hear him, he realised that once more when Jess’ footsteps echoed through the hallway. He knew it was her without even looking behind himself and yet, found his heart skipping a beat when she touched his arm.

“Ready? You know they might give you suspicious looks as soon as you… what are you doing?”

Loki gave her a disarming smile. “Nothing. Shall we?”

~*~

A/N: Put your swords up, put ‘em up; it’s going down.

[beware-of-you-98]

Ice Cream (BAU Family Fluff Fic)

BAU fam getting ice cream on a road trip featuring Hotch being a disgruntled dad, Emily being a rebellious little shit, Derek being an annoying big brother, Spencer just existing (seriously, all he wants is a Dilly Bar for god sake!!), Penelope egging them on, JJ being a sweet baby angel and Rossi being the only sane one in this entire fic

ao3 link

Aaron Hotchner loosely grips the wheel of the SUV, briefly looking in his rear view mirror to check on the rest of the team and ensure they're ready for the nearly two hour drive back to the jet (and to make sure they're buckled because, well, it's the dad in him that wants to check.)

Derek sits directly behind him, buckled up and lounging back comfortably in his seat. His earbuds are in, and no doubt his music is on full blast to drown out the rest of the team crammed into the van.

Penelope sits in behind the passenger's seat on her iPad, a set of thick, chunky headphones plugged into the device. She's buckled, immersed in whatever game she must be playing.

Directly behind her in the very back is JJ, who has her chin resting on her palm as she looks out the window even if the van isn't in motion yet.

Buckled.

Spencer sits in the middle at the very back, his long legs stretched out between Derek and Penelope. He has a thick, worn book in his hand, his finger gliding quickly down the pages as he takes in the words. ("Yes, he really can read that fast," Hotch often has to tell skeptics. "Yes, he can really process all that information. No, he's not a robot.") By the speed the young profiler is reading, Hotch knows that he'll be done with that book by the time they make it to the jet.

Buckled.

Sitting just behind Derek is Emily. She leans her head against a pillow she must have somehow smuggled in the back (Hotch also thinks it's entirely possible JJ gave her travel pillow to Emily, but none of that really matters.) The brunette is struggling to keep her eyes open, will probably be out as soon as the van is in motion.

Not buckled.

"Emily, put your seatbelt on," Hotch reminds her patiently.

Emily grumbles, grouchily reaching behind her. "You put your seatbelt on," she mutters, laying her head back down on the pillow.

Hotch let's the comment slide because he hears the click of her belt buckle.

He turns to briefly check on Rossi, whose sitting beside him in the passenger's seat. He's designated himself as the  map reader, the large square piece of paper folded out on his lap. (Hotch doesn't really think they need a map because they have a GPS right there but whatever. He'll let Dave do what the hell he wants.)

"Everyone ready to go?"

A chorus of "yes" and affirmative hums (and a disgruntled grumble from Emily) is all the motivation Hotch needs to start up the van and head out for the long trip they have to make back to the jet.

The highway is lit up harshly under the bright, unforgiving Arizona sunlight, heatwaves practically radiating from the asphalt. The air conditioning is on full blast in the van, providing semblance of relief from the harsh  and unforgiving heat. The van is sandwiched between the desert landscapes, long, green cacti and orange canyons towering like giants in the sand. Despite the time of day, the flat roads are virtually clear, sparse amount of other vehicles littering the highway.

Spencer looks up from his book after forty-seven minutes of straight reading, using his finger to mark his place. He brings up his other hand, uses the back of it to wipe his eyes as he yawns. He stiffly stretches his limbs, blinking hard as he stares out the bright windshield.

He focuses his attention up ahead on a blue highway guide sign, eyes scanning through the fast food and gas station logos without much thought. His eyes light up, though, when he spots a white square, signature red lip shaped logo stamped in the middle. "Hotch, there's a Dairy Queen at the exit coming up in the next five miles!"

"I saw that," Hotch says with a nod, using a tone much like he would with Jack when his son would bring him something the boy deemed really interesting. It's a tone that suggests the unit chief is listening, but has other things preoccupied on his mind. Probably getting the team to the jet on time.

But Arizona is hot. Unbearably hot. Like, if Spencer didn't consider himself a very logical man of science, he would swear his skin would melt off his bones hot. Even with the air conditioning on full blast, the sun's rays are completely and totally unforgiving and heat up the inside of the van like it's a god damned toaster oven.

A frozen treat from Dairy Queen, honestly, a Dilly Bar, sounded so perfect right now.

Spencer's mouth waters at the thought. "Can we get ice cream?"

"Reid, we're on a schedule," Hotch reminds the young profiler patiently. "We have to be on the jet to go home in a little over an hour and we're making great time."

Spencer can't help but pout a little. "But, Hotch, it's Dairy Queen!"

Derek pops out one of his earbuds. "Did somebody say Dairy Queen? Are we getting ice cream?"

With extreme patience, Hotch replies. "No, Derek, we're not getting ice cream."

"Ice cream?" JJ perks up from the back, lifting her head off her hand.

"I wan' a Blizzard," Emily mumbles with a start, sitting up in her seat and rubbing her eyes with both of her hands.

Hotch sighs, looking at Rossi. "Dave, tell them we can't get ice cream."

Rossi stares down at the map in his hands, flipping it over to read the facts printed on the back about the desert dwelling horned toad. (It shoots blood from its eyes. Gross.) "Why not?"

Hotch scowls, feeling betrayed that the senior profiler wasn't on his side. "Because we have to get to the jet!"

"Actually, if we take a quick five minute ice cream break, get back on the highway and maintain the speed you're going, we would make it back to the jet with ten minutes to spare," Spencer calculates, leaning around to look at the speedometer.

Emily reaches over and ruffles his hair with a sleepy grin. "And that's why we keep you around, wonder boy!"

Penelope slips her headset from her head and hangs it around the back of her neck. "What's going on?"

"Dad's getting us ice cream," Emily fills her in.

"I'm not getting you ice cream!" Hotch declines, sounding a bit more firm. He shoots Emily a glare from the rear view mirror.

She sticks her tongue out at him childishly in response.

Penelope pouts at Hotch's answer. "Why not?"

"Because I said so!"

"Mom, dad won't get us ice cream!" Emily whines in a pathetic tone.

Rossi looks up from his map in surprise when he realizes he is in fact "mom" in this situation. Glancing at the "kids" in the back of the van, he turns to Hotch with a shrug. "You're on your own for this one, Aaron."

"Gee, thanks, Dave," Hotch scowls.

"Wait, now I'm confused," Penelope starts up. "Are we getting ice cream or not?"

"We're not getting ice cream!" Hotch says in a louder tone, trying his best to put on his "chief voice", the one that let's everyone know that what he says goes.

"I just wanted a Dilly Bar," Spencer quietly says, pouting as if Hotch just killed his puppy or something equally as serious occurred.

"A chocolate milkshake sounds so good right now," Derek agrees with a hum. "Come on, Hotch. It's hot as hell out. You're telling me you don't want any ice cream?"

"No."

"I say we take a vote," Emily pipes up rebelliously.

"Emily, no," Hotch says firmly.

Emily ignores him, because of fucking course she does. Pain in the ass. "All in favor of ice cream, say I!"

"Emily Elizabeth Prentiss! Do you realize you are way too old to pull this childish sh—"

"I!" Emily cries out over Hotch's scolding.

"I!" Derek says just as boldly.

"I!" Penelope and Spencer say in softer voices.

JJ stays silent, but shyly raises her hand up in the air.

"Majority rules. We get ice cream," Emily says with a smug smirk.

Rossi raises his hand and draws an invisible checkmark in the air.

Hotch huffs in annoyance.

Unbelievable.

"Unless one of you is bleeding out, we're not stopping," he declares firmly. "And that's not an invitation for you to start, Emily!" he adds, glancing back in the rear view mirror.

Emily frowns, throwing her arms across her chest. "I wasn't even going to do anything!"

"Ooo, princess is in trouble. Princess is in trouble," Derek smirks in a sing song voice.

"Oh, go eat a dick, Derek Morgan!" Emily snaps at him.

His eyes shine gleefully. "Was your nap cut a little too short there, sunshine?"

Emily and Derek continue to bicker, their voices slowly being drowned out by Spencer and Penelope slowly chanting "Dairy Queen! Dairy Queen! Dairy Queen!"

The van screeches to a halt in the middle of the highway.

Emily lurches forward, busting her head off of Derek's seat with an angry cry, Spencer and Penelope nearly choke against their seatbelts, and Derek stumbles, reaching his hands out on the window to steady himself.

