#Am I tired? Yes! Do I regret anything? No!

[paulyenvol6]

Bruised, Not Broken (Part 3)

This is part three of this little series and it's based on these two requests: 1 and 2 Hope you like it :)

Contains: reader giving birth, anxiety, mentions of pain

Wordcount: 3.06k

Masterlist

When you woke up the next day you needed a moment to remember what happened the other day and couldn't help but feel regretful.

Yes, you thought it was best to reconcile with Daemon now, but the prospect of having to deal with him now so early in the morning….

And yet you quickly got up and sent for your handmaidens and then half an hour later you stood in your room fully dressed and ran a hand over your stomach.

"Are you alright, my lady?" your servant Avila spoke with her thick accent while looking you up and down.

"Yes. I am."

She nodded friendly and then left your chambers.

You closed your eyes, inhaled deeply and then folded your hands over your belly. It was minutes later when a guard announced that Daemon had landed on the island and so you started to make your way through the corridor, out of the castle and to the gate of dragonstone with Ser Roggers by your side.

You did everything with a straight face and didn't allow your emotions to shine through for a second when you saw Daemon approaching from the far. The closer he came the more your heart seemed to be torn apart by an invisible force and then he stood in front of you with a look in his eyes that reminded you of longing.

"Y/n," he breathed but you tried to look as cold as possible.

"Daemon. Would you follow me inside, please?"

Without even waiting for an answer you turned around and walked towards the castle and you could hear both men quickly following you. The wind roared in your ears and had this strange fear of drowning suddenly. Everything washed over you and you had to bring up all your will-power not to instantly break down. Seven hells, you hadn't thought that seeing him again would be that hard. But now there was no going back and so you endured the short journey and then the three of you found yourselves inside of the castle in front of a table.

"You can go now," you told the knight who bowed and obeyed your order while you sat down on a chair observing Daemon with your most dangerous look.

"Y/n," he whispered again and if you hadn't felt this miserable yourself you might have laughed at his whiny voice.

"Shut up," you hissed and gestured to a chair. "You're not here to do the talking."

Daemon hesitated but eventually slowly sank down on a chair, not looking any better.

"I allowed you to come here today because I will give birth soon. And… And it's still our child and so although I'll hate to even be in the same room as you, I give you the chance to be part of its life. And well, I thought I better get used to you coming here regularly now rather than after I have given birth."

You had dropped your gaze and therefore couldn't see his reaction to your words. At first he didn't say anything and at some point you just had to see his face so you looked in his tired eyes.

"Y/n," he breathed which made you chuckle.

"Do you have anything else to say besides than my name?"

"Come back, y/n." You scoffed and shook your head in disbelief.

"Gods be good, Daemon. Are you fucking kidding me bringing this up again now? I give you a chance here and this is how you're thanking me? I will not come back to you and you should start getting used to it."

Daemon crossed his legs and placed his hands on the table in front of him.

"We can have a life in the keep. With our child, y/n."

"No we could've had a life together. If you hadn't fucked this up."

You were so furious again that you heard your own heartbeat louder than anything else in the room. Obviously he had nothing to say against your words so the both of you remained silent until you sighed out.

"Well. As I said, I allow you to be part of this to some extent. You can come and visit if it's not too frequent. And… you can be here when… when I give birth. And we'll see how we'll handle it afterwards."

Your voice broke and you were glad Daemon didn't comment it and instead stared to the ground.

"C-Can I feel it?" he then asked with a trembling bottom lip.

You gulped loudly trying to surpress the tears welling in the corner of your eyes and inhaled a few times. But then you nodded and your husband who you had once loved so dearly approached you until he stood in front of you. He lifted his hand to your belly and gently stroke it while you were able to identify the wetness in his eyes as traces of tears.

"What do you think it will be? Boy or girl?"

You sniffed but shook your head. "No idea." You simply couldn't bring yourself to look at him, it was too painful.

You could take the easy path. You could say you forgive him and let him hug you and take you back to king's landing. You could give birth there, live by his side until the end of your life and act like none of this ever happened. But then you would also have to live with all of this distrust and fear that he would betray you again. You couldn't even think about him touching you now after what he had done. Every time you would look at him you'd be reminded of the way he had broken your heart and you knew that this weighed more than any happiness he could ever gift you.

From now on Daemon came to Dragonstone on a regular basis and you almost asked yourself how he had the time for it. To be precise, he came whenever you allowed him to.

And when he did, the two of you strolled around the garden of the castle, drank tea together or sat in the library. Of course your deep anger towards him didn't vanish in any way and yet you couldn't deny the fact that he grew more familiar again. And the strangest thing about it was that you didn't do anything about it despite noticing it.

You set clear boundaries, refused his offer to take you back to the capital countless times while claiming that you'd never come back to him but on some days you found yourself talking to him about unimportant topics for hours just as you had done before this whole mess.

Once, Daemon brought an exotic flute from Essos with him which he gifted you and so you spent the afternoon playing familiar tunes that the other person had to name. On that day you forgot what Daemon had done for a brief moment which you shocked you so much afterwards that you immediately asked him to leave. And then you lay in your bed questioning if this had actually been a good idea. You couldn't allow yourself to emotionally grow close to him again and risk making stupid choices.

The days and weeks passed, and then, when the Maesters predicted it could only be a matter of days before you went into labour, you decided that it would be best to allow Daemon to stay at dragonstone for a few days so he wouldn't miss the birth of his child.

He accepted your invitation with pleasure and promised you he'd always be by your side when he arrived which you commented with an eye roll. Whatever all of this was, you would never be his again. You would never get yourself in this position again.

It took two more days until the day had finally come. You spent the morning in your favourite chair as walking had become difficult for you. Daemon offered his help at any given chance but you refused him as you despised everything that made you feel dependent on him after all.

Around midday you started to feel a stinging ache in your core but you didn't want to call the maesters unless you were absolutely certain that the babe actually came so you waited ignoring the pain but Daemon noticed the way you shifted in your seat.

"Y/n. Is everything alright?"

Determindely you nodded. "Yes. Just keep reading."

He narrowed his eyes but lowered his gaze to his book again until it seemed to him that your breathing became heavier and he stopped again.

"Y/n. Are you sure? I can get the maesters, maybe it's coming."

If you hadn't been so exhausted you would've rolled your eyes at him but now all you did was avoid his gaze.

"I said it's fine. I will now when it's coming. Just shut up and let me at least concentrate on my book if you're not able to read yours."

Of course you knew that you were being unfair and rude to him but he didn't deserve any better. You felt good thinking that you had hurt him. You wanted to hurt him until he felt just the way you had after you had found out that he had cheated on you. That very moment had left scars on you that you weren't sure would ever heal. Didn't he deserve just the same?

You remained stubborn for another few minutes but soon you reached a point where you couldn't uphold you pride any longer and hissed out loudly. Everything inside of you refused to ask Daemon for his help but he was the only person with you in this room after all and so you were dependent on his help.

"Get the maesters, Daemon," you said with closed eyes and tightly gripped the armrest of your chair. He looked at you with big eyes and immediately jumped to his feet.

"Fucking go already," you urged him and then he was gone.

You didn't know how much time had passed when he returned but you knew that the pain became more unbearable the longer you were sitting there and when you saw the face of maester Gregor you almost cried out in relief.

"It's coming, it's coming," you breathed panicky and intended to get off your chair which Gregor instantly prevented by gently pushing you back by your shoulder.

"You need to stay calm now, my lady. Breathe steadily and then we will get you to the bed. But panic won't do you any good now, alright?"

You nodded and closed your eyes again as you could listen to your own breathing better that way. And then soon Gregor and Daemon helped you get up by wrapping their arms around your back and led you to the bed in the middle of the room.

"Careful now," Gregor urged and you bit your bottom lip surpressing a cry. It hurt like hell and you wondered how any woman voluntarily would want to go through this more than once.

"It will probably be less painful for you if you go on all fours, my lady," Gregor's voice cut through the air and your clouded mind was able to comprehend and act accordingly.

The two men helped you again and you found yourself on your knees. Gods, what were you doing here? You had no idea about giving birth and what if it just simply wouldn't come. Or what if it died because you messed up? Or what if you died?

You dropped your gaze and let the tears flow which Daemon seemed to notice because he stepped closer to the bed.

"Y/n. Look at me." But he was the last person you wanted to be comforted by now so you shook your head.

"Please. I know that you'd rather never see me again but please let me help you now."

"How the fuck do you wanna help me? Do you wanna press this child out?" you growled with flashing eyes.

Suddenly his hand was on your shoulder giving you support as you had threatened to collaps.

"You got this. I know that you will deliver this child because you're the strongest person I know and I need you to trust in yourself. It will be fine."

"Shut up," you said but sounded a lot more quiet now. You heard voices around you which hinted at the fact that your handmaidens had come to support you as well and when you saw Avila's familiar dark locks you felt a lot safer all of a sudden.

"The babe is coming, my lady. You need to press now. Hard," Gregor told you and you really tried but it hurt so much that you wondered if it was supposed to feel that way.

"OH FUCK," you screamed and gripped the bed sheets while grinding your teeth. When you felt Daemon take your hand, you didn't even push it away, because after you squeezed it, you realised how well it worked to get rid of some of the tension in your body.

"You need to push harder, my lady," your maester then said and you let out a cry.

"I can't. I can't do this." You felt Daemon press a kiss on your hand that enclosed his firmly.

"Yes you can. You can do anything, y/n. Just breathe, okay? You can't forget to breathe and then the rest will work out."

"Daemon," you hissed overtaken by a new melancholic emotion.

"Yes, I'm here. And I won't leave you alone, I promise."

And although you wanted to tell him that you would rather have him leave you alone you couldn't. Because it wouldn't have been the truth. Suddenly his presence was comforting and his voice that encouraged you every now and then gave you energy.

And yet it took almost another hour until the child came. A boy. A blonde boy that started to scream the moment he felt the air brush over his wrinkled skin. You on the other hand collapsed on the bed and cried against the cushion while Daemon repeatedly ran his thumb over the back of your hand.

"It's okay, you did it, y/n. You did it and I'm so proud of you."

Gregor had taken the boy from you to see if he was alright and healthy but soon when you had control over yourself again you demanded to hold your child. Gregor followed your command and placed him on your chest once you had turned on your back again.

He was so tiny that you feared you would break him and only very gently caressed his little head. You had carried this beatiful creature inside you for so long? You felt so connected to him already although you had only just seen him for the first time.

For a while you could only stare at him, mesmerized by how vulnerable and yet beautiful he looked in your arms and then you glanced at Daemon's hand brushing over his son's cheek.

"Have you thought about a name?" he asked and you nodded without taking your eyes off him.

"Yes. He shall be named after my father. Arren."

You didn't care whether Daemon approved of it because you had already chosen the name and deep down you knew that he wouldn't dare to interfere. He didn't answer at all and the both of you spent the next minutes in silence watching Arren wrinkle his nose. He was a lot more calm now that he got to be in his mother's arms and suddenly you were so relieved that you felt fresh tears welling in your eyes.

"He's pretty," Daemon whispered and you couldn't help but agree with him on this one. "He is."

"Darling?" he then asked and you were too absent-minded to notice what he had called you.

"Mhm?" you just made too busy admiring little Arren.

"Let's go home."

For a moment you didn't say anything and perhaps Daemon believed it was a good sign. But then you chuckled quietly and shook your head in disbelief.

"No. You still don't get it, do you?"

Your voice was barely more than a whisper because you definitely felt too tired to raise your voice at him and yet you had never been more convinced of your words.

"But he's supposed to grow up in king's landing. His whole family is there and… and we can just have a normal life together. Like we always wanted."

He looked like he wanted to say more but you cut him off by raising your hand.