JJ has the foresight to brace herself with her palms against the back of Penelope's seat. She leans over Spencer, checking Emily's forehead with a concerned frown.

Emily's breath hitches as her soft fingers brush against her forehead, forgetting for a split second what just happened. JJ's fingers brush against the upper corner of her head, causing her to wince. Ow.

"What the fuck, Hotch?" she starts to demand, holding a hand to her forehead. She closes her mouth immediately, only getting out "Wha-" before she's silenced by Hotch swiveling around in his seat.

The unit chief shoots them a steely glare that even has Derek squirming uncomfortably in his seat.

"All of you, knock it off!" he snaps.

"I didn't do anything," JJ says quietly, eyes wide and innocent.

Hotch ignores her.

"Now, all of you, listen to me!" he continues on in his most stern "dad voice". "We are not stopping for ice cream! If I hear another word about it, we're turning this van around!"

"You made me bust my head!" Emily points out defiantly, pointing to the bruise already starting to form on her head.

"My neck hurts from the seatbelt," Penelope adds with a scowl, rubbing the side of her neck slowly.

"I didn't even do anything!" JJ cries out a bit louder. "Why am I getting yelled at?"

"I'm not sure about the legality of this situation," Spencer points out, rubbing his own neck. "We could be pulled over for being stopped on a highway."

"Enough!" Hotch's voice booms.

The van falls silent again.

"We're not getting ice cream, and that's final!"

They get their ice cream.

Derek happily sips on his chocolate shake, staring in content out the window of the van. Penelope is enjoying her vanilla cone covered in rainbow sprinkles, iPad slotted in the space behind Rossi's seat. In the very back, Emily eats a spoonful of Reese's Blizzard with a satisfied look on her face. JJ quietly but happily eats her own Butterfinger Blizzard. Spencer takes a bite of his Dilly Bar with a satisfying crunch, eyes glowing in delight.

(No one comments when, five minutes later, JJ is eating a Reese's Blizzard and Emily is now enjoying the Butterfinger's Blizzard.)

Hotch bites off the remaining portion of his Buster Bar, cleaning off the wooden stick between his teeth before he throws the trash in a designated garbage bag (thanks, DQ) situated between Rossi and himself. He leans back in his seat with a content sigh, pressing his foot down on the gas. The sun is starting to set and the sky is painted in beautiful colors. 

Most importantly, though, the car is finally fucking silent and he can finally focus on getting them all back to the jet in one piece.

He turns to Rossi, frowning when the older man just smirks back at him. "What?"

"Aren't you glad that the kids got their ice cream?" Rossi asks with another smirk, eyes gleaming in amusement.

Hotch scowls, both hands wrapping around the wheel. "Shut up and drink your Orange Julius, Dave."

[intubatedangel]

Cold Snap: Chapter 2

Chapter 1|

 *******

Dave was driving the ambulance down the towards the river road, approaching from the center of the city, when the call came through.

"All available units, major incident on river ferry, requesting all available units respond to docks nearest Tippers Point and North Inglebank." There was a pause as the technician dialed in straight to them. "3008, you're closest. Can you initiate triage protocols on scene?"

Dave looked at Lucy, who simply nodded, then picked up the radio receiver.

"3008 to control. We can do that. Do you have further details?" she asked.

"Not yet. You are to liaise with river patrol and assess the situation on scene. Use your judgement." The radio goes silent.

"That's a lot of help." Lucy sighs. The ambulance reaches the outskirts of the business district, turning onto the river road. Without skyscrapers in the way they can see the expanse of the river, the black plume of smoke clear and obvious, below it the water taxi, limping across the surface of the river. From this distance they could just make out people on the upper deck, waving their arms, and a speedboat, a red and blue strobing light flashing from a pole. Dave guided the ambulance between the traffic, which thankfully relented easily with everyone aware of their destination. He guided it off the road, onto the small dock.

They jumped out, already hearing other sirens approaching. Dave grabbed his radio, tuning to the emergency channel. "This is 3008, taking control of Inglebank incident." A properly trained team would be on their way, but that would be ten minutes. "All units report in upon arrival."

Lucy was looking out the imperiled boat. "I don't think she's going down. She's taken on water, but I don't think its totally fatal, not soon anywhere." She paused. "I should go out there."

Dave looked at her, seeing that she had thought it through, then simple raised the radio again. "Calling all river patrol, please divert 1 to North Inglebank Dock to take on medical passenger."

* * *

 Jones held tight to some of the hand holds on the rim of the patrol boat as it bounced and skipped along the river towards The Beetle. He was able to make out the design of the boat. It was long, with a stepped profile. The passenger compartment rose two levels, to better look out across the river. Towards the front, he could see a wide interior staircase leading down to the proper deck, flanked by doors to the lower level. Towards the rear, a number of windows had been blown out of the lower deck, with smoke billowing forth. The smoke was thick and black, and also running into the upper deck. The product of incomplete burning. If there was a fire, it was most likely just smoldering the oils and grease that must have been within the engine bay. Fuel would be burning much hotter, and would have taken out much more of the boat. That didn't mean it couldn't change.

With the smoke filling the interior, all the passengers had escaped to the front deck. It was crowded, and agitated, but not a complete panic. Yet. As the patrol boat eased up next to the taxi, close to an access ladder, Jones threw out a rope to a man in a high vis jacket, expecting it be one of the crew. The fact he immediately tied off the rope was a decent sign Jones was right. Winton was talking on the radio, so he climbed the metal rungs, and pulled himself onto the deck, appealing for calm as he tried to make sense of the situation. He approached the crew member, seeing that he's an older man, with a white beard and matching hair.

"You are?" He asks.

"The captain, sir."

"Good. I’m officer Jones, what's the situation?"

"Catastrophic engine failure. Couldn't get eyes on but I don't think it's fixable. We're dead in the water."

Jones bit back a flash of anger. "Is the boat sinking right now?"

The captain sighs. "Yes, but slowly as far as we can tell. My lads are trying to get access, find out more, but as it stands, she'll stay on the surface for plenty long enough."

"Ok." Jones turns to the crowd. "Help is coming, so please stay calm, we'll get everyone to safety." He scanned the crowd, seeing plenty of bloodstains and dazed looks, but nothing too major.

* * *

  Lucy had made a quick boarding onto the patrol boat that pulled up at their dock. Sirens had been approaching, but she trusted Dave to organise everything on this side. She double checked her bags as they skimmed across the surface, effectively deputising the one of the cops on board the patrol boat. She showed him a set of large colour coded tags. "We tag everyone!" She shouted over the sound of the motor. "Green for no signs of injury. Blue for cuts and scrapes. Yellow for broken bones, burns, anything you would expect to need treated." She explains each colour.

"Purple for conscious head injury, right?" The cop checked, having been part of major incident responses before now.

Lucy nodded in reply. "Anything worse, you point to me. Those will be priority one, understand?"

The cop gave her an acknowledgment, pocketting the stack of tags, and they made the rest of the journey in silence, both thinking about what they may find onboard the damaged vessel.

 A few short minutes later they pulled up alongside The Beetle, other patrol boats backing off to allow them access to the ladder. Lucy climbed up first, not hesitating for a moment. Reaching the deck she saw that things were not as bad as she feared. There were plenty of injuries, but the fact everyone seemed to be sitting or standing, and no one immediately tried to grab her, suggested there was nothing critical.

She waved the cop she had commandeered towards the crowd of passengers, who she noticed were mostly organised into the correct categories anyway. She spied one cop who seemed to have taken charge, on the opposite side of the deck, marshalling kids onto a patrol boat, and headed over.

* * *

Shona’s ears rang. Her nostrils were filled with smoke. Where....What....

Sensation began to return. Her whole body ached with pains and pressure, but one pain kept growing and growing. Her leg. Her leg felt like a constant sharp pain, like a spear was jammed in it. She tried to open her eyes, but her vision swam, and a wave of nausea crashed over her.  I took a moment for it to pass, before Shona tried to open her eyes again.

It was better, not by much, but not sickening. She was looking at whitewashed, decades old wooden boards. The ceiling of the lower cabin of the water taxi, and the doorless frame of the luggage compartment. That answered the where.

She started to look around, there was smoke, a lot of it, thick and black, flowing up the stairs. Something seemed off though. The smoke was rising at an angle, heading to the wall first. The boat wasn't level. It was tilted to one side. Which must mean. Sinking. The boat was sinking.