"Our relationship is over. You had your chance but you messed it up and nothing will ever change that. If you insist I will ask Viserys to annul our marriage."

Daemon sighed and threw his head back. "You know that he won't do that. There is a child involved."

Of course you knew that he had a point but there was no way you would show him any sign of doubt. "I will find a way."

Your husband pressed his hand on his eyes but you just kept talking.

"You can see Arren whenever you like and maybe he can come to King's Landing some day. Only for a few days of course."

Daemon let out a disapproving hum and sat up straight again. "You can't keep my son away from me."

"I'm not keeping him away from you. As I said, you can come here whenever you like. But we are not in a relationship anymore."

You glanced at him for a brief moment and noticed how tired he looked. You had never seen him like that. During the "good" part of your marriage you had never seen any sign of a weakness on him. He was the rogue prince, a fierce warrior who couldn't get intimidated by anything, but right now? He looked 10 years older than he was and had dark circles under his eyes.

'All of this is his own fault,' the voice in your head reminded you and you turned your head away.

"I'd like a moment alone now. I'm very tired as you probably can imagine."

And Daemon followed your request without saying another word.

Did you break him at last? Would he stop begging you to come back? You didn't know, but that would be a problem for another day.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@avalyaaa @inlovewrafe @fanfics4ever

[34saveme34]

okay, kind of real reason I said this, might delete later though if I feel I regret saying it but

this is about how 4 interacts with 3

it feels like in certain fanworks, 4's doubts and feelings are completely disregarded

he's just there to be teasing 3 about how he's gay and to fluster 3, even when he doesn't say anything which is even more odd to me

when, based on how 4 seems to work as a character when it comes to 3 it's always to for one, get back at him, and also, I think he has a hard time being genuine with 3 and gets stupid flustered about it so he pushes it into being a mean little bitch

channeling his energy into making 3 feel worse instead of letting himself feel what he would feel

and when he lets himself feel those things they don't last long AND it's in like. dire circumstances or at least sad ones, being Trash Friends and Perfect

especially Perfect where first he's like "I didn't know you felt that way" to 3 I DO think he's like a little flustered like cmon so of course after that he has to put out that energy in teasing 3

and it's NEVER randomly or just cuz

each time he would tease 3 it's during character development times

yes, when he called him a tsundere was also one

I think he accidentally established himself being like that with 3 when it comes to feelings and stuff because of their past

and I also DO think he absolutely has self esteem problems that make it hard to admit to it, possibly some internalised homophobia where he's like, it's not fully specifically about being gay but about who he is gay for, so maybe my word choice here wasn't entirely right oops

but yea like, especially with recent stuff, I do genuinely think he's scared to admit to shit too

like I know I know it's a meme show but like if they SOMEHOW are genuine both at the same time, they'd be LITERALLY unstoppable I'm telling you

and also filled with so much gayness but that's a given

maaaaaaaaaybe this was spawned by me seeing way too much fanon stuff where he is overly confident and I keep saying when I see them that "he wouldn't say that" "he wouldn't do that" but I DIGRESS HDLFKJDKL

btw, nsfw/suggestive part of fandom, before some of you come at me, it doesn't mean I can't see him as dominant, that's a whole another thing, him being a loser has NOTHING to do with fucking, okay okay, anyways enough of that

but yeah man, if 3 was just a smidge smarter and less scared of the idea that 4 could make fun of him, maybe in a very specific situation he could easily tease 4 and 4 would be very VERY caught off guard, like 3 would "accidentally" imply feelings for 4 and first 4 is like :O like visibly stupid shocked then going with "the Bit" and making it look like he didn't just think that 3 wanted him so badly and then 3 would continue the bit because he also doesn't want to be awkward- cmoonnnnn

now on that I also don't like genuine confident 3 either, he's overconfident to a comical degree to make up for his fragile ego and also scared of being vulnerable but he's also not a baby and I'm tired of pretending that I'm not seeing that. he's grown, he's stronger now, maybe not quite fully but man, am I proud of how far he came despite it all

[taps mic] is this thing on?

may I share an idea?

internalised homophobia 4- [I'm booed off the stage and escorted off the premises for my take]

[bywandandsword]

I have had such a socially good few days?

Chatted with a lady at the thrift store and it wasn't awkward

Went to a ghost story reading at the library

Had a really good discussion class in history

Actually got into costume for Halloween and went to the Bird Club party

Got offered an officer job for bird club for next semester because "I think you'd be really good at it"

Got complemented on my costume a lot

Ran a table at a Dia de los Muertos event hosted by the museum and showed a bunch of kids how to make ojo de Dios

Helped clean up after and had non-awkward chats with the other volunteers throughout

One girl said we should hang out later

Went to the Wabanaki flag raising to celebrate Indigenous history month with our decolonization group

Swapped Halloween pictures with another girl in the group and talked about vampires

Met with a guy from history class and when I told him I celebrated Samhain, offered to connect me with another pagan he knows

In the same conversation we talked with a girl who's Mi'kmaq who's trying to get the campus Native American Student Association back up and running, and when I told her about our decolonization group, we both thought it would be a good idea to join forces

Swapped contacts with, like, five people

Like, in the past, when I went out to things like this, it was by myself or hardly anyone would talk with me longer than a quick "hi". I don't know what I did to deserve so many nice things happening, but yeah! I hope it keeps up!

[guinevereslancelot]

el oh el. just got to tell the guy who dumped me (to make more time for skiing) that yes you can ski on my property actually 😌

[eastofedean]

8i've been thinking about the last asks i got today. and i think it's better for me to take a step back from this account. i know the anon didn't mean anything by it, but i still feel like i am being a negative presence on here and weirding people out with who i am is nothing i want. so, i am not deleting or anything. i am just gonna be less present with sharing personal things or leaving tags. I'll probably be more active on my second account where i don't have that many followers :)

[bibiana112]

Girl are you okay? Cause you've been looking through the "My lesbian experience with loneliness" tag again

Well the short answer is no :D

[thecherrygod]

Hm

[darkmatilda]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your first solo, undercover mission unexpectedly spirals out of control when a real heist begins at the scene.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x newbaumember!femalereader, robbery, the reader becomes a hostage, is beaten by the attacker (quite severely), killing of hostages, shooting, inspired by s1e9 where spencer saves elle on a train (the plot is very similar but set in a different scenery), spencer's pov, the attackers are definitely not the gentle type, reader is wearing a skirt (her whole outfit is described), glasses reid propaganda

𝐚/𝐧: merry christmas guys <3 fasten your seatbealts and get ready for this rollercoaster.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k

"Why do I get the feeling that neither of you is even half as stressed as I am? Actually, scratch that—neither of you is even one-tenth as stressed as me?”

The question left your lips accompanied by a kind of sigh, an attempt to expel the air poisoned with anxiety and replace it with something fresh, clean.

"Because we know you’re going to do brilliantly, sweetheart," Penelope replied without hesitation, sparing you only a fleeting glance as she momentarily tore her eyes away from her computer screen. One of many screens.

Her office was filled with an uncountable number of them, all glowing brightly and lighting up the small, dimly lit space, which was also packed with her colorful accessories—pom-pom-topped pencils and flowerless plants in tiny pots, most adorned with smiling faces or hearts.

"Or rather," Reid interjected, spinning in a circle on his swivel chair, "because we both doubt you’ll even be remotely useful out there." A white box of Chinese takeout rested on his lap.

You shot him a grimace.

"Next time you try to undermine my self-confidence, make sure I’m not holding anything sharp," you warned, pointing one of your chopsticks at him. Yes, less than an hour before your first solo assignment, you were all happily indulging in junk food from the closest restaurant to the office, ignoring the looming possibility of digestive regrets. "Or you’ll lose an eye."

"Aren’t you tired of trying to kill me yet? First, you gave me a concussion…"

"You didn’t get a concussion, Reid. Stop exaggerating…"

"And now, you’re openly admitting that you plan to cause me permanent damage by depriving me of my sense of sight—which, as it is," he said, tapping the frame of his glasses, "is already in less-than-stellar condition."

"You two are just adorable when you argue with each other like an old, bitter married couple," Penelope commented with a small smile on her pink-lipsticked lips.

You first looked at each other, then at her, eyebrows raised, and in a synchronized moment, you both let out a huff. Unfazed, she continued.

"But now we really need to get to work. The exhibit starts in an hour, and you should get there with him. Have you ever used that microphone? It’s the latest model we’re testing, gosh, I’m so excited…"

"You’re adorable when you act like a typical nerd," you shot back, mimicking her little smile and tone of voice.

"A nerd I proudly am! Just like this guy here," she nodded toward Reid, who pouted slightly, looking offended. "You’re surrounded by nerds, sweetheart. Soon enough, you’ll become one too."

"Dear God, forgive me my sins and watch over me…" you whispered, staring at the ceiling.

The mysterious he that Garcia mentioned was named Christopher Allen, and he was surprisingly young for a neurotechnology engineer. He worked on issues surrounding the human brain and developed devices designed to have a broad range of effects on it. But why were you supposed to go with him to some exhibit? Equipped with a spy microphone? And why was it stressing you out so much that for the past ten minutes, you had only been picking at your Chinese takeout instead of eating it?

Well, it's hard to decide where to start explaining from.

You were summoned before Hotch yesterday, who informed you that an opportunity had arisen for you to prove yourself in the field. Alone, undercover, for the first time in your—let’s be honest—tragically short career at the FBI. On top of that, this was meant to test all the new equipment your team had received, the kind that Penelope had been so enthusiastic about. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the main reason you’d been assigned this task. Someone had to check the effectiveness of the gear, and at the same time, you, the rookie, needed to gain more experience. Allen’s case was like killing two birds with one stone.

This scientist had worked with the FBI multiple times, and that’s why when danger started looming over him, he was quickly assigned protection. The threat came from threatening letters and even a direct attack at his own home, which fortunately didn’t end in tragedy. Allen was descending into paranoia and was afraid to even attend public events, even ones with full protection, like the tech exhibition—taking place in one of the modest local museums—designed to showcase the latest advancements in neurotechnology and more.

He was probably afraid that during the event, someone would simply rush at him with fists and try to murder him in front of dozens of random technology and brain enthusiasts. Or something like that. Your task was to pretend to be his assistant, never leaving his side and carefully observing the surroundings. And that was it. Nothing too demanding was expected of you, unless things started to go south. However, that seemed highly unlikely, as everyone made it clear to you.

Still, you couldn’t shake the fear—whether justified or not—that something would go wrong. And it would be your fault.

“Reid, clip the microphone on her,” Penelope interrupted your train of thought with the order. “You’ve never used one of these before, have you, sweetheart?”

You nodded in confirmation, watching as Reid set aside his box of Chinese takeout to take the tiny device from her.  He stopped a step in front of you, perched on the edge of one of the desks, his gaze shifting uncertainly between the small black microphone in his hand and you.

“Where… where can I…?” he asked, trailing off as he made a vague gesture with his hand, surprisingly loaded with awkwardness.

“Oh,” you let out a confused sigh, beginning to consider where it might be best to place it. The sleeve? Shouldn’t it be closer to your face to capture even your quietest whispers?

“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” you said, starting to unbutton your white shirt, revealing a significant portion of your neckline. “Here?” you asked.

“Yeah… I think so,” he replied hesitantly but didn’t move.

It wasn’t until a moment later that he swallowed and, with a slow, deliberate motion, reached for a section of your shirt near your cleavage. His actions were careful—almost excessively so—like his top priority was ensuring he didn’t accidentally brush against your skin.

The microphone’s clip was quite small, though, and attaching it to your clothing required him to take another step closer and lower his head near your chest.

Even as your breathing slowed, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Penelope shaking her head in amused disbelief. 