Instinctively she tried to move, to flee. But the pain seared through from her leg, and the rest of her could barely move either. She looked down, having avoided doing so up to now, only to see a whole luggage rack lying across her legs, pinning her, with smaller bags from the sides scattered over her top half. She could just see which bag was on her excruciatingly painful, almost certainly broken, leg. She almost laughed hysterically. It was her own.

The case prompted more details to came to mind. "Jack?!" She shouted, pushing away a couple of the smaller bags, trying to get a clearer view of the nearby floor. She saw him, crumpled in a heap, not far from her. They must have both been thrown down the stairs when the engine exploded. He wasn't pinned, but a trickle of blood ran from a cut in his scalp and he was clearly unconscious. "Jack!" She shouted again, grabbing a lighter bag, and throwing it at him. It had the desired reaction, he stirred, moving slightly and groaning.

His groan grew to a shout of pain as he pulled himself up. Shona watched him as he turned slightly, and she saw his right arm. More specifically she saw the bone sticking out of the skin above where he held it. She realised the implication immediately. There was no way he could help her remove all the bags. Especially not her own. "Jack!" She shouted again, trying to get his attention. He looked up, squinting slightly as he looked for who shouted his name. He was clearly dazed, working through things just like she had.

He looked around and Shona could see him piecing things together, before his head snapped back to her direction. "Shona? That you?" His voice was a little slurred

"Yes. Jack. Listen. I'm trapped. I need you to get help, to get these bags off me. I think the boat is sinking, so please hurry."

He squinted at her, shuffling forward on his knees. "Trapped?" He asked. "I..er...I can." His voice was off, still feeling the effects of the head injury.

"You can't. Your arm. Just go. Up the stairs, get help. Please!" Shona pleads, using short phrases in the hope it might help.

It seemed to work. Jack nodded. "OK... OK." He took a few deep breaths, reaching out with his good arm, grabbing the door frame of the luggage area. He pulled himself up, hissing with pain as he did so. His eyes found hers. "Hold on." He said.

She nodded. "Hurry..." She whispered. He nodded, then turned, stumbling towards the stairs on the listing floor, but reaching the stairs. He gripped the rail, then began to climb. A moment later he disappeared into the thick smoke, leaving Shona alone.

* * *

  "Ok Winston, that's all the kids." Jones looked to the small faces, many with tears rolling down their cheeks despite reassurance their parents would be with them soon. "Winston here is going to take and nice and steady for you guys! If you ask nicely he'll tell you about all the fish he knows!" Jones looked pointedly at one of the older kids, a girl, maybe 15, who nodded at him.

"I think thats a great idea!" She said loudly."What's the biggest fish you've ever caught Mr. Winston?"

Winston gave Jones a quick salute, before setting the patrol boat in motion. "Well, that is a story! Have any of our been out to west? Into the lakes? It's be, oh, 10 years ago..." Jones turned away, almost colliding with the paramedic.

"Lucy Branthwaite. You in charge?" She asked, rather abrupt, an annoyed look on her face.

"Apparently. Matt Jones." He held up a hand, forestalling her. "I know what you're going to say. We checked them for injuries. Greens and blues only, but i've directed them to the triage dock anyway. There should be enough time for your people to give them a once over before we make them busy."

Lucy's stony gaze on him held for a few moments, then softened. "Ok," she said. "What else have we got?"

"Mostly minors, a few bumps to the head though. I want to send those next with your permission, then work our way through the rest. We don't have safe capacity for everyone in a single go, but the captain says we should have plenty of time, before the boat becomes dangerous."

"Ok, agreed. Do all your boats have spineboards?" She asked, recieveing a nod in reply, get them all on deck, I'll assess the head injuries, immobilise those that need it I can have some of your man power."

"I wouldn't call them mine, but I'll spread the..." he's cut off by a shout, as crew members come running out onto the deck. "Hold!" Jones shouts, bringing them up short. "Report!"

"Fire! Fire in the engine bay, we couldn't put it out." The crew member shouted, causing a ripple of alarm through the crowd of passenger.

The captain came closer. "Quiet you fool. How bad is it?"

"Caught a fuel leak sir. We managed to clamp the lines before we got out, but its burning in that direction."

"Officer Jones, our time just became more limited. If the fuel tank blows we'll be under within ten minutes."

* * *

 The officer looked at her. It was hidden, but she could see the panic in his eyes. "Can we send the head injuries without immobilisation?"

Lucy ran her hand through her hair, looking at that small cluster of passengers, then she nodded. "I think so." She pointed to one bag, there's a dozen neckbraces in there, they'll have to do. I'll go with them in one boat, slow and gentle. Can your other boats handle the rest?"

"They'll have too." Jones replied. Before turning and barking orders, the air of command returning as soon as the decision was made, getting the less injured onto the first available boat, making best use of time.

Lucy made her way to the head injuries, and began fixing the collars, before handing them off to some officers who were helping them into the patrol boats as gently as they could. Lucy finished with last one, and looked around for Jones to tell him they were going, when she saw a new figure stumbling down the stairs inside. She saw the gruesome spur of bone sticking from his arm and rushed forward, pulling the door open for him. He almost fell into her arms.

"Help her...Plea..."

 The fire reached the fuel tanks.

[hotchgan]

How to Save a Life

Summery: Chris and Aaron get engaged but one fatal car crash changes everything.

A/N: So I'm starting to ship Chris and Aaron more than him and Blake. Anyways, this is connected to my two other fics called The Text Message and The Text Message pt 2. And yes, I stole the title from the song called How to Save a Life.

Taglist: @ellyhotchner @unionjackpillow @eleanorbloom

Warnings: Car crash, blood, head trauma, injuries, drunk driver

Aaron stares at the ring on his finger. The engagement ring, in fact. He smiles at the rose gold metal around his finger. Yesterday, Chris had proposed to him while they were eating dinner. Despite being an amazing profiler, Aaron didn't saw it coming.

Aaron opens the door and comes inside. It was a long day and all he wants to do is go home to his boyfriend.

He walks inside and sees Chris cooking dinner. Aaron walks up behind him and looks over his shoulder. Chris turns around to see Aaron behind him and jumps.

"Jesus, Aaron. You scared me", Chris says as he drops the spatula.

"Oh, sorry", Aaron replies. He picks up the spatula on the ground and gives it to Chris but he pulls him into a kiss.

"How was work?" Chris asks as he pulls back from the kiss but keeping Aaron in his arms.

"Not good, rough case", Aaron replies. Chris looks at his sadly.

"I'm sorry. Are you ok?", Chris asks softly, touching Aaron's arm. Aaron turns around to look at food behind them.

"Yeah", Aaron replies. He looks at the stove to see what Chris is cooking.

“What are you making?” Aaron asks.

“Some Italian dish. Rossi actually gave me that recipe. Turns out he can cook something other than pasta”, Chris jokes. Suddenly Chris’s phone dings.

“Can you get that for me?” Chris asks. Aaron felt a pit in his stomach. The last time his boyfriend asked to get his phone for him is when he found out that Blake has been cheating on him. Aaron slowly walks over to the counter and picks up the phone.

“Can you read what it says?” Chris asks, who was still by the kitchen, cooking them dinner. Aaron gulps silently.

“It says ... will you marry me?” Aaron reads the notification. He looks back at Chris who was now on the ground with a ring. Aaron covers his hand with his mouth to try to hide the tears.

“I love you, Aaron. I love everything about you. Even the things you hate about yourself. So, will you marry me?” Chris asks.

“Yes”, Aaron chokes out. He drops to the ground and places his lips against Chris's. They were going to get married.

Chris told Penelope that he was going to propose to Aaron. She helped him picked out the ring. They were both hackers in the FBI so they became friends quickly. Penelope though was dissapointed when she realized they weren't going to have a wedding. They just wanted to sign the forms and have a party later. Aaron never liked big parties, especially weddings. There is always some dessert that has strawberries that Aaron accidentally eats which leads to the rest go the day in the hospital.

When Aaron told Derek that they were getting married, he had joked that their ship name would be crotch. Derek and Chris couldn't stop laughing while Aaron was trying to hide his smile.

Jack was happy to find out that his father was going to marry Chris. In fact, he had already started calling him papa. Aaron was worried Jack would think Chris was going to replace Haley but he didn't seem to think that way.

Three days later after Chris proposed Aaron, they were both driving to their local register office to sign the legal papers. While they were driving, Aaron's head was resting on Chris's shoulder while complaining about Dave inviting more than thirty people to the party. Suddenly while Chris was driving, a car ran through a red light and smashed into the drivers seat. Chris pushed Aaron off his shoulder and the car got pushed to the side and hit a pole.