You preferred to look straight ahead rather than at his fingers, working with such careful focus, though you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to them repeatedly. Just for fractions of a second—it was difficult to pull your eyes away once they landed there.

Only when he finished, his hands dropping quickly to his sides as he stepped back, did you realize you’d been holding your breath for quite some time. You became acutely aware of how stifling Penelope’s little office was—how did she even manage in the summer?

"That's not all," the woman on the screen broke the silence, one you hadn't even realized had fallen. "There's also a transmitter you'll need to keep on you somewhere. Securely, so it doesn't fall out. Are you planning to go dressed like that?"

You glanced down at your outfit. A simple black skirt and white shirt—the first thing that came to mind then you learned you'd be posing as an assistant.

"Inappropriate?" you asked, searching for an answer first on Garcia's face, then on Reid's. The latter gave the barest shrug, barely even looking at you.

"You look amazing. Absolutely stunning, darling. I wish I could have an assistant like you," Penelope reassured you. "But in this economy, I can only dream about it. Anyway, my point is, you don't have any pockets. Where are you planning to keep the transmitter and your gun?"

"I was thinking of just tucking it into my skirt. At the back."

"I don’t think that’s the best idea," Reid interjected doubtfully. He hadn’t reclaimed his spot on the swivel chair and stood instead, arms crossed over his chest. The embarrassment you’d managed to put him in (quite adorable, really) was slowly dissipating, leaving only a faint blush on his cheeks. The corner of your mouth twitched when you noticed it. "I mean, it could fall out, or start sticking out, which could lead to questions like why an assistant is walking around with a gun..."

"Okay, I get it," you sighed. You could’ve thought this through a bit better. "Maybe I’ll have time to swing by home and grab, I don’t know, a blazer or something..."

"You won’t," Penelope declared after glancing at the time. "But you can always borrow my jacket."

You looked at the garment draped over the back of her chair—a bright pink leather jacket. You didn’t even bother responding; you simply stared at it, letting the expression on your face do the talking.

"Alright, I admit it, I didn’t think this proposal through. So, it looks like we’ll have to..." She trailed off, her gaze landing on Reid’s figure. Surprised by the attention, he pointed at himself.

You also directed your attention at him. He was wearing a simple brown blazer, which would go well with your unremarkable outfit.

"Take it off," you instructed.

He was silent for a moment, though there was no visible protest on his face—just doubt.

"It’s gonna be too big," he remarked, his hands gently grasping the edges of the jacket as if unsure whether to take it off.

"Apparently, oversized is coming back into fashion."

"Okay, fine," he sighed, removing the jacket. Underneath, he wore a shirt and a black vest, from which a matching tie peeked out. Initially, he seemed hesitant about the idea, but handed it to you with some urgency. "Here you go."

You sent him a brief, grateful smile.

"You’re saving my mission, Reid. I’ll mention you in the report. And I’ll frame your name with a little heart, drawn with one of Penelope’s glitter pens," you declared.

He returned the gesture, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he gave a small nod. You noticed his gaze was almost fixed on your face, as if some invisible force were forbidding him to look away, down or sideways.

You didn't think too much about what it meant, you didn't really have time. You put on the blazer, which was indeed a little too long, and hid the transmitter in the inside pocket. You placed the weapon at your hip, concealing it with your clothes. As you were about to leave, you said talk to you later because the two of them were going to communicate with you through the earpiece the entire time. They wished you good luck, and you were just about to leave the desk when Reid, suddenly as if unable to stop himself, said your name one last time.

You looked at him questioningly. Instead of responding, he made an uncertain gesture near his chest. Confused, you looked down.

For the entire time, half of the buttons on your shirt were still undone.

*

You had never met him in person, but you recognized his face from snippets of interviews that occasionally appeared online, or perhaps he had even been on the news a few times. He was in his thirties, give or take five years, hard to tell. His entire persona seemed to be built around the carefree nature of a young eccentric with a sharp mind and an unrestrained tongue, constantly refining his thoughts and conclusions, often controversial, causing an uproar among the public. Without a doubt, he was one of those people often called a genius. Which, not always, was a compliment.

Allen seemed deeply displeased by your presence. He looked… tired. His red hair contrasted with his very pale complexion, as if made of glass, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. He wasn’t shockingly tall, about your height, but with broad shoulders.

"The FBI was supposed to provide me with protection because some psycho is literally trying to kill me, and they send you?" he asked, bitterly, exchanging a brief handshake with you before getting into the car.

You both sat in the back, the driver at the wheel. You were supposed to arrive at the exhibition together. His reaction caught you off guard, his open anger sparking the same feeling in you.

"What's your problem?" you asked. His insulting tone irritated you the most, especially since he hadn’t even had the chance to get to know you.

For a moment, the man sat staring out the window. His body was tense, almost stiff, as if stressed. His elegant attire, with a shirt half-tucked into his pants and too many buttons undone, suggested that he usually dressed more casually.

He let out a heavy sigh, as if furious, then hastily wiped his face with his hand.

"Just..." he began coolly and cautiously, as if holding back some cruel words. "I get the feeling that everyone is downplaying the seriousness of this situation."

"We're all approaching this with the necessary commitment," you replied, though it wasn't entirely true. Allen had every right to fear for his life, but each of you honestly doubted anything would happen to him during this exhibition. If the threat had been real... Hotch probably wouldn't have sent you. "Believe me, we understand the gravity of the situation..."

"Really? Even the letters I've been getting? The content of them?"

You knew about the threats sent by an unknown sender, but you hadn't delved into what exactly they contained. Seeing you hesitate to answer, Allen scoffed.

"You're fucking great at your job, no doubt. So let me fill you in. They come every day. Every fucking day. And I read every single one of them. You know, I've even started seeing a pattern. First, they beg me. Then they threaten to fucking kill me. Smash my face into the ground, beat me to death with a metal rod, rip out my ribs, douse me in gasoline, and set me on fire..." He paused, dramatically scratching his chin. "Oh, almost forgot. They're going to peel the skin off my back. Then there's a day off. No letter comes. The next day, they apologize. I don’t know if this psycho has some extreme split personality or... or... I have no fucking idea. The cops said, get this, it's normal. 'Cause I’m a public figure."

"They brushed it off?" you asked, slightly shaken.

No matter how famous he was, threats were still threats.

He shrugged. He was trying to speak with a voice full of dismissive irony, but it wasn’t working. He stumbled, taking breaks to swallow. Though he had treated you like a complete jerk earlier, you were starting to understand.

“First off, until someone broke into my house and tried to drag me out of bed and take me…God knows where. Probably if I hadn’t had a dog…” he trailed off, glancing back out the window. You’d arrived at the museum, where the exhibition was to be held, but Allen hesitated to get out of the car. “This guy is nuts, whoever he is. I don’t know what to expect from him. He wants to kill me, kidnap me, torture me? Or maybe he’ll just settle for shooting me from a distance like I’m some goddamn Kennedy?”

“That doesn’t really sound like him,” you said in a calming tone. “He tried to kidnap you from your house, why would he suddenly attack you in a public place…”

“My fiancée is pregnant,” he suddenly blurted out.

You blinked, unsure how to respond to the sudden confession.

“Congratulations?”

“For her safety, I sent her very, very far away, somewhere she shouldn’t be in any danger,” he continued, completely ignoring your words. “And though her and the baby’s well-being is my top priority… I also need to take care of myself. I need to make it to their birth…and longer, of course. But that’s why I’m afraid to even go out to the damn store for milk, and that’s why I was so pissed off when I found out they assigned me a woman who, no offense, looks like she wouldn’t know how to hold a gun.”

You instinctively scoffed at his last comment, though it was hard to stay particularly mad at him, knowing everything he was going through. An awkward silence fell between you, heavy and laden, during which the two of you simply stared at each other. It hit you that you were responsible not only for his safety but also for ensuring that someone’s fiancé and future father would make it home.

“We should get going,” you said, nodding toward the museum. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a certain tension at the thought of leaving the car. You shook your head slightly, trying to dispel it. “And just so we’re clear, I do know how to handle a gun—more than you’d think. But for your sake, you better hope we don’t have to put that to the test.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Well then, onward, assistant. Tell me, how much do you know about neurotechnology?"

Well, by the end of this day, you were definitely going to know a lot more. Together with Allen, you crossed the threshold of the museum. Its decor clashed with the theme of the exhibition, but apparently, they hadn’t managed to secure a better location. 

The interior layout was harmonious—rounded arches were supported by symmetrically arranged marble columns, and the dominant shades were gold and royal red.

Your destination was the exhibition hall, circular in shape, where mahogany tables served as display stations for various prototypes in the fields of medicine, neurobiology, and informatics. In other parts of the building, there were tall, arched windows, but this particular room had none. No natural light entered; all illumination was generated by lamps that, to their credit, mimicked the natural diffusion of sunlight quite effectively.

Among the displays were an interactive brain map and various projects still in development but aimed at assisting people with disabilities.

You observed all of this with interest while simultaneously listening to your companion’s impromptu lecture on the human brain (apparently, talking helped him calm down). At the same time, you were closely monitoring the crowd around you.

True multitasking.

The exhibition was open to everyone; no one was checking who entered the venue. Although you counted three security guards in the room—dressed in simple black suits and mostly tasked with ensuring that no one tried to steal anything—there was a subtle air of unease hanging in the atmosphere. If Allen’s suspicions were correct, the person intent on ending his life could be one of these faces. To your surprise, however, he suddenly seemed far less concerned about it than you were.

“You don’t have to follow me around like a shadow,” he said, leaning toward you to make himself heard over the murmur of surrounding conversations. A familiar face with a loud, bright red tie waved at him and began making their way over. “Just don’t take your eyes off me, no matter what. And keep an eye out for anyone suspicious—whatever that means to you. Hey, man!”

He greeted his acquaintance with a friendly handshake. Following his instructions, you took a small step back, deciding to take a short stroll among the exhibits. But after barely two steps, your finger went to the discreet earpiece hidden under your hair.

“Are you there, my lovely nerds?” you asked with a playful smile, knowing they couldn’t see it but imagining their reactions.

“At your service!” Garcia responded enthusiastically, and you could almost picture her saluting on the other end.

“And what about Mr. Smartass? Did he get bored and wander off to study the reproductive habits of ants?”

“I heard that!” he replied, summoned by his new nickname. “Such gratitude for letting you borrow my jacket.”

“Speaking of the jacket,” you continued, “I found a candy in the pocket. How thoughtful of you to leave me a little sweet treat.” You weren’t joking; there really was a candy inside. You inspected the wrapper and frowned. “Marzipan? Ugh. Do you have the taste buds of my grandma?”

"To what I know, I haven't had a taste bud transplant. Especially not from anyone's grandmother," he replied nonchalantly. "And as for those ants..."

"Sorry to interrupt, my darlings, but I have a few questions about the sound quality of these new microphones..."

True to her word, Garcia began asking you how well you could hear them and instructed you to lower your voice to a whisper and then raise it sharply. Some sort of test or whatever. You did it all patiently while staring at the red-haired mop at the station across from you. Allen seemed pretty relaxed now, probably realizing nothing was going to happen to him.

"Okay, now do the sound like a chicken. I mean the noise."

"What?"

"You know, cluck."

"Pen, is this really necessary?"

"Yes, sweetie. I need to check something else. Last thing, I swear. Scout’s honor."

You sighed, looking around at the people nearby. Few were paying attention to you, you were just one face in the crowd. God, for something like this, you could ask for a raise.

"Exactly, honey. Just louder," Garcia asked.

You rolled your eyes and tried again to make the chicken sound. An older couple glanced at you, their eyes wide with horror.

"Alright, enough," you muttered, embarrassed, into the earpiece, quickly moving to a different spot.

And then you heard the pair on the other side literally choking with laughter.

"I fucking hate you guys," you said. "I hate you. Especially you, Penelope. Give me Reid on the mic, from now on I'm only talking to him."

Another burst of laughter from the woman. You clenched your jaw. And as if that weren’t enough…

 "Did you want to hear me, little chick?" Reid asked politely.

“I should’ve gouged your eye out with a chopstick when I had the chance,” you hissed into the phone, a little too loudly, drawing a few curious glances. You were supposed to be watching for suspicious people, but it turned out you were acting the most suspicious of all…

“Did you catch what she said?” Reid addressed Penelope. “I only heard clucking.”

“Ha-ha,” you rolled your eyes.

For fifteen minutes, you had to endure such jokes. You seriously began to worry that they’d never get tired of it, but finally, after a quarter of an hour of psychological torture, they fell silent. You kept a sharp eye on your surroundings.

“By the way,” you began, still a bit offended by the chicken joke. “You guys should regret not being here to see these inventions. Perfect for you, nerds.”

“Well, actually, we can see them,” Reid’s voice came through the earpiece, sounding very clear, clearly taking the whole mic for himself. “Garcia grabbed footage from the cameras inside the room.”

“So you can see me? This whole time?”

 “Yep. And we saw that terrified couple who ran as far away from you as they could as soon as you started clucking like a chicken. Poor souls.”

You ignored the comment and began scanning the room for the cameras. When you found them, you scratched your forehead with your middle finger.

“Can you see this too?”

“I can see how much fun you’re having,” he scoffed. “Are you going to include that in your report?”

“Exactly. Right under your name, framed with a glittery little heart. Any other requests?” Not waiting for his response, you added, “By the way, how do I look in your jacket? Does it fit me well?”

"I think so. I mean, the blazer is incredibly well-tailored. And of good quality. It’s impossible for it to look bad on anyone." He paused for a moment, and his voice grew more serious. "How’s it going? Have you noticed anything suspicious? Still feeling stressed?"

"Not anymore," you admitted, speaking the truth. Even though the exhibition had just started and was supposed to last about another hour, you felt like you had passed some milestone where nothing could go wrong anymore. "But of course, I’m still keeping an eye out. I had a little chat with Allen…"

"I heard," Reid acknowledged. "Very interesting lecture on the human brain, I must admit."

You let out a small laugh.

"I talked to Allen earlier. Still in the car. After what he told me, I don’t think he's a paranoiac. The guy is just really worried about his safety. And not just his.”

A moment of silence fell on both sides.

"Speaking of Allen, he's heading your way," he informed you, likely watching the feed from the cameras. "I guess I'll hear from you later then. I mean, I’ll be hearing you the whole time, just not the other way around. Unless you want me to constantly broadcast about ant reproduction?"

"Sorry, Reid, but I’ll pass. Maybe some other time," you chuckled, noticing the engineer approaching. As he walked, he bumped into a man in the crowd and exchanged a quick apology. You used that moment to add something else, a bit impulsively. "And what about this? Do you see this?"

You pressed the inside of your hand to your lips before unfolding it, sending a kiss toward one of the cameras. Reid was silent as Allen drew closer.

"I see it," he finally admitted, quieter. You regretted not being able to see his expression, it was unusually hard for you to picture it at that particular moment. Was he smiling? "And I like it a lot more than what you showed me earlier."

You turned your back to the camera so he wouldn’t see you smile. It only hit you afterward that he probably saw it anyway, just from a different angle.

"I see you're enjoying the exhibition," Allen said, standing in front of you with his hands in his pockets. He had stopped pretending to be the classy guy and fully embraced his more laid-back side. "So, uh, sorry, but I think I'd rather head out now."

Worried, you discreetly glanced around.

"Did something happen? Did someone stare at you weirdly, do something...?"

He shook his head, a negative gesture.

"Nothing like that. I just saw what I needed to see. Check it off the list, I’m ready to leave..."

After his words, an absolute darkness fell.

Absolute darkness, in the truest sense of the word. The exhibition hall had no windows. When the lights went out, it felt as if someone had tied a cloth tightly over your eyes. Yet, like a fool, you kept looking around, as if moving your head could somehow tear through the blackness enveloping you, freeing you from the growing panic that was slowly flooding your senses.

“Garcia, what’s up with the cameras?” Reid’s voice sounded in your ear. He was confused, not yet frightened. He didn’t know what was happening yet. None of you did.

The people around you, of course, were also surprised by the sudden blackout. A few muffled gasps echoed, one or two squeals, a smattering of curses. But there were no screams, no one tearing at their throats or blindly bolting forward, trampling others in the process. That came later.

Exactly four seconds after the first gunshot rang out.

Before, the world seemed to freeze in place; everyone’s breaths were trapped in their lungs, unwilling to escape, even out of curiosity. Your body lunged forward as if trying to flee, but it quickly dawned on you that there was nowhere to run. Where had the shot come from? Who had fired it? Was someone hurt?

Something—or rather, someone’s hand—clamped painfully around your wrist. Instinctively, you tried to pull free, letting out a sound somewhere between a growl and a garbled cry.

“It’s me,” Allen choked out, his voice trembling. You couldn’t see his silhouette, but you knew the blood had drained from his face. “What the fuck... what the fuck is happen—”

The second shot rang out, closer and sharper than the first. Chaos erupted in the room. Screams, so hysterical they drowned out the voices coming through your earpiece, filled the air. Something struck you hard, sending you stumbling as pain radiated through your shoulder. It was an empty kind of pain—something you felt and yet didn’t. You realized it must have been one of the panicked people charging blindly through the dark.

“Here,” you commanded, your mind snapping briefly into clarity. In your mind’s eye, you pictured the layout of the room before the lights went out. The corner of the hall, the wooden table behind you, where one of the prototypes had been displayed.

You slipped under the table, dragging Allen with you. He groaned as his head hit the underside of the furniture.

You were so utterly disoriented that it felt as though your own name was echoing on a loop inside your head. It took you a moment to realize it wasn’t just your mind playing tricks—it was someone’s voice, growing more familiar with each passing second.

The third gunshot.

Allen choked on his breath, his hand still gripping your wrist so tightly you feared it might snap—yet you didn’t register it as pain, merely as a sensation. The two of you crouched beneath the table, facing each other, teetering on the edge of succumbing to the abyss of panic.

Reid spoke your name again, faintly, as though he were far too close to the microphone. As though leaning in would somehow make you hear him better—make you respond.

“I’m here,” you managed to stammer, the first thing that came to your mind.

"Thank God, I thought..." he sighed, suddenly stopping, as if realizing it wasn't yet time for relief. "Are you... are you hurt?"

"My arm."

You didn't know why those words escaped your lips. Maybe because, although your mind was too occupied with trying to figure out the situation to focus on something like pain, your body couldn’t ignore the fact that it felt it. Against your will, you let out a hiss and finally pulled your hand out of Allen's grip.

"You've been shot? We... we can't see anything, do you have anything to stop the bleeding, maybe use my jacket..."

"I don't know what's happening, we've completely lost access to the camera feed, someone must have turned them all off, just like the power... Reid, immediately notify Hotch, he needs to know something's wrong..."

On the other side, chaos erupted, comparable to the one surrounding you. Penelope was aggressively pressing the keyboard keys, Reid was rushing between a phone conversation with Hotch and throwing random phrases at you like stay where you are or how's your arm?

But was staying put the right decision? Wasn't it just waiting for the person responsible for starting this... massacre to come for you? On the other hand, how were you supposed to escape? In complete darkness? You had a weapon... but what good was it if you couldn't see anything? A sound of resigned sobbing escaped you.

And then, suddenly, right before your eyes, Allen’s red hair materialized, his fingers pressed into his skull as if he wanted to tear it apart himself. You both looked into each other's eyes. Visibility returned.

“We have light,” you said, though it didn’t loosen the grip on your chest.

“What?” Penelope sputtered, confused. “We still can’t see anything, the cameras are still…”

Allen let out a choked cry. You followed his gaze. Just before your hiding spot, a pair of leather shoes stopped.

“Get out,” commanded a male voice. You lifted your head. Above you stood a man with dark facial hair and a submachine gun, looking like an extension of his broad shoulder. You immediately noticed, besides the weapon, he was also carrying a black sports bag slung over his shoulder. Both of you were too disoriented and terrified to follow the order. “I said, fuckin’ get out and against the wall, I won’t repeat myself.”

Like animals herded into a pen, you followed his instructions to the designated spot. The entire crowd inside gathered against one of the blood-red walls of the room, some pressing their backs against it as if that embrace would ensure their safety...

“What’s going on there now?” Reid asked. “We still don’t have a feed... I can hear you breathing,” he blurted out unexpectedly.

You realized that your breath had indeed become heavy and loud. It dawned on you that you hadn’t gone through any extensive training on how to handle a situation like this; you were useless...

“Just...damn it, I know it’s easier for me to say, but try not to panic, okay? Whatever’s going on... panic will only make it worse. You need to focus, please. Can you do that? Breathe? Slowly, like I’m doing now?”

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his jacket, feeling it under your fingers. Closing your eyes, you could almost imagine him standing right in front of you, in this very building, speaking those words. It helped calm you down, at least enough for your mind to stay somewhat communicative...

“Good. Very...very good. Now, can you describe what’s happening over there?”

You knew that every piece of information you passed on would be worth its weight in gold. You tightened your grip on the fabric of Reid's jacket and began scanning your surroundings.

“One shooter. He’s herding us... all of us, against one of the walls and... stuffing prototypes into the bag, every one he can get his hands on,” you reported, describing everything you’d seen. “It looks like a robbery.”

“Just one?” Reid asked. “What were those shots? Someone... got hurt?”

You were about to deny it when your attention was drawn to a bloodstain spreading across the marble floor at the opposite corner of the room. Allen nudged you, pointing to something else—a body lying motionless.

“Guards. He... he killed all the guards,” you recognized them by their uniforms, the words barely escaping your throat. So, he hadn’t hesitated to kill, not one of those inexperienced types with any moral inhibitions. Trying to make sense of everything happening around you, you pressed your hand to your forehead. “But... but how could he see them in this darkness...”

“Night vision,” Allen interrupted suddenly, his previously hunched figure straightening as he realized it.

You found the man busy with the theft and controlling the area. He was quite solidly built, you could compare him to Derek. And, as the engineer had observed, around his neck hung a device for seeing in the dark.

“The police have arrived outside the museum, but they won’t go inside as long as you’re trapped with him. They don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Penelope informed you, then let out a soft, wheezing breath, as if she was trying to calm herself down. “Sweetheart, the whole team is on their way too. From now on, you’re our informant…”

“Is Christopher Allen among you?” A commanding voice suddenly cut through the sheet of panic blanketing the room, drawing everyone’s attention. It belonged to a truly imposing man with a shaved head and a forehead lined with wrinkles that seemed to stem more from exhaustion than age. But by far, the most significant detail about him was the submachine gun he held in his hands.

Two. There were two shooters.

Your focus shifted to the man standing right in front of you, as if delivering some kind of speech. At first, you didn’t even register what he’d asked. He repeated the question quickly and impatiently, and you froze. Not that you’d been particularly active before, but in that moment, all your bodily functions seemed to shut down completely. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Allen—not even for a fleeting glance.

“Christopher Allen. Biotech engineer. He should be here,” the man continued, scanning the faces in front of him almost desperately, searching for the one he needed. He sounded almost... distraught? That broken expression, teetering on the edge of tears and madness, starkly contrasted with his militaristic physique.

Suddenly, his accomplice appeared, tugging at his arm.

“Jesus, give it a rest. We need to get out of here. The car’s waiting for us, remember?”

He shoved the smaller man with a force befitting his build, sending him staggering backward.