Aaron's head hit the glass window next to him. After a couple do seconds, Aaron slowly lifts his head from the window and looks next to him. Chris's head was on the steering wheel. There was a glass that hit next to Chris's eye and blood on the side of his face.

"Chris ...?" Aaron asks, softly. He shakes him a little to wake him up but it doesn't work. He presses two fingers on his neck to feel a small pulse. He's still alive. Aaron tries to get out of the passenger seat but the pole fell on the car trapping Aaron's leg. He looks outside to see people around them recording the crash. He also sees a couple of people calling 911.

Aaron tries to push the door open but the pole keeps him from doing that. Aaron looks around to see if anyone is near enough to help him but they're all too far. He looks behind him to the electricity lines on the ground, keeping from anyone coming near them. Aaron looks back at his leg and tries to pull it out. After a couple tries, he got his leg free. Aaron groans in pain. He goes into the back seat and gets out of the car.

He looks around to see if any ambulances are near but there was none in sight. His right leg was aching in pain but he didn't care. His only concern was Chris.

Aaron goes to the other side of the car, making sure he doesn't get electrocuted. Aaron looks at the car that crashed them. It seemed oddly familiar. He looks in the drivers seat to see empty beer bottles and a man with light brown hair and blue eyes. It was Blake. Blake was the guy who hit them.

[walker-journal]

Extreme Noodling (Dave+Adam)

Timing: Near Winter’s end, before Dave got bit

Summary: Dave and Adam wrassle some giant catfish (the google searches for this chatzy changed us as people I’m pretty sure. I know too much) 

Content Warning: lots of fish gore

The frost-flecked marsh water sloshed around Adam’s boots as he waded through the mire. Feathery moss hung in pale sheets from old maples and gnarled gum trees. Vertical clumps of reeds and cattails marked where the sparse islands of solid ground gave way to sluggish swamp water. This particularly frigid winter had touched the murk with thin sheets of ice, the fragile pristine white breaking under the slightest pressure for brackish mulch to pour through the cracks.

Adam was out in the frigid marshland today at the behest of David Herring, a sailor whom Nell has possibly summoned from hell as a birthday stunt. Adam was trying to take his return to Hunting gradually. His powers were slowly returning day by day, although resurgent strength and sharpening senses hadn’t brought any answers along with them.

Even more grueling training and keeping busy at work would have to suffice now, resolved  Adam as he held his rifle dry across his shoulders and waded towards where Herring was waiting.

Dave had braced himself against a nearby tree, his bag hooked over some higher up branches. Despite the frigid early spring weather, he stood in shorts and watershoes, already water and mud logged, but like this he could feel everyone and everything coming, no matter how big or small.

It was always a smart idea to have your back braced against something when you weren’t sure exactly where you stood with the person you’d called for back up. Dave wasn’t the type to calculate who owed who after surviving something together, and you never knew exactly what flavour of hunter you were getting until they had their knife against your throat. Most of the time, it had been alright, but considering the blood that stained Dave’s hands, he wasn’t surprised when things went the other direction fast. But the water in the marshes was even more still than the lakes, so he felt the ripples of Adam wading through the water long before he saw the young hunter approaching, so he was ready and waiting by the time Adam had slogged close by.

“Walker,” he greeted, raising a hand in greeting. “You gone up against a prodigium catfish before?”

Adam had to give mad props to the titanium viking balls this dude must have to go all beachwear in an ice swamp. However, as Adam might still want to have kids someday, these waders were staying on. Manly bayou bonding would have to wait.

“Read about them, never hunted them before,” the young Hunter admitted, the hot hills of California and the holy land having been more alghoul country then noodling holes.  

Dave nodded, watching Adam intently - mostly to be able to read his lips to make sense of what he could hear. At least the swamp was quiet, in the harsh way that winters often were. He didn’t have any kind of teeth guards on this time, his long canines exposed as he talked.

“This’ll be my fourth,” he replied, “but most of the others were juveniles. Feels about… fifteen feet, at a guess. Right now it’s about sixty feet that way.” He pointed deeper into the marsh land. “Fortunately, they ain’t agile creatures at that size, but they’ll crush you if they can. If you’ve read about them, I'm figuring you know about the barbs and arms.” He shifted, unstrapping a machete from the bag he’d hung from some tree branches. “If you think you can land the perfect shot, take it. Otherwise I’m thinking it’ll be better to get it in shallow water and incapacitate its arms for an easier kill.”

“Gothya, watch out for the barbs and baby Kermit arms, we gotta beach it in the the shallows unless there's an opening,” Adam reiterated, looking out at the hushed landscape of frost and brackish silt.

“But before we start I gotta ask,” the Hunter insisted as he knelt on the soggy crust the snowy embankment. He leaned the nonessential gear against the grey trunk of a willow.

“So...are you like sensing the fish right now? Do aquaman powers come with the whole wereseal thing?”

“Selkie. Something like that,” Dave replied, with just one eyebrow raised at Adam, unsure if he was missing out on some youthful slang or that Adam was not as informed as some of the other hunters around. Wereseal. The damn nerve. Not that there was anything wrong with being a werewolf, but Dave didn’t lose control like he’d gotten rabies once a month. It was all this damn tv, now everyone thought that just because you could change forms you’d have to be some cheap knock off were-

Dave hmmphed. Tiny pulses of water against his skin warned him of the large, slow being stirring in its tunnel, its mouth resting nearby the surface, waiting for prey to come nearby. “Any other questions? Ain’t exactly your college classroom.”

Ok, wait...so like, could Dave sense fish? If he could, was that a Dave-Selkie thing or a Dave-Dave thing? A tinge of frigid heat flickered in the back of Adam’s skull as something grew near, farther and larger than the palpable “otherness” that radiated from Dave. The Hunter tensed, but wasn’t going to pass up his last chance here.

“One more question….did uh….a hot Turkish motorcycle chick call you from a Hell Dimension for her sister’s birthday?”

The frosty mire stirred with an upwelling of bubbles that brought the brackish scent of rotting things with them. The dirty ice cracked upwards as an enormous bulk  briefly surfaced fifty feet away.

“Its like..ok if its yes, just been bothering me.”

Dave just… stared at Adam.  Had he heard that right? The words were distinct on the lips, but the sentence made no sense, not even when Dave happened to know there was a Turkish spellcaster who summoned things from hell dimensions. He wasn’t sure if he should be offended or complimented by the idea. “A hell dimension?” Dave repeated, just to make sure he’d heard right.

“The fuck are they teaching hunters these days? No, Walker, unless you consider Texas a hell dimension.” He cocked his head, considering. “Guess that wouldn’t be too far from the truth.”

The turbulence of water under the surface against his ankle had Dave looking around suspiciously, but the giant catfish was just reasserting itself in the water bed much, much to the starting of many smaller fish nearby, that darted away, including in their direction. Whether or not Texas was a hell dimension would have to be debated another day, preferably over a chilled beer.  “If we steer it a little to the left, the water there’s pretty shallow, and lots of land for you to use.” Not sure he was prepared for whatever other questions Adam might have, Dave began to wade deeper into the water, looking to get much closer before he caught the catfish’s attention.

“Not gonna lie,” Adam began with cheerful candor as he parkored his way between the more solid clumps of sodden shallows. “Texas sounds like a rough time for anybody who likes water.”

Dark hazel eyes glanced again towards the breach of a large slick mass against the ice, glimpsing what might’ve been a piscine whisker, before they focused back to Dave, crinkling with suppressed mirth around the edges.

“Waaaaaait,” came the dire moment of revelation. “If you have magic skin...in Texas, did you like accessorize it?”

“Dave, my dude...did you wear sealskin chaps?”

Adam was just in the start of pantomiming the Dave sauntering around Huston in this deviant form of cowpoke asswear when bulky shape burst from the icy murk.

“Hell yeah!”

Dave’s eyebrows raised right into his hairline as he looked over  at Adam, deeply unimpressed at his realisation. For a brief second, he almost knocked Adam into the water to quiet the kid, before remembering what they were here for. Maybe later.

“You’re lucky that thing works better dry,” Dave retorted, looking down pointedly at Adam’s rifle, but the tiny quirk at the corners of his lips belied his grumpy demeanor.

It was one thing feeling it stirring in the muck, and another for the large form  to crash through the crackly thin layer of ice. Dave grinned, his canine teeth bared as the form surged through the water, its wide mouth gaping for prey, not realising that it was no longer the predator. In the water, Dave was the more obvious target, so he started backing into the shallower waters, letting it think it was hunting him.