“I’m not leaving until I talk to him!” he declared with furious determination. “Christopher Allen…”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me…”

“Allen…”

His eyes scanned the surroundings until they landed on the two of you. You felt someone lightly wrap their fingers around your forearm, gripping it almost instinctively. It wasn’t a strong or painful hold, but rather one born of genuine fear, seeking protection. Protection that, from the start, had been your responsibility to provide. Yet now, standing face to face with two armed assailants, with lifeless bodies lying in pools of blood in the same room…you felt the crushing weight of an obligation you were physically incapable of fulfilling, creating a storm of chaos within your mind.

Allen must have been fooling himself into thinking he could blend into the crowd and remain unnoticed. Even as everyone’s gaze began to focus on him, urgently and with some unspoken hope, he stubbornly stood still. Or was he simply paralyzed by fear?

For the first time since he was called out, you looked at him. His eyes conveyed one thing: a simple message. It was him. The man who had been sending him threats, the one who had broken into his house. You furrowed your brows, this whole situation was becoming incomprehensible. He cared so much about kidnapping the engineer that he had organized the heist at the exhibition where he was supposed to be?

 “Come here. I need to talk to you, you… you need to do something for me.”

Once again, in your ears, you heard the description of the tortures that were mentioned in the letter.

"You have to do this," you said very softly, almost a whisper. "We can't let him get angry. Do you hear me?"

 It seemed like your words weren’t reaching him at all. You nervously glanced at the gunmen, hoping that the command you had given hadn’t raised any suspicion or made them think you were trying to outsmart them, deceive them in some way. Slowly, but with deep remorse, you loosened Allen’s grip on your forearm. His chest wasn’t rising, as if he weren’t breathing. But then his gaze shifted, not to you, but to the people around you, to the ones standing in fear, waiting for his reaction. Something in his face shifted, then he took a step forward.

“Slowly,” you instructed.

It seemed like the best solution. Unsub knew that the person he was looking for was among you, he had identified him without any difficulty. Allen couldn’t hide or escape, all that was left for him was to comply with the orders, for his own sake and for everyone else's. It was also important that he stalled for time. You hoped that as soon as your team arrived, they’d be able to come up with something. Maybe they were already there, working to make contact with the shooters and free you all, alive and unharmed.

At the same time, someone called your name.

"Report in."

It was Hotch. At the sound of his stoic voice, a fleeting wave of relief washed over you. You even parted your lips to answer when you realized the second gunman was staring at you. The room fell into absolute silence as Allen slowly approached them. You shouldn’t reveal that you were with the FBI or any other agency—that was a basic rule…

 "Listen to me carefully now," the unsub spat, placing one of his massive hands on Allen's shoulder, causing him to almost buckle under the forceful touch. Someone behind you let out a muffled cry. "You need to remove it from me, do you understand?"

"Shit," his partner muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He was holding a bag with the stolen equipment, constantly glancing toward the exit. You wondered if he had anything to do with the threats sent to Allen. "Shit, we need to get the hell out of here before the cops completely block our escape. We don't have time for your fucking delusions!"

“Remove…?” the baffled engineer repeated, completely thrown off.

“The chip. The one inside me. Right here, on the back of my neck.” The man jabbed a finger at the spot. “Someone has to cut it out of me. You work with brains—you must know how to do it. He’s controlling me, watching my thoughts… I saw an interview with you once. I know you’re the only one who can do this…”

The man’s words devolved into a stream of incoherent rambling. Allen had no idea how to respond, and silence stretched on the other end of the phone. Meanwhile, the second gunman tried once again to persuade his partner to escape, but this only triggered an explosive burst of rage that made everyone around them shrink in fear.

“Shut up, or I’ll blow your head off too!” the man shouted. “I’ve waited too long for this. I don’t give a damn about all that crap you stole. I don’t care if they catch me. He’s going to cut out that chip!”

“What chip?” Allen finally managed to stammer. “I don’t understand…”

“The chip the government implanted in me to control me! That’s why no hospital will remove it—they’re all under government control! Only you can do it!”

“The unsub is delusional, that much is clear,” Reid’s voice suddenly crackled in your earpiece, catching you by surprise. He must have made it from Penelope’s office to the museum—where he joined Hotch and the rest of the team—at an impressive speed. “The reality he’s constructed is starting to blur with actual reality, which makes him extremely dangerous. Just from the tone of his speech, you can tell he’s emotionally unbalanced and on the brink of a breakdown. Unfortunately, this means his actions could be erratic and violent, with a strong tendency toward escalation.”

"What can I do?" you whispered as quietly as possible, taking advantage of the commotion in the center of the room.

"Are you there? Can you speak safely?" he asked, exhaling a breath of trapped air. "I mean... What you can do, first and foremost, is stay cautious. Don’t say or do anything that could provoke him further," he instructed, his tone turning focused and determined to provide you with as much guidance as possible. You nodded almost imperceptibly as you listened, as if he could see you. At some point, your fingers began nervously clutching the fabric of his blazer again, a small, unconscious tic.

"Don’t confront his delusions—or rather, don’t outright deny them. Try not to introduce any new elements either, to avoid deepening his paranoia, alright? That could put you in even greater danger..."

"Above all, try to redirect his anger away from Allen and the other hostages," Hotch cut in. "We’re working on a way to get inside. You just need to buy us some time."

Buy some time, it was easy for him to say, you thought with sudden frustration. What exactly could you do? It was incredibly hard to make any decisions when you were fully aware that their consequences could result in the death of an innocent person—or people.

Allen was still in front of the unsub, gripped tightly by the gun-wielding man, slightly shaking his head from side to side, clearly overwhelmed by the situation.

"But... but how am I supposed to get the chip out, do you really believe the government..."

"He doesn’t have the right tools," you interrupted, taking a step forward to draw the shooters’ attention to you. You raised your hands in a gesture of surrender as soon as you found yourself in the second man’s line of sight. You were scared of the direction Allen was heading in—after all, Reid had told you not to deny his delusions. Though you weren’t sure it was the right approach, you tried to make eye contact with the unsub. You had a feeling that he might only fully understand what you were trying to convey if you did.

Everyone was looking at you now. Nervously, you swallowed before speaking again.

"If you want him to remove the chip from your body... you’ll need at least a scalpel. Well, and if it was implanted by the government... that might not be enough?"

To your surprise, the second attacker spoke up.

"She's right, Erick, we don't have anything like that. Leave him, we need to get out of here... though fuck, it probably doesn't matter anymore, I wonder if the police have already caught our driver..."

You hoped that the team had heard this and started looking for suspicious vehicles in the area. Erick, or rather the unsub, began to stare intensely at you, analyzing what you'd said.

"Keep it up," Reid said. "It looks like you’ve planted some doubt in his mind about his own plan. You can keep going in that direction, just please, please, be careful..."

"Reid," Hotch admonished him.

You took a deep breath, your mind was working so fast that it was starting to go blank. You had to say something more before it consumed you entirely.

"But... but I'm sure that if you had met under different circumstances, outside the museum, he would have been able to extract the chip..."

"No! I've waited too long, I can't stand having this crap under my skin for another minute! He'll take it out now, or he won't leave here!"

Allen's raised hands trembled at those words.

"How can we communicate with the police? Is there a phone here?" he asked his companion.

"Are you fucking out of your mind..."

"They'll bring us the equipment. A scalpel. They won't have a choice, or I'll shoot them all, one by one."

"We should focus on how to get out of here..."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT!" the unsub roared at him. Fueled by this outburst, he shoved Allen away so forcefully that the man fell to the floor. The startled man took a step back, unable to hide his fear. It was clear who had the final say in this duo. Erick was not only physically larger, most likely more ruthless, but above all, incredibly unpredictable. Without looking at you, he issued an order.

"Everyone sit against the wall, you too." Allen awkwardly got to his feet and almost ran to the indicated spot.

You didn't want to sit, to put yourself in an even more vulnerable position. But when a man with a submachine gun and a completely deranged gleam in his eyes is standing in front of you, you don't have much of a choice. Slowly, you sat down on the floor, surrounded by all these terrified people.

You studied the faces of everyone around you—scientists and random people who had ended up here simply because they were intrigued by the exhibit's theme. And that innocent curiosity had led them into such a hopeless situation, where each breath, drawn into trembling lungs, could prove to be the final one. What terrified you was the fact that the only thing distinguishing you from them was the tiny microphone pinned to your clothes and the earpiece in your ear.

The woman sitting next to you, so close that your elbows were touching, looked as though she was about to faint. Without hesitation, you offered her your hand, which she took with no resistance. In situations like that, the escape from fear was desperately sought wherever it could be found—even among strangers.

“What’s happening in there now?” Hotch asked.

You explained the situation to him as clearly and logically as possible, correcting anything they might have missed due to their lack of actual insight into what was happening inside the museum. The woman beside you looked at you strangely, smudged mascara around her eyes.

“Please don’t worry,” you whispered, making sure none of the attackers could hear you. Though maybe you shouldn’t have, you felt you needed to reveal yourself to her, to help her survive the nightmare she had found herself in. “I’m... a federal agent. I have contact with the team outside, they’re working on how to get us out of here.”

You didn’t know if those words had particularly soothed her fear—just as you spoke them, Allen practically pressed himself against you, trying to whisper something into your ear.

“Give me your gun,” he practically ordered.

You looked at him with your eyebrows raised in shock. No words were needed. Your face clearly expressed one big what?

He looked like one of those people going on and on about a newly invented device they had been working on for years, staying up every night. In his eyes was a comparable crazy but incredibly self-assured gleam.

“I know you have it, but you won’t use it. Because you're scared. And I don’t blame you!” he quickly added, moving slightly away from you. Still, your faces were tilted toward each other in a conspiratorial whisper.

“But listen to me. He cares about me, right? Or rather, he cares that I get the nonexistent chip from him. He won’t hurt me when I get closer, he’s too desperate, in his eyes, I’m his only chance…”

“You must have lost your mind,” you said through clenched teeth. Was he really willing to take such a risk and play the hero when he and his fiancée were expecting a child? “And what about the other guy, huh? Do you think he’ll just stand there calmly when...?”

“Then I’ll shoot him first. I used to go to the shooting range, I was pretty good at it. The other one will be too scared to hurt me, and then I...”

“Absolutely not,” Reid interjected.

You snorted.

“As if I would even consider it…” you muttered. Looking at Allen, you tapped your forehead. “No way. You’re not risking your life on such a stupid plan where everything could go wrong…”

“Do you think I’m asking for your opinion?” he hissed, clutching his head in desperation. “The answer is no. I’m just saying, give me your gun. Where is it?”

As he said this, he grabbed the fabric of your blazer, searching under it for what he so desperately wanted. You tried to catch his hand, but he trapped it in his grip, digging through the layers of your clothes, under your skirt. You jerked your whole body in an attempt to break free.

“Leave me alone, they’ll notice us soon…”

“What’s he doing?” Reid asked sharply. Although he couldn’t see what was happening, his voice was not only confused, but also clearly worried, maybe even angry.

“Just give it to me, what the hell does it hurt…”

His hand, despite your resistance, finally reached the grip of your gun, slightly sliding it out from beneath your skirt. You shot a quick glance toward the attackers, still engrossed in their conversation—or rather, argument. Terrified by the thought that they might notice what Allen was pulling from under your clothing, you instinctively swung at his face, causing his head to snap back with a muffled cry of pain.

“What language do I need to speak for you to understand? What you’re planning is idiotic,” you said, your words flowing together with a surprisingly calm yet furious ease. You struggled to keep your voice low, feeling as though shouting might make him grasp it faster. But that wasn’t an option. “You’d risk not only your life but everyone else’s,” you said, gesturing toward what you now had no choice but to call the hostages. “And no one wants to die because of some brainless idiot with a hero complex.”

After you hit him, Allen backed away to a distance that no longer invaded your personal space. With your breath quickened, you adjusted the position of the gun, suddenly panicked that it might fall out during his attempt to grab it against your will. Despite yourself, a strange feeling overcame you. Out of everyone��of all the people trapped in the museum—you were the only one with even minimal knowledge of what to do in this situation, the only one with outside communication to the police, and, most importantly... a weapon. And yet, with that arsenal at your disposal, you were doing embarrassingly little to improve the situation.

Your jaw tightened at the thought, your fists clutching the fabric of your blazer so hard that your knuckles turned white. It was astonishing how much that small action helped you regain your composure. Not just the feel of the fabric but also... the scent. You could almost imagine you weren’t entirely alone in this. And though you wouldn’t trade places with Reid or anyone else from the team for anything, you couldn’t shake the feeling they would handle this far better than you were.

And speaking of Reid...

"Are you okay?" he asked again, his tone much softer than before.

"I'm fine," you tried to give your voice a casual, almost dismissive tone, though you doubted you fully succeeded in masking the tension. You let out a helpless scoff in an attempt to lighten it. "I mean, fine as much as one can be fine in this situation..."

You trailed off, and he hesitated before replying.

"Hang in there, okay?" he said, so quietly you thought you might have misheard. It made you wonder if it was because he didn’t want anyone else to overhear what he was saying into the mic. If that were the case, was it because he didn’t want anyone accusing him of chatting with you when he should be doing something more important? Or maybe, he just didn’t want this simple yet anxious message to reach unwelcome ears and lose its sense of privacy. You heard him swallow. "We’ll get you all out of there soon. Garcia got the phone number of one of the attackers, the delusional one—his name’s Erick Larson, by the way. If he has it on him..."

As if on cue, the sound of an incoming call rang out. They stopped talking, and the surprised man reached into his pocket.

"What are you going to do? Negotiate?" you asked.

"Hotch is going to talk to him. The main goal is to get the hostages released."

The word hostage sounded so strange to you; you couldn’t connect it to your situation. A hostage didn’t have a gun tucked under their clothing or communicate with an FBI team through an earpiece. Those people, holding each other's hands in fear and huddled on the floor, were the hostages. Not you.

"Can you stay on the line?" the words slipped out before you could stop them. "Just, I don’t know... tell me how it really is with those ants or something." You squeezed your eyes shut as a wave of embarrassment crashed over you. You were acting like a scared child who needed a bedtime story to forget the monster under the bed. "Forget it, that’s stupid. You’ve probably got your hands full. Focus on helping us, on the negotiations."

"I'm still on the line," he reassured you, even before the echo of your last words faded. "And I’ll stay on it the whole time. And since talking to you might help you not lose your mind in there... well, I guess that counts as helping all of you. The information you’ve given us, everything you’ve told us... you’re playing a crucial role in all of this."

"I don’t think so. I could be doing so much more."

"Like what, something that idiot was planning?" he asked, stressing the word idiot. "Please, don’t even think about it. You’re doing exactly what’s needed. You’re not sticking your neck out, you’re staying in contact with us. You’re calming the others down, like that woman. That... that’s heroism, not blindly rushing at two armed men."

Moved by his words, you weakly smiled. You’d forgotten again that he couldn’t see you, or maybe it was just automatic.

"Stop, I’m going to blush. But... but thank you, Reid."

"You don’t need to thank me. Oh, he picked up..."

And indeed, Erik pressed the phone to his ear, probably realizing that it was the police trying to make contact. You fixed your gaze on him.

A completely new stage of the robbery was beginning, one on which everything depended—negotiations.

*

Spencer had never had a particular obsession with control. 

In the vast majority of crisis situations, all he needed was a deep understanding of the causes and course of events. A thorough analysis of what had happened so far, drawing conclusions based on that, and then coming up with possible solutions, each with its pros and cons, which he also had to consider.

It involved emotionally distancing himself from the situation and relying on advice from his trusty friend—logic. And when he was guided by that cold logic, he didn’t feel the need to actively participate in what was happening around him or take any direct control. But in that particular moment—ever since he had heard the first shot coming from inside the museum, shortly after losing access to the cameras—he was almost losing his mind over how little he could do. Powerlessness was the first blow, the fact that her life, and others', depended on a man with probable schizophrenia, driven by dangerous delusions, the second, much stronger one.

As with every hostage situation, a makeshift operations camp was set up outside the building, where all necessary units gathered. Garcia stayed at her post, but he saw no other option but to go there personally. The rest of the team quickly gathered, and Hotch arrived so fast it seemed like he lived just around the corner. After all, there was a member of his team inside, the one he had sent there, never expecting such a turn of events. The two perpetrators, who were working together, seemed to have two completely different goals. One, apparently, was persuaded to go along with a simple robbery and escape. The second, Erick, however, had a different, more complicated desire from the start. He wanted Allen, who was supposed to extract a non-existent chip from his body, allegedly implanted by the government.

Allen. He spoke that name with an incomprehensible bitterness and disdain. He was disgusted by his thoughtlessness, pure stupidity. Though he was familiar with his achievements in the field of neurotechnology, he couldn't call him a scientist, really not anything other than an idiot. And it was all because he had nearly put her and everyone else in danger, because he pressured her so much that she had to defend herself by striking him in the face. He remembered how once they had slept in the same bed, so small that they almost fell off it and were forced to lie literally on top of each other. By accident, he had jabbed her with his elbow in the ribs, and before he could even whisper an apology, she hit him with such force that he lost his breath. He hoped Allen had taken an even harder blow.

He forced himself back to reality, as everyone gathered around Hotch, who was leaning over the phone. The unsub had answered, and the discussion began.

"We'll deliver what you need. All the equipment. But first, you must release the innocent people inside and promise you won't hurt anyone else. Not Allen, or anyone."

They argued, a lot. Of course, they wanted him to let everyone go, which was, realistically, impossible. Eventually, the number sixteen was agreed upon, a little more than half of the people present.

Through the microphone clipped to her clothes, they could hear him pointing at the people who were to be released. The second perpetrator seemed to have completely given in to his paranoid companion, and stopped trying to convince him to escape. He must have realized it was already too late for that.

“You’re the one who’s leaving,” he said, his words very clear, suggesting he was standing very close to her, pointing at her.

Spencer straightened up, a sudden rush of premature relief washing over him. Premature—that was the key word.

“No,” she protested sharply. “No, let her go instead of me. She’s older and not feeling well. I should stay…”

He pressed the microphone to his mouth, trying to talk her out of it.

“Do what they say, resisting might make him angry…”

“No, Reid, she’s right,” Hotch interrupted him. Spencer looked at his boss in surprise, shaking his head in confusion. Instead of explaining his decision to him, Hotch turned to her.

“You have to do everything you can to stay inside. You’re our only source of information, our access to what’s happening in there.”

“Hotch…”

Someone, JJ, placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from protesting further. It dawned on him that they were right, but... it was hard for him to accept. It was true that, as an FBI agent, part of her duty sometimes meant risking her life for the greater good. Still, this decision made his hands ball into fists, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Suddenly, it struck him that if an unfamiliar agent, not a member of the BAU, not his friend, and someone who hadn’t shared a bed with him when his fear of the dark grew stronger, were in the same situation... he would have agreed with Hotch without hesitation.

“I told you to leave, so you leave. There’s gotta be sixteen people, or they won’t bring it to me, goddammit.”

“So let someone else go…” She cut off abruptly, a rustling sound echoing through the air, as if— as if he tugged at her clothes. Spencer almost spoke again but stopped herself. The same thought had crossed Hotch’s face, he saw it. 

“Seriously, this will be better. I... I can help with removing the chip...”

“Allen has to do it.”

“Yes, but…” her voice grew more desperate, trying to come up with something more, an excuse to fulfill her duty.

“Oh, what don’t you understand, you stupid bitch…”

Spencer anticipated the sudden outburst of aggression, he had felt it building for a while. Though the unsub was unpredictable, his anger rose and fell within mere seconds, Spencer knew it was all heading in that direction. So, he squeezed his eyes shut just before the horrible, dull thud rang out, followed by a muffled cry of pain. Then the sound was drowned out by a rush, something like a thud, and he could only guess that she had fallen to the floor.

He didn't open his eyes, but something pricked at his chest. He knew that if he looked at Hotch, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving him a big, i told you so. It wasn’t even about being right—he didn’t care about that, not at that moment. What mattered to him was that nothing happened to her, and that was exactly what had just happened.

No one from the team said a word, though Derek turned his gaze away from the speaker, his expression one of discomfort, like someone averting their eyes from an unpleasant scene. Hotch stared at some fixed point ahead, his face unreadable, before leaning into the microphone just as—

“What the hell is this?!” the unsub suddenly screamed. “A gun? Why the hell does she have a gun on her?!”

Reid’s eyes shot open as he nearly dropped to his knees by the microphone, as if somehow that could help. The weapon must have slipped out when she fell, sliding free from where it had been concealed beneath her clothes…

He noticed Elle nervously biting her thumb, her face pale as a sheet. He read the same grim, terrified realization on her face that had already taken root in everyone’s minds. She was burned. Her cover as the assistant was completely blown.

“He can’t find out she’s FBI,” Gideon declared, leaning heavily against the edge of the table. “He’s a paranoid maniac who thinks the government is after him. If he realizes a federal agent has been in there the entire time…”

“Wait!” the second attacker spoke up. He had long since given up and was now quietly following his partner’s orders. “I heard the hostages talking... something about there being someone from the FBI among them, someone who’s in contact with the cops. I thought they were just talking crap, but...”

“How does he know that?” JJ asked, her lips slightly parted in shock.

“She told one of the women,” Spencer blurted out, though it felt like the words came from someone else. Some part of him—still detached from the full realization of what her exposure meant—clung to the fragments of logic not yet consumed by his nerves. “To calm her down... but that woman must have passed it on to someone else.”

“FBI?” the unsub repeated, almost in a daze. “Fucking FBI?”

The sound of something slamming echoed sharply—an explosion of frustration and shock. Every pained whimper, every labored breath she took, reached Spencer with cruel clarity, amplified by that damned new microphone clipped to her chest, capturing every sound in merciless detail.

He wanted to cover his ears, to block it out, but he couldn’t. His lower lip trembled, caught between screaming or vomiting the moment he opened his mouth. 

Covering his ears would have been a selfish gesture, one that would only bring relief to him. She didn’t have that option; all that was left for her was to endure, as he assumed, the next kicks...

He lowered his head, not looking at the others, not wanting to see their equally helpless expressions. And although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he took two steps to move away. To escape from this place, from these sounds. Because he simply couldn’t bear them.

However, he didn’t get far; he staggered as if drunk and had to grab the table tightly to keep from falling. JJ, in some protective impulse that she probably wasn’t even aware of, reached out her hand, wanting to touch his shoulder, but he pushed her away.

“I’m calling him,” Hotch announced, immediately moving into action. “Maybe that’ll stop him…”

“Check if she has a microphone on her. If she’s with the FBI, she could have been spying on us the whole time,” suggested the second attacker, in a strangely satisfied tone. He was probably some sadistic bastard who enjoyed this turn of events.

This caused Erik to stop his attack. He completely ignored the incoming call. She took a breath, inhaling deeply, though it clearly caused her pain.

“She has…”

The unsub’s voice became very clear, he must have located the microphone and then disconnected it from her clothing, carefully watching him.

“We need to go in, we have to do something,” Elle said desperately, but it didn’t stir anyone else. 

Yes, they needed to do something, but... what? Going in meant putting the hostages at risk, and their survival was the priority.

"I knew the government was spying on me," Erick muttered to himself, the microphone had probably slipped from his hand and fallen to the ground. "Not just with the chip, but they also sent that fucking..." He kicked her. "...agent."