Considering how big the damn thing was, Dave hadn’t really expected it to be able to grab a nearby tree and use that to propell itself at Dave, barely diving out of the way before its jaw shut around him. When it’s body crashed through the water again, it sent waves of water and mud flying, but in missing it had given Dave an opening to drive the machete into its back, hoping to slice through the spine. The catfish flailed in protest, grabbing Dave with an arm like a tree trunk and dragging him under water.

----

“Aw shit,” Adam laughed as he tried to get a hold on the slick flailing creature that was driving Dave down into the murk, “it's trying to send you back to Texas!”

The icey bog water stung Adam’s bare arms with a cold burn that was soon replaced with an oiliness that seeped between his fingers. Adam gritted his teeth and lips shut to try to to get any of the frigid brackishness in his mouth as the catfish bucked and flailed beneath him.

Adam plunged his combat knife into the creature’s side, grime mixing with pale blue blood and the sudden reek of raw damp chicken. Trying to keep hold, Adam yanked out the blade and brought it down again and again, attempting to get the catfish to favor its wounded side and hopefully roll Dave out of the water.

----

It was fortunate that Dave was both hard of hearing and currently being wrestled by an enormous catfish underwater, because if he had heard Adam’s comment, there might have been a sea creature versus hunter alliance. The heavy set slime on his skin kept the catfish’s hands sliding off him, but as he was knocked deeper and deeper into the dirt, the chance of dying from being crushed by catfish was increasingly looming.

Dave bared his teeth and bit into the scaled underside of the catfish with little success, unable to open his mouth enough to get any kind of hold, but the overhead action above the water seemed to have more of an effect. Dave kicked himself out from underneath the catfish as the catfish trashed and tried to reach for the human above it, more interested in a prey that it could actually drown.

It curled its other arm around Dave as it reached for Adam, distracted by the dagger slashing deeper and deeper into its side. It wasn’t watching as Dave opened his own maw and bit down on its arm, bone snapping under his canines.

When Dave emerged from the water, it was with one of the arms firmly between his teeth, torn off the body and dripping blood into the water, he grimaced, dropping it onto the roots of a nearby tree that had started to sink into the water as the soil beneath it had given way to watery mud.

----

“Holy shit,” Adam effused in admiration of such unmitigated badassery, a grin brightening the Hunter’s grime-covered face as he climbed up the side of the flailing catfish. He hoisted himself up with each deep stab of the knife into the catfish’s spongy flesh as if it were a rock-climber’s spike. “That was fucking ace….hey what’s it taste like? Bet you got like Marsh-Mono now or something…”

Adam’s preliminary diagnosis on what disease Dave had doubtless contracted was cut short as the Hunter accidentally stabbed too deeply and pierced an organ. Greenish black fluid hemorrhaged from the wound and Adam let out a stream of gagging curses as the slimy knife slipped from his fingers into the acrid effluvium.

That momentary loss of purchase was all the catfish needed. Adam plunged into the marshwater as the fish spun into a deathroll and opened its toothless maw wide.

Adam’s world became warm and damply dark.

----

“Ah, fucking hell,” Dave groaned, wading deeper into the water. He couldn’t see where Adam had gone, but he couldn’t feel anything human sized with flailing limbs moving around in the water. If he’d been knocked out, it was a matter of moments before the human risked drowning. You couldn’t heal an absence of oxygen in your lungs. Thick blue blood pumped out of the catfish’s side, murking up the water, but it was still kicking, moving towards him with its still remaining arm. This was going to be tough just by himself, and without Adam moving around in the water, Dave had no fucking idea how to find him.

The catfish swiped, and Dave dodged out of the way with a slash at its side, seeing where Adam had been hacking deep into it, where it was also bleeding and oozing viscous pus into the water, stinking up a storm. Still no sign of the wayward hunter. Shit, shit. Hoping that with its movement he might get a better feel of where Adam was. “WALKER!” He barked, watching the catfish and staying well away from its brutish arms.

Which was when he realised there was something else moving inside the catfish and he realised exactly where Walker was.

“Jesus Christ.” He drove his hand into the deep gash in the catfish’s side, causing it to spasm in pain, hoping he could distract the catfish long enough for one of them to think of a plan to get Adam out of the monsters without… risking killing him while fighting the catfish.

Adam’s silver knife appeared from the catfish’s belly, a brief protrusion of metal followed by an upwelling of dark blue ichor. The enormous fish thrashed as Dave’s hand in its wound exacerbated this new pain burrowing out from the inside. The catfish bucked in spine-twisting arcs on the frosty mire as it instinctively tried to get free of whatever invisible thing was tearing at it.

The knife blade surfaced again when the panicked  flailing no had briefly subsided, the incision growing into a long fleshly tear that spewed gummy stomach lining. Long strips of blue-tinged mucosa and yellowish subcutaneous tissue spurted from the wound each time the blade retreated, staining the marsh ice in a splots of organic dyes.

Adam’s gore-caked right arm snaked through the widened opening, trying to find some kind of grip outside as the fish’s frenzied motions turned his world into a dark barrel-roll hell of sloshing fluids and pythonic stomach muscles. It was a dicey business as the fish’s jostling and this cramped space made accidentally stabbing himself a real possibility. The Hunter had nearly opened up a vein when he’d had to fold into the fetal position to retrieve the spare silver knife.

It was times like these where being trained to abandon thought and focus only on each incremental steps of survival came in handy. The horrid smell, the acrid taste of bloody filth in his mouth, the vertigo of the fish’s thrashing, the burn on stomach acid in his skin and eyes, and the rip-popping compression of the catfish’s spasming stomach messes would’ve made it easy to just panic.

Luckily, Adam had spent enough time being taking  doses of ever-higher concentrations demonic Terevi venom as a teenager that being digested  was no longer an excuse to slack off. It’s really those salt of the earth family values that build character y’know?

Adam stuck out one leg through the widened opening and placed it again one fleshy end of the wound for leverage as he pressed the knife’s blade upward, sawing his way through sinews and fat as frigid marsh water poured in through the opening.

Something suddenly gave and the world spun. Adam hit the squishy sod with a groggy oof but convulsing to hack up catfish blood.

The first time the catfish tried to roll, Dave punched it in the eye. The second, he sliced off one of its barbs and it knocked him into the water with its remained arm. Dave’s head smacked into a tree branch and he briefly saw stars. He got out from under it, and saw a shape tearing through the scaled belly. A leg. Walker. He almost wanted to surge forward and grab him, but the bleeding hole wasn’t enough to fit a whole man through, and yanking Adam out of place might trap him and make him suffocate. Dave couldn’t let the catfish roll  again, or Adam’s leg would snap like a matchstick. Dave hacked at its back with the machete again, blood spewing his body with every swing, now he knew where the hunter was cutting his way out from, keeping the catfish from grabbing at Adam or rolling again. With a final hack and a burst of bloody flesh, its intestines spilled out into the water in large ropes and bobbing in the water like grotesque pool floats. Adam along with it. The catfish spasmed, and twitched, its gills trembling, before at last it became still.

“Jesus fuck,” Dave said, rushing over to Adam’s side. He paused, waiting for the worst of the convulsions to pass before bending down, picking up Adam’s arm and swinging it over his shoulder. If the kid passed out, Dave was worried he’d faceplant into the swamp and breathe water. “Easy does it. Easy does it now,” He muttered, lowering Adam to sit on some firmer ground. “Keep your eyes shut, I’m gonna get this crap off your off your face so you can breathe,” Dave said, not being precious as he wiped the acidic gunk from Adam’s face, pulling a flask of water out of his belt and using it to rinse Adam’s face. He held his hand so that the water wouldn’t go into Adam’s nose nor mouth. Wasn’t looking to waterboard the guy afterall, just make sure that the acid didn’t cause permanent injury to his eyes or anything.

Pressing the half-filled flask into Adam’s hand so that he could drink or wash himself as need be, Dave stepped back, giving Adam space to catch his breath and assess his own wounds. He leant against a worn out tree, feigning a casual demeanor so Adam didn’t feel as intensely scrutinised as he was being. The thick sludge of blood and grime covering Adam from head to toe was mixed with stomach acid, and the little skin that Dave could see was turning pink where it wasn’t battered blue. “Always thought hunters had a flair for the dramatic, but you really take the cake,” he joked with the hint of a smile on his features, but the worry was there. Adam’s injuries would heal faster, but Dave wasn’t the one who’d just been eaten. He just remembered the feeling. “When you’re ready, you’re gonna need to get back in the water to wash the rest of it off.”