"Give it to me," Spencer requested, exhaling with a resigned hiss. He was, of course, referring to the microphone. She still had the earpiece in; she could hear him. He didn’t yet know what he intended to say. Maybe he’d ask her to stay strong? Assure her that it would all be over soon? Would that even count as a lie if he had no real certainty they could take any action to save her? Or was this one of those morally gray situations where a lie was better than the truth?

Without protest, someone handed the microphone to him, practically shoving it into his hands.

But then they lost the connection.

The unsub must have destroyed it, stomping the microphone underfoot.

And before it happened—before the static filled the line—a gunshot rang out.

Spence found himself sitting on a chair. Not that he’d blacked out in the literal sense, but one moment he was standing upright, and the next he was slumped onto the seat—probably the only chair in their makeshift camp across from the museum. It was one of those folding chairs made of black metal and unbelievably uncomfortable. For some reason, their look always reminded him of golf courses in the blazing sun. Sometimes they’d be there… wait, why the hell was he thinking about chairs?

Disoriented, he lifted his gaze. Derek was pacing back and forth, his hands on his head, while Elle and JJ were nowhere in sight. Hotch stood in front of him, turned slightly to the side, eyes fixed on the ground, a phone pressed to his ear. His rolled-up sleeves exposed tense veins on his forearms, his hands clenched into fists.

“You killed a hostage,” Hotch said the moment the attacker picked up. Hearing the words spoken aloud, the gunshot echoed again in Spencer’s mind. He flinched, though he hadn’t the first time it happened for real.

It really happened. This wasn’t some hysterical thought creeping into your mind when someone you care about is late to a meeting and doesn’t pick up their phone, the kind of thought where your brain starts whispering that something terrible must have happened. It wasn’t a dream either, nor a nightmare blending with reality. And it wasn’t some devastating novel, a climactic moment designed to shatter the reader’s heart into pieces.

This

really

happened.

"I’ll remind you of the terms of our agreement," Hotch continued. His tone was usually sharp, leaving no room for argument. But now, having just lost a member of his team and addressing the person responsible for it, his words didn’t just cut—they sliced. Spencer fixed his gaze on him, unable to comprehend how Hotch could remain so composed in the moment. He himself…

“You don’t harm anyone else, and in return, we provide you with the necessary tools. Shooting that innocent person…”

How did it come to this—that the person who, just that morning, ordered Chinese food with him to calm her nerves; who had teasingly told him to clip the microphone onto her, leaving him flustered; whose sweet scent of hair lingered so strongly in his senses that he had to hold his breath just to focus; who, one moment, could make him laugh until tears blurred his vision, and the next, worry so deeply about her that he felt feverish with concern; who listened, truly listened, even when he had grown tired of his own voice; who helped him discover pieces of himself he hadn’t known were there; who revealed, day after day, some new and enchanting fragment of her soul; and whose laughter made him want to capture its melody, bottle it, and keep it for eternity—was now reduced to the cold, detached phrase an innocent person shot dead?

He realized his mind had become entirely consumed with replaying those moments. Thanks to his eidetic memory, each recollection was painfully vivid, yet at the same time—perhaps due to the awareness of what came next—filled with a paralyzing void. Detached from reality, he wasn’t even listening to the ongoing negotiations, only snapping back when the shadow of someone’s figure fell over him.

“Spencer,” Gideon called his name, alternating between looking at him with concern and averting his gaze, as if unable to bear the shattered expression on his face. “Did you hear what Hotch said?”

He couldn’t bring himself to shake his head, though he doubted it was necessary. Rarely did something fail to interest him, especially something Hotch had said, but whatever it was, it had landed firmly in that narrow category. After all, what could Hotch possibly have said? That he’d reached an agreement with the murderer, who would now release eighteen hostages instead of sixteen? Or perhaps, in an act of twisted mercy, he’d declared that once they brought the requested items, the killer would allow one person to go inside and retrieve her body?

He had seen many bodies with gunshot wounds to the head in his life. A vision of her with similar injuries haunted him, so vivid and detailed that he closed his eyes in an attempt to escape it. But the moment he did, the image only grew stronger, searing itself into his mind with unbearable clarity.

"He wants you to go inside pretending to be a surgeon. That’s what the unsub is asking for in exchange for the hostages. Your task would be to fake removing a chip from his body, pulling off one of your magic tricks," Gideon explained matter-of-factly, though his expression betrayed a certain doubt about the plan. He suddenly fell silent, hesitation creeping into his voice. "If you can’t do it… this isn’t an order, kid. No one will blame you if you say no."

“We didn’t know it would be such a terrible mistake,” Gideon said quietly.

“Well, that’s the thing about mistakes,” he scoffed bitterly. “You don’t usually realize you’re making them. But you should be able to predict them, especially when someone’s…” His voice broke, and he looked away, his anger momentarily crumbling into something rawer.

Even though he had lashed out at Gideon, the older man didn’t react with anger. Instead, he stared at Spencer with a calm, almost sorrowful expression. When Spencer stood, he felt the weight of Gideon’s hand resting on his numb shoulder.

“I’ll do it,” he declared after a moment.

There was no fear in his voice, no visible sign of stress. Under different circumstances, he’d likely have been unraveling, nerves fraying at the thought of entering the building with the task of saving her. But now…now all he wanted was to stand face-to-face with the man inside. More specifically, next to his neck. With a scalpel in hand.

There was no time to waste. He practiced his sleight of hand trick—making the chip suddenly appear in his palm—a few times. It had been a while since he’d done it, but even so, it came off flawlessly every time. He clenched the small device tightly in his hand and, before he knew it, found himself standing at the foot of the museum steps.

The doors opened, and the first hostages began to emerge. Their reactions followed the same pattern. First came the shock—the struggle to process that they were truly stepping outside again, alive. Then, as they began to accept it, their terrified, hesitant steps turned into a relieved jog, and their eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude.

Spencer stopped, his gaze fixed on the faces of random strangers as they rushed past. Somewhere, deep down, he held onto a foolish, fleeting hope that she might appear in those doors as well. She didn’t, of course.

But if she had… he thought, his chest tightening at the mere idea. If she had, he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being thankful. Not necessarily to God, but to everything—every twist of fate—that had brought her back.

He had seen the interior of the building on the camera footage and had managed to memorize it. He knew exactly where to head to meet the unsub. The unsub was standing right in the center of the room. Spencer knew there had to be a second shooter somewhere, but he was afraid to look around. If his gaze happened to land on her, not only would his chip trick fail, but he was also certain he’d never be able to shake the image from his mind. It would embed itself in every cell of his brain, one after the other.

He focused all his attention on him, on Erik. He turned to him trustingly, showing the spot on his neck where he believed the chip was located. Everything about his posture radiated the peak of madness. His voice and expression oscillated between hope, desperation, paranoia, and much more that could be listed.

Spencer tried to concentrate on the chip in his hand, not on the scalpel in his other hand. He knew it would be incredibly foolish, but as he was so close to this man's throat, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He realized that the only thing holding him back was the awareness that the second shooter was likely keeping him in their sights. It was almost certain; he didn’t need to look around to know that. But as soon as the blade touched the man’s skin at the back of his neck, his gaze, against his will, began searching. He looked at the wall where the remaining hostages were gathered, the ones who hadn’t made it into the lucky sixteen. He didn’t find the shooter.

But he found her. If he weren’t wearing his glasses, he might have assumed he’d mistaken her for some other woman. He could only blame his brain and possible hallucinations... but before he could entertain those thoughts, one simple sentence took over his mind.

She was there. Blood dripping from her nose, clothes torn, curled up on the ground among the rest of the hostages, but she was there. She was there, alive.

*

When you stood up for that woman, a brief struggle broke out between you and the unsub. He ordered you to go outside, but the voice in your ear told you to stay inside at all costs. Unsure of what to do, you started mumbling excuses and explanations, leading to an argument... during which he swung his weapon at you, aiming for your face.

As you fell, your weapon—clumsily shoved into your clothing after an argument with Allen—slipped out. And then things escalated rapidly.

Upon learning you were with the FBI, the unsub went into his usual paranoid frenzy. He dropped the microphone he had taken from you, and the heavy kicks of his leather boots landed on your body, on your ribs, on your back. You could barely keep up with protecting yourself, as the blows kept coming faster and faster.

And in that moment, something happened that probably saved your life. But at the same time, it cost another man and his family everything.

Allen sprang at the second attacker, who was almost hypnotized by the injuries being inflicted on you. He seized the moment of distraction, yanking the weapon from his hand and turning it against its owner. You remembered the fleeting look of triumph on his face as he aimed it at Erik. And then, the look of confusion when he was overtaken and the bullets tore through his body.

Somewhere in that moment, your microphone must have been destroyed, leaving you without contact with the team. And without it... you were just like any other hostage. Beaten, forced to stem the blood running from your nose with your blazer. You remembered glancing at it, running your finger over the fabric soaked in crimson, and thinking you'd have to wash it before returning it to Reid. Then, the hopeless realization hit you that maybe you wouldn’t get the chance to do that, and helpless tears filled your eyes for the first time.

It was strange that the unsub decided to spare you. Was it the incoming phone call that distracted him? Or perhaps the death of Allen? Was he the reason for this whole attack? You weren’t sure, maybe both at once. But you managed to return to your spot against the wall, where the other hostages had moved as far away as they could from the two lifeless bodies lying in a pool of blood.

Behind your back, the unsub was arguing with the police, probably Hotch. You weren’t paying attention to their negotiations, instead kneeling beside Allen. Completely staining your clothes, you reached for his hand. His eyes were wide open, his chest... maybe rising slightly, or maybe it was just your perception. In any case, you didn’t grab him to check his pulse, to see if there was anything that could be done to save him. You knew there wasn’t. You took his hand in a gesture of gratitude for everything, filled with sincere and deep compassion, despite everything that had happened between you. Maybe he turned out to be a jerk in that one, crisis situation where it’s normal for people to lose their minds. But what mattered was what kind of man he was in everyday, calm conditions. What kind of friend, fiancé, father he was.

You froze in place, staring at his face, his messy red hair. You snapped back to reality only when you realized the unsub was releasing the hostages. You weren’t part of that group. He didn’t look at you, or Allen, or his dead accomplice, as if you didn’t exist. The people were let out of the building, and then…

You nearly jumped to your feet at the sight of Reid, but the sharp pain in your ribs stopped you. Instead, you stared at him, confused as to why he’d gotten himself into such a messed-up situation alone. No one was with him, and you couldn’t even tell if he was carrying a weapon. Why was he taking such a risk? Couldn’t they have sent someone else?

Although your gaze bored into him, asking without words, he stubbornly avoided looking at you. It took a while, but then it hit you—he’d probably been told to hide the fact that you knew each other. He was pretending to be a surgeon, you realized.

You watched in shock as the unsub dropped his weapon and turned his back to Reid, begging him quietly to remove the chip from his body.

Before Reid touched the scalpel to his neck, he looked straight at you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, but you knew there was a lot going on. It was a long moment of eye contact, which he broke to get to work. Focused, brow furrowed.

You shook your head in disbelief when he really pulled the tiny device from his body. Wait, so what? It had really been there all along? The unsub wasn’t a paranoid delusional?

At the sight of the chip, Erik staggered with a mix of hysterical joy and relief, and after a moment, he literally collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands. His body was shaken by sobs as he muttered his thanks. He was... absolutely harmless. The hostages took advantage of his vulnerability, using the opportunity to silently leave the museum. You found yourself among them, even helping those who, due to shock, struggled to move. How? With your injuries? You had no idea.

You pointed one woman toward the ambulance waiting outside the building, ready to take any injured hostages. Around you, sounds echoed, people were running in all directions. A sense of disconnection and disbelief washed over you, as if you couldn’t quite grasp that it was all over.