He didn’t ask, are you alright. He didn’t ask whether it hurt. He didn’t need to. He knew how trauma was what each hunter collected by the armful, this just another harrowing near death experience out of dozens that Adam had walked away from. This one might not even leave a scar, just a story to tell over a beer. Tomorrow, Dave would feel like he’d been hit by a truck, and in a week his muscles would still give him hell. In a week, Walker would likely be right as rain. But healing hurt, both the mental and physical sort, so he waited for Adam’s cue before coming in to help him get on his feet again. His own legs began to protest under both their weights, his ribs creaking. For right now, the adrenaline rushing in his weathered veins made this just about bearable, but they needed to make a move before the tides turned against them.

“I’ll tell you what, Walker. Once we’re both patched up, I’ll buy you dinner and a beer just to celebrate you not being dinner.”

[vortahoney]

There’s a Lot of Math in Engineering

A piece I wrote for my art trade with @bensiskos

Hope you enjoy!

The last thing that the engineer of the U.S.S. Barry had expected was for a Ferengi child to become attached to him. When the ship stopped at a trading outpost, the little guy— he said his name was Breba— had snuck himself onto it, completely bypassing security. He only managed to go undetected for a while. He was later discovered holed up behind some equipment in Engineering. 

And then was promptly put into Dave’s care.

It was no secret that Dave liked children, he got baby fever every now and then, and he did hope to be a father someday, but he wasn’t exactly enthused about the impromptu adoption. He didn’t even know this child! How is he meant to care for them?

Though, he couldn’t say he was insulted that he was his coworkers’ first choice for “immediate parent”. And he couldn’t say that keeping Breba safe didn’t warm something in him.

Breba was always ready to learn, even if he was obviously nervous. For instance, he seemed to be scared of people, but he listened so well in the U.S.S. Barry’s small, three-person school. He and Dave even got into a little routine, now that he was his roommate. 

Usually, Dave would replicate breakfast and then take Breba to the little schoolroom on the lower deck, except on weekends, when he’d cook breakfast and watch old holo-movies with him. In the afternoons, once Breba was done with school and they’d eaten dinner, Dave would read him a story and put him into bed. Every day he felt more and more like the Ferengi’s father.

“Dave?” Breba looked at him from his small bed, nest-like bed in the corner.

“Hm?”

“I think I want to do engineering.”

Dave looked up from his PADD and crooked an eyebrow. “Well, that’s good, that you’re taking an interest in something! What makes you want to engineer?”

“Mr. Dean says I’m good at math.” He paused. “And I like all the machines on the ship.”

“The ones you named?”

Breba nodded and paused a moment. “And you do it.”

“Yeah, I do.” Dave smiled, biting the inside of his cheek. “I could show you around engineering, if you want.”

Eyes brightening, Breba perked up and nodded.

“But in the morning. You need to go to bed first.”

“But—” 

“No buts! Sleep.”

Breba grumbled, but he did turn over and fall asleep. Dave couldn’t help but look for a while, smiling, before he turned his PADD off and went to bed himself.

***

Dave was woken up at 0500 by a smiling, wide-eyed Ferengi. 

“Mornin’, buddy…” His voice was rough and groggy. “What are you doing up?”

“We were gonna go to engineering today!”

Yawning, Dave propped himself up. “Work doesn’t start for four hours.”

“Can’t we go early?”

“Alright, alright.” He stretched and pushed his hair out of his face. “I’ll clock in early and show you around. If I had known you were so interested, I would have brought you to work with me earlier.”

“Yes!” Breba leaped off of Dave’s bed and scurried to get dressed.

Smirking and shaking his head, Dave punched a few codes into the replicator: a bowl of toasted tubeworms for Breba and a bowl of oatmeal for him. Breba was practically buzzing with excitement, wolfing down his food and unable to sit fully still in his chair.

“Hey, hey. Slow down, buddy, or you’ll choke. Engineering isn’t going anywhere.”

“Sorry!” Breba finally took a pause and wiped his mouth with his napkin. 

“So what do you want to see first?”

“The warp core!” He answered almost immediately.

“Alright, the warp core it is.”

As soon as everything was ready, Breba dragged Dave by his wrist down to engineering. Dave didn’t hesitate to show him where everything was (in case he got lost), but Breba was too excited by all the machines, stopping to point out every beep or blinking light, to pay full attention.

“And this is the warp core.” Dave stopped right in front of it, watching Breba’s excitement grow when his eyes caught the soft blue glow. “Do you know what it does?”

“It’s like the engine. It makes the ship go into warp speed.”

Dave nodded. “That’s true, but it also powers the whole ship. Life support, lights, everything.”

“How does it do that?”

“Well,” He paused, trying to find the simplest explanation. “It takes matter, and antimatter, and puts it through a fusion reaction. That reaction makes the power that the ship needs, but it could also destroy the ship. The dilithium crystals inside the core are what makes sure the fusion reaction doesn’t get too big.”

Breba nodded, eyes still fixated on the core and its blue light. 

Dave cleared his throat. “My job is to fix anything that goes wrong here, or really anywhere else. If you want, you could go to Starfleet Academy and be an engineer too.”

“When can I go to Starfleet Academy?” His wide eyes finally broke from the warp core and turned to Dave. 

“After you’re done with high school. Then you have to take a test, and if you pass, you can study in the engineering department for four to six years and get your degree.”

“That’s a lot of school…”

“Well, I think it was worth it. And you like school, don’t you?”

Breba nodded, perking up. “I do! I like math!”

“Good news,” Dave crouched down to his level. “There’s a lot of math in engineering.”

Breba laughed and nodded. “I know.”

“Now let’s go take a look at my tools, you’ll need to know what they do.”

*** 

Rumblings coming from the warp core weren’t exactly something that one could ignore, especially when they were growing more intense and frequent by the hour. Dave had been working for hours trying to find the source of the problem, but it was to no avail. Until, of course, it dawned on him that one of the dilithium crystals had broken.

Unfortunately, this realization came to him at the worst possible movement. One rumble, particularly intense, had caused the entrance to the warp core to collapse in on itself, leaving only one miniscule opening that no regular-sized person could crawl through.

Red lights were the only illumination in engineering, and the speakers blasted a countdown to complete loss of life support. Ten minutes. Dave’s stomach turned with anxiety as he pored over the ship’s blueprints. The inside of his cheek was chewed raw, and he was starting to taste blood. There wasn’t any solution that he could see, at least, none that wouldn’t involve setting off explosives in the middle of the ship and risking a warp core explosion. A nervous growl rose in his throat as it became more and more likely they were all going to die.

Just as he lost all hope, he felt a tug at his sleeve. 

Breba was looking up at him with wide, shaming eyes. “Dave?” 

“What are you doing here??” Dave squeaked.

“I… well, I… I got scared.”

Biting his lip and taking a deep, calming breath, Dave looked down. “It’s really, really dangerous here right now. How did you even get out here? I thought you were in school!”

“The door caved in but there was a hole.”

“And you… got through…” A lightbulb went off in Dave’s brain. “Breba, do you remember anything about the warp core?”

“I- I…” he thought for a second and nodded.

Dave crouched down and handed him a beeping instrument. “I think I might have a job for you. I need you to fix the dilithium crystals. You think you can do that, buddy?” 

“But I don’t know how!” Panic flooded Breba’s face.

“I’ll walk you through it.” Dave pinned a communicator to his shirt. “Don’t worry, you’ll do great.”

Walking Breba through the process of re-aligning the dilithium crystals wasn’t as difficult as either of them expected. He crawled through the opening easily and, with Dave’s instruction, the process was done in under five minutes. The real hard part was getting his poor hands to stop shaking. 

“Hey, hey…” Dave’s voice was soft. “You did great! You saved the ship!”

Breba nodded, the trembling refusing to subside, and spoke up in a voice that was barely a whisper. “I was worried that I’d mess up and that everyone would…”

“You didn’t, okay? You didn’t mess up. You did so great, but I’ll make sure that you never have to do that kind of thing again.”

Breba nodded and bit the inside of his cheek. Just as he did, he whimpered and started crying. Dave’s eyes widened, and he pulled Breba into a hug.

“Are you okay?” He said after a while. 

“Yeah…”

Dave smiled and stood just in time to greet the Captain as she entered engineering. “Captain!”

Captain T’Athy took a breath and looked him in the eye. “I trust you got the issue with the warp core resolved?”

He nodded, placing a hand on Breba’s shoulder. “The crystals were unaligned. This little guy was the only one who was able to get through the rubble and fix them.”

Blushing, Breba lifted his hand and gave a small wave.

“Good work, Ferengi.” The captain offered her hand.

Breba took it, blushing even deeper. The captain gave a swift nod and left to go man the bridge.

“Good work? Wow, I think she’s warming up to you.” Dave gave him a pat on the back.

“Dave?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’d be a good engineer?”

“Of course I do, buddy!” Dave smiled gently. “You fixed the warp core, didn’t you? Now, let’s go get you some ice cream, you’ve had quite the day.”

[nokas-meme-den]

Shit heard in Ghost Stories meme

"When this bitch kicks, I'm moving to Vegas."

"Have you accepted Jesus as your personal savior?"

"I don't care about your cat, he's probably dead."

"Principals always look like lesbians."

"When a stronger spirit appears, the weaker spirit cowers. But all evil spirits cower before Jesus!"

"Oh my, what a gifted seamstress. I hope you're not a homosexual."

"If you want something to happen, you just need to pray! And not be a Muslim. Or Jewish."

"What the fizzityuck was that?"

"Where's the damn cat?"

"These pajamas are gay."

"Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you come to the scary, isolated pay phone on the bad side of town, alone?"

"Maybe you have a hidden talent you don't know about! Like Paris Hilton being an actress! Oh, scratch that."

"THINK OF A BIG BLACK MAN CHASING YOU!"

"A car accident... must have been hit by an old Chinamen. I don't mean to be racist, but those people CANNOT drive."

"You'd be surprised just how many transgressions a filthy little sinner like you can rack up in just a day."

"Look, a little Jew boy."

"Come rub my nipples."

"Drop the Krispy Kreme, Serpiko! We need your help here!"

"My BS detector is going DING!"

"I can read. Not well, but I can read. And those letters... are BACKWARDS!"

"The weird part is, I'm not even high. Not a bit. Totally sober!"

"The internet was a blessing from the Lord Jesus to spread the word of God throughout the world, but then Muslims and pedophiles stole it and used it to lure out and seduce children like you."

"Hey, want some candy little boy?"

"You can use it if you promise not to be on the phone too long. I know how you Pagans take advantage of others."

"A bunch of somber, quiet people against a red nuclear sky near a river of blood. Wow, that doesn't look threatening at all."

"Why? Because Jewish people rock!"

"That's so sweet... in a 'you scare the crap out of me in an Emily Rose' kind of way!"

"Here, you can take pooky-poo. He used to be my man, but we broke up."

"The V on my sweater stands for 'Very Big Deal', but that's beside the point."

"Come on, jump... I SAID JUMP!"

"Yes, the animal cemetery. Hear the plot point bells going off?"

"I hope Stephen King never sees this."

"She's looking straight at us, I don't think we hid very well."

"Those 3 to 4 cardboard boxes aren't going to hold them for long!"

"Lord reveal your salvation, for I am your favorite among these heathens."

"Yo sensei Dave, what's haps on the snaps with the craps?"

"You two-timing son of a bitch! Who's gonna take care of these little bastards!?"

"Oh splinter ohhhhh!"

"Shut up. You're here, and you're an idiot."

"Years ago, people went in there but they didn't come out. Not unlike your sister."

"2.2 Celsius... Metric system. Who thought this was a good idea again? I'm just gonna put 100. No one's gonna know."

"Oh perfect, it's in Japanese. Ching chong nong ding tow! Wait, that's Chinese."

"God, can you go bomb an abortion clinic or something?"

"Creepy Japanese men can be cabbies too y'know. But women should never be allowed to drive."

"Obeying horror movie rules, I'm going to go out alone. You stay here while I go look for help."

"I'm not giving you a reach around."

"You're such a bitch."

"First we do a geographic montage to show we traveled a long way from your house. There, that should be enough."

"I'm gonna beat you retarded."

"Jesus saved my ass."

"And what a lovely little ass it is, too."

"¡NO CORRAN EN EL HOSPITAL, CABRONES!"

"Now that is some really nice animation."

"Nice rack. Mind if I make 'em a little bigger? Ahahaehehahhha boobies. Loooove boobies. Nice lips too. I USED TO HAVE LIPS!"

"Lunchtime BJ?"

"Let's see... purple, for your hair. Can't tell this was a goddamn anime."

"Okay. Stop trying to look up my skirt. IT'S A CARTOON!"

"Holy time machine, Batman, it's 1973!"

"Holy pre-Parkinson's Michael J Fox Christopher Lloyd Back To The Future plot ripoff device! Where's my DeLorean?"

"I'll grab her ass!"

"Oh damn anime, look what's happened to my eyes."

"Leo! Leo! Leo! Leo! Goddamnit! Goddamnit! Goddamnit! Goddamnit!"

"It's the chick from The Ring! I mean, The Grudge! What movie are we ripping off again?"

"Oh my god, did that spell work? You know, like the one where you write your name in an eraser? I hear the head cheerleader's having an abortion."

"Such a bitch! Stop being such a friggin' skank and give it back!"

"Sometimes yes means no!"

"Moshi moshi! I mean, hello."

"Tomomi? Ain't no Tomomi girl living here, so what?"

"Get your cracker ass into some rehab, I ain't got time for this bullshit."

"MOTHAFUCKA."

"Run! She's a ghost and a bitch!"

"I'm goin' fuckin' crazy."

"HEY! Maybe if they paid their fuckin' phone bill, you could call again!"

"Nobody's talking to you. Just drive the bus, bus driver. Fuckin' nosy."

"Oh, sorry. All you little yellow people look alike to me. And African Americans, but not the Mexicans. Why do you think that is? I mean, don't you find that just the weirdest thing?"

"Romans 1:26, God gave them over to shameful lusts!"

"A view of the blood-stained lake. AHHHHHHH"

"Oh it may be blue now, but soon it will be redder than Republican Texas."

"No, I'm serious, bitch. I swear to god. Blue."

"Maybe this vase isn't nailed down."

"We go with the snow but not the snow that is yellow!"

"Alright everybody, it's 4:30. School is finally over. Time to go home, load up that bong, and watch Pokemon!"

"Leave me alone, I'm doing my standard anime 'elbows up' pose."

"Oh wow. I can't even comprehend how inappropriate this is."

"GOD YOU'RE MAKING ME SICK."

"God you are four of the ugliest fucking kids I've ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes on. I can't wait for this bitch to kill you."

"NANIIIIIII?"

"Oh my, definitely a 10."

"If you do, I'll suck you all for a Scooby Snack."

"Any closer and there'd be insertion."

"I may be a successful doctor, but first and foremost I'm a Jew."

"You know what I hear? I hear the sound of you shuttin' the fuck up."

"Let's see... 7?"

"What the FUCK are you talking about!?"

[stopeatingwhales]

just friends x damon albarn

omg this is my first anon request! i really really REALLY loved this one, so thank you to the person who requested it! x

Paring: parklife damon x reader 

Warnings: nothing at all :)

Word count: 2.221

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

There’s this whole illusion that working as a manager for a band is the greatest thing ever. Yes, it does have its perks like living on the road for a few months, travelling the world - although that gets extremely exhausting, and not only for me, but for everyone - but it's filled up to the brim with shelves of endless paperwork and countless meetings everyday. Not just that, but having to go to band recordings at least 2 times a week. I did enjoy them, but when your only power source is 3 cups of coffee and a chocolate bar, things start to get tiring. Evidently, being so worked up and stressed out, I had always pondered why out of all career choices, I had picked this specific one. The fantasy of working for a band and having power to be the decision-maker for most things had gotten to me; doesn’t everyone crave at least some sort of power in their lives?  

I was working for a band called Blur. I first started working for them early last year, a couple months before their release of their effortlessly amazing album Modern Life Is Rubbish. They decided to drop their old label, along with their previous manager, saying they were too ‘controlling’ and that they wanted to create a sound which pitched more into them as people. The band consisted of Damon Albarn, the gorgeous front-man, Graham Coxon, the man with immaculate skill on guitar, Alex James, the very tall and lovely bass player, and Dave Rowntree, the multi-talented drummer. This band had more to it than writing meaningful songs and catchy melodies. They meant something to me. 

Over the year and a half we’ve been co-workers, I have managed to establish a very close connection with the four boys. They understood my situation, having to always be present, even at times when I’m aching for a break, a holiday, a layoff. One of the reasons I held onto my job so dearly was because of them. There were times where I had been interrupted pouring my heart and soul with tears on my office floor, interrupted by them. They were all supportive; I had been through hell with bad, toxic relationships, my heart continuously feeling lonely and contaminated with the workloads I was given every dying hour. I was able to talk to them about it all, I was able to trust them at times when I felt that no one was there. Especially Damon. 

Out of all of the guys, I was closest to Damon. I wondered whether it was because we related a lot, us both having our mental struggles, but were able to try and find the good in things - attempting to enjoy our late nights as a group, or solo. Sometimes after performances, he would scan the room, a towel lousily gripped in his right hand, the other playing with the broad belt circling his jeans. His eyes would land immediately on mine, catching my lips, rounded in a small smile, my hands tied together in a grasp, preparing myself to softly clap at him for his usual exquisite performance. His eyes would squint at me, his nose scrunched up to the bridge of his perfected nose, his reciprocated beam casually showing some of his front teeth as he bit his lip in consumption, and anticipation for the night ahead of him - with me. 

A while back, I had to attend a photoshoot the boys were doing for a magazine cover. Rolling Stone maybe? I can’t recall. However, I remember my eyes never managing to leave Damon. His foolproof self never failed to bewilder me. His excellent jawline, the way his eyes shone a deadly stare at the camera, making anyone, even the photographer, blush at his inborn beauty. Graham noticed me, but I never shifted my stare, only when Damon made eye contact with me after due to Graham’s nudge, in which I glared at the ground in enmity - my ears perking out, hearing all the small giggles and small remarks at how I’m checking him out. 

“Aw, look at her, she’s gone red,” Alex teased, I felt the eyes of them all carving words on my body.

“Stop guys, just drop it,” Damon answered sternly, defending me. The boys rolled their eyes as they continued doing some more shoots, occasionally switching positions. 

His bandmates always speculated there was something going on between us, whether it be that we’re friends-with-benefits or we’re secretly dating from fear of paparazzi. Regardless, we always denied their child-like theories. We were just friends. Even if I thought time and time again that this isn’t how friends act, we were just friends. 

It reminded me of a vivid memory: the second pit stop on the journey to France on the Parklife tour. It was around 5 in the morning, we were all awake - due to our excessive drinking and non-stop chattering all night - and the guys were desperate to get out for some fresh air. Unless you were Alex, who had to throw up around two to three times because of the exceptional amounts of whiskey he downed during a game of truth or dare. Me and Damon were the only ones who hadn’t exited the bus, my drowsy eyes and limp body were giving me more pointers to relax and sleep on the sofa rather than let my stomach give out and be sick like Alex was. 

Damon was in the bathroom as I was trying to adjust my leg positioning on the small sofa fixated in the middle of the bus. I stared up to the ceiling, a dozen hazy thoughts flooding my mind every second. Hearing the sound of the door unlock, the bathroom door to be exact, rang through my ears as the small thuds of Damon’s feet pattered by - getting louder and louder due to him approaching tonight’s sleeping spot. The rough, worn down sofa. 

“You alright?” his raspy voice asked, causing a tired smile to curve onto my lip. I loved hearing his voice hoarse and gravelly, whether it being from the early mornings we had to get up to do sound checks at an arena, or after he had drunk too many shots like the rest of us, it always intoxicated my ear drums. It’s like when you try a sweet that your friend gave to you for the first time because she had a brimmed bag of them, and the taste so sweet but sour it coated your tongue so scornfully, you begged and craved for more.

“Yeah, just tired perhaps,” I stretched, shifting my gaze from the ceiling to Damon, standing there as if a war was going on inside his head. “Are you alright, Damon?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, he blinked a few times, scratching his head roughly. “Yeah… Do you want to bunk with me tonight? You having to always sleep on the couch is kind of… Shitty,” he stammered, not knowing where to put his hands.

I sat up on the couch, my hands tied to either side of my body. The same, drained beam was splattered on my face, nodding slowly. “I would love that,” I stated, watching him reciprocate my smile onto his adorning features. “You’re going to have to help me up there though, I feel like I’m about to drop,” 

He laughed lightly, grabbing my arm and lifting me up from the settee. Guiding me to his bunk, I leaned on his body, my own being too exhausted to cooperate with me at this time. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he said, carrying my body to the bunk. As I laid in the bed, I inhaled the smell. The bed smelt of him. It had an aroma of worn down cologne, hooked with a scent of red wine - he carried a flavor that any woman would cling onto his arms and never let go. Watching him climb into the bed with me, was all a dream come true. 

~~~

We were currently in a recording session; Graham had mentioned that there was this new melody he had created, and wanted to show the rest of the band, hoping they’d find ways to add it into a new song of some sort. I was sitting at the back, by the exit door on the scruffy red couch, staring at the producer talking to Alex as he began to play a bassline he had formed on the spot. It had potential, the whole song did. The way that after a mere show of Graham’s guitar abilities, they were able to brainstorm ideas for a brand-new track on an album that hadn’t been created yet. Damon had some old lyrics written down from when he was on the road on their previous tour, so he had decided to use them on this event. Everything pieced together gracefully, my admiration for the entire band as a whole seemed to grow every single time I was able to peacefully watch them create another one of their artworks. 

“All right, Damon are you ready to record some vocals?” The producer asked, turning around in his swivel chair to make eye contact with Damon. He nodded, firmly grabbing onto his lyric sheet, licking his lips in anticipation as he stepped into the second room. 

As Alex left the other room, he came and took a seat next to me. Graham was talking to Dave, thinking of things they could include into the melody. I stretched my arms out dearly, avoiding hitting Alex, who was staring at me. I smiled at him, trying to initiate a conversation. “Good bassline you got there,” 

He chuckled nonchalantly, “That’s what I do,” 

Rolling my eyes at his sly remark, we began talking about the apprehension for a new album this year. “After this, we’ll all be inspired to write more stuff, so we’re bound to create a new album, even if we literally just got off tour,” he chirped as I nodded my head slowly, the sounds of Damon’s voice deafening me in the most alluring ways.

“He’s looking at you,” Alex added, nudging my arm, detaching me from my stance.

Confused, I swiftly turned my head to look at Damon, catching his eyes in mine. Even though he was far, three or four metres away perhaps, I was still able to study his wondrous, captivating blue orbs that I had grown so deeply mesmerised of. I began blushing lightly, feeling the throb of the blood rushing to my cheeks, as I bit my lip and looked down - once again. 

“Perfect, Damon, thanks for that,” the producer said, signalling for Damon to exit the room. He smiled and nodded, briskly walking out of the room. He grabbed his water bottle placed on an unused amp, taking a couple gulps from it before welcoming the repetitive comments. 

“Come on mate, if you’re gonna at least try and hide the fact you like Y/n, you should at least stare at times where we’re all looking at you,” Alex teased, his eyebrows raised in amusement. “And don’t try to deny you like her, when it’s so fucking obvious, mate,” 

“I mean he did sa-” Graham began, but instantly cut himself off as the realisation washed over him about what he was about to say. My eyes widened at his comment, almost immediately turning to look over to him, Graham, who was avoiding his eyes at me. 

“Seriously Graham?” I heard Dave mumble, my stare too consumed by the tiny rips on the couch arm. 

“I’m gonna go... To the toilet,” I lied, my mind overwhelmed over the situation. What was Graham going to say?

Countless things and speculations raced my mind as I stood outside the studio door, my head beginning to hurt as the situation replayed in my head. I leant against the cold wall, shutting my eyes in an attempt to recollect myself. It didn’t mean anything right? 

As if on cue however, the door opened, a gush of air brushing past me. Opening my eyes, I was welcomed to the sight of Damon, anxiously standing in front of me. “There’s something I need to tell you, but you can’t get angry and leave after I say it, okay?” he rushed, walking away from the door and to the wall beside me. Nodding, I chewed on my top lip, fear painting my face all over. “I… I love you, Y/n, and I have for, god knows how long.”

Once those words escaped his mouth, I felt my heart drop. After the continuous ‘we’re just friends’ speeches, I realise it was all false. I knew the way we acted towards each other was more than friends. More than best friends. We both liked each other, for a really long fucking time. 

“Thank fuck,” I answered, grabbing his neck and kissing him. His lips tasted sweet, the softness of his mouth due to the lip balm he had put on at the start of the session made me want to fasten my lips around his mouth and put the world on hold. I wanted to stay like this, forever.

Pulling away, our previous frowns had formed into smiles. I smiled so wide my face began to hurt, my heart feeling like it exploded after hitting the ground, like a firework on new years eve. “I love you too,”