You turned around, sensing someone's presence behind you.

The first thing you noticed was that Spencer was still wearing his blue rubber gloves. Strange, but the first thing that came to your mind was to focus on that detail. You even opened your mouth to speak, but stopped when he gently cupped your face in both of his hands. As if you were a fragile relic, he tilted his head slightly from side to side, almost as though he was trying to deny the fact that you were standing before him.

"As if you saw a ghost," you whispered, a faint smile appearing on your face.

Taking advantage of the fact that he was leaning toward you, you pressed your forehead against his. With your eyes still open, you saw his eyelids tremble. When he closed them, you caught sight of that single tear beginning to form beneath them.

*

"Reid," you said, as he and the rest of the team were heading towards the exit. All heads turned in your direction, but you only cared about that one. "Can we talk?"

He opened his mouth, seemingly surprised by the request, but then swallowed and nodded.

"Sure. If... just, sure."

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Since your rib injuries were numerous, you had to be taken to the hospital for an X-ray. Your face wasn’t looking too good either. Only a few hours had passed since everything happened, and all your wounds were fresh and painful. After taking a decent amount of painkillers, you felt a bit like you were floating. You were sitting on the hospital bed, your legs resting on the floor as if on a bench. You made space beside you, and although he hesitated for a moment, he sat right next to you, so close your shoulders almost touched.

What you wanted to say, everything you felt, was hard to put into words. So you spent a few minutes in silence, during which you concluded that the simpler, the better.

"Thank you, Reid."

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he shook his head dismissively.

"Thank you? For what? I should be thanking you."

You knew this would happen. That he would downplay what he did, and it would be incredibly hard for you to express all the gratitude you felt towards him.

"For what? For everything," you stated briefly. He was preparing a response, but you beat him to it. You even raised a finger decisively, signaling for a moment of silence. You had a lot to say. "Not just for pretending to be a surgeon and getting into that museum. And don't shrug it off like it was a small thing! You saved those people."

"Maybe a little, but…"

"But that's not all. You were… you were with me the whole time. You kept talking to me the entire time…"

"Just like everyone else…"

"Everyone else gave me orders. Told me what to do to survive and what not to do. And of course, I'm incredibly grateful to them—if it weren't for them, I would have probably pissed off that unsub after less than fifteen minutes and we'd all be dead by now."

Reid flinched when you said that. Maybe you should hold off on such words, while the whole situation was still so fresh.

"You... you kept asking how I was feeling, talking to me, just... your voice, the fact that I had you on the other end, it helped me not panic. When, at the very beginning, you asked me to breathe with you..."

You shook your head, holding back the involuntary recollection of that moment, that memory when you were still trapped in that building with two armed men. Helpless and lost, clutching his jacket with all your strength. 

You realized with growing difficulty that you were holding back tears.

Reid had been listening to you quietly the whole time, but suddenly, he lowered his gaze. His hand found yours, hesitated for a moment, then gently grasped it. You immediately squeezed it tightly. Something came to your mind.

"And what did you want to thank me for?" you asked, referring to when he interrupted you the first time.

"It's not... I don't have as much to say as you do," he confessed, circling the topic more than addressing it directly. He still hadn't let go of your hand, and as he thought, his thumb seemed to absentmindedly stroke its surface.

"Wow," you murmured. "I never expected Spencer Reid to say something like that in my presence, but here we are. So?"

He smiled for a moment at your comment. However, that expression quickly gave way to a more serious one, carrying with it the unburied remnants of the horror you had both endured just a few hours ago.

"Just for you being alive," he said. Your brows furrowed slightly when you heard that. It wasn't what you expected. "For a while... when you were still inside, and your mic was destroyed..." With a sigh, he tilted his head back, holding back from returning to that moment. It couldn't have been easy for him, referring to exactly the moment that caused him pain. "We heard a gunshot. Everyone thought it was you.  That's why... that's why I just wanted to thank you for that."

Given that you had absolutely no control over it, those were the strangest thanks anyone had ever given you. But still, they squeezed your heart like no others ever had.

You leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek.

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch

[bontentrio]

ATEEZ and ALMOST BREAKING UP

ot8 x gn reader

summary: you’re in a relationship and one of you (or both) want to break up.

tw: angst (insecurities, arguments, reader flinches sometimes but it’s not violence) but with happy endings because i am weak + fluff + slight nsfw in mingi’s + alcohol in jongho’s.

a/n: i got carried away with yeosang’s and jongho’s my apologies 🙏 rqs are open btw! (also i promise i’m working on ateez stuck in the friendzone part 2 but i have this scheduled for today)

HONGJOONG

you stared at hongjoong in bewilderment. he was sitting down in front of you, with tears in his eyes that threatened to spill if he blinked. he looked so… fragile. as if one single word or touch from you could break him. yet you sat there, with confusion painted all over your face.

“i’m sorry, what?” you asked.

“i think we need to break up” he whispered, as a tear rolled down his cheek and looked away. so you didn’t hear wrong.

“i don’t agree” you said, taking his hand in yours. “what brought you this thought?” you asked, making him look down. you waited a few moments, not wanting to pressure him into talking. then, hongjoong lifted your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it.

“i’m always busy, we haven’t seen each other in a while and i take too long to reply to your texts” he explained. “you deserve someone who is always there for you”

“but don’t i get a say in this? i knew what i was getting into when we started seeing each other” you started saying as you scooted closer to him, in order to lift up his face to look at you. once your eyes interlocked, you cradled his face and continued: “yeah it sucks not being able to see you as much as i wished to, but also it’s not like i’m unhappy. i cherish the small moments we spend together, it makes me eager for the next one”

“but-“ he started saying, but you interrupted him with a kiss. at first, hongjoong sat still, surprised by your sudden actions, but then he kissed you right back. “no buts joong, we are not breaking up. i love you and i still want this. i still want you” you whispered against his lips, reassuringly.

he nodded in response, believing you.

SEONGHWA

“can we talk for a moment?” you asked seonghwa, who immediately felt his blood run cold at the question. he dropped his phone and studied your face: you looked sad, tired even.

realization struck him as quick as alighting: you’ve been avoiding his kisses for at least two days now, and he’s been brushing it off thinking you were just in a weird mood. i mean, yes it bothered him, but he also loved you too much to not give you space if you needed it. he always wanted you to be as comfortable as possible. but maybe he was wrong about that?

“is something wrong, my love?” he asked with a shaky voice as he took your hand in his. he chose to ignore the way you slightly flinched at his touch, or else his heart would break even more.

“i think-“ you started saying, looking down at your intertwined hands. his hold was gentle, as he always has been. kind, gentle, beautiful, all things you were not. “i think we should take a break”.

you looked up to him, and immediately regretted it: tears formed in his eyes, threatening to spill, while his lips were parted, probably trying to think of what to say. the scene completely broke you, and further proved your point about your insecurities.

“did i do something wrong?” he whispered, not trusting his voice to speak louder without breaking. your eyebrows furrowed, how could he think that when he’s been nothing but perfect in every way? “if i did i’m sorry y/n, i’ll change, but please don’t leave me”

you hugged him tightly, hiding his face on your neck as he sobbed. you didn’t realize you started crying too. “i’m sorry baby, you didn’t do anything wrong” you started saying after a while, pulling him back and cradling his face “it’s me, it’s all me and it has always been me. i’m the problem and i’m always holding you back, i’m sorry hwa”

“holding me back? what do you mean? baby you’re my motivation” seonghwa said, wiping away your tear with his thumbs. “but-“ you started saying, only to be interrupted by him:

“no, don’t ever say that again. you’re my star, y/n”.

YUNHO

normally, you would find yunho’s angry face hot, but now that it’s directed at you? not so much. not when he’s staring at you like you’re a waste of time and space, which only made your anger bubble up more.

“don’t just sit and stare at me! can you please give me a response? it’s not hard yunho” you exclaimed, earning a big eye roll from him “it’s a simple yes or no question: were you flirting with them?”

“god y/n you can be so annoying! no i wasn’t flirting, but now i wish i was so i could have a valid excuse to not see you again!” yunho yelled, standing up abruptly from his seat, making you take a step back unconsciously. this action didn’t go unnoticed by him, quickly realizing that surprise took over your face for a moment, before turning back to anger.

“if you don’t want to see me again then let’s just break up. i’m setting you free yunho” you said in anger, contrasting the way your eyes started watering.

you turned around in order to leave, not wanting him to see you cry, but he grabbed your hand, stopping you. when you turned around, you saw that his hard expression had softened, anger slowly dissipating.

“wait, don’t leave” he started saying “i’m sorry, i wasn’t thinking straight when i said what i said. i love you, i didn’t flirt with them and i don’t want you to leave”

yunho’s eyes silently begged you to forgive him, as he brought you closer to him slowly, testing the waters. when he realized you weren’t going to move away, he wrapped his arms around you. “i’m truly sorry baby, please don’t leave. i love you”.

you cried softly on his chest, as he thought of ways to make you forgive him completely. he refused to let you go.

YEOSANG

“i think this should end, y/n” he said suddenly, making you turn around in your spot at the kitchen. you looked at him confused, tea cups still on your hand.

“you mean the habit of us having tea together before bed?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed. yeosang stood up from the coach, and approached you slowly as you took notice of his sad face. “you know what i mean” he whispered once he reached you.

you shook your head “no, actually i don’t. is this about the argument earlier? i forgave you already, it’s all good yeo i promise” you replied quickly, setting the tea cups aside and proceeding to hold his arms. yeosang stared at you, it seems like he was about to cry as well, becoming all too real.

it’s rare for you to argue honestly, often choosing to just talk things out calmly. but earlier that day, ‘talking’ seemed impossible, as constant yelling filled the room. yeosang had promised, once again, to take you out on a date to celebrate your anniversary (two weeks and a half ago), but due to his idol duties he cancelled again. you have had enough, so things escalated rather quickly, making him leave your shared home with a loud shut of the door.

thing is, hours later yeosang showed up with a small bouquet of flowers and asked for forgiveness. he also explained to you how overwhelmed he felt at the moment with all the upcoming comeback preparations. you understood him obviously, and decided it would be better to just move the date until after promotions.

so everything was fine, all forgiven. what brought this now? “baby we barely see each other, except late at night like right now” he started saying, biting his lip so he could stop the tears from spilling out “you deserve someone better”.

“yeosang you are the ‘better’ you’re refereing to! i don’t want anyone else” you answered, hugging him. “i just want you, all of you, even with your weird and long schedules. i still want to feel your kiss on my cheek every time you leave and i still want to have tea with you late at night”

yeosang kissed you, pouring his whole soul and love in it as he held you impossibly closer than before. after a while, he reluctantly broke it, face still close to yours.

“i’m sorry, i love you” he whispered.

SAN

“no” he said, shaking his head as he looked at you with an unreadable expression “no, we’re not breaking up”

“but-“ you started to argue, kind of getting annoyed at the way he dismissed your previous statement. it’s been a week since fans started suspecting of your relationship, after a sasaeng had caught you at a restaurant celebrating your first anniversary. the media was going wild, even going as far as searching up your socials and sending malicious messages, all telling you to break up with san and that you’re harming his idol image.

“i said no, baby” he said, kissing your cheek and taking your hand, leading you to the bedroom “let’s go to bed”

“san! i’m about to ruin your career, i can’t just brush it off like it’s nothing! we need to break up, or at least take a break until everything calms down” you exclaimed, taking your hand back. san stared at you, face still unreadable but with some traces of hurt evident in his eyes. he took your hands again.

“you’re not going to ruin my career, love” he started saying, holding your hands tighter as if he was scared of letting go “kq’s management is handling it, they assured me everything will be fine because the angle of the photo didn’t show my face, and the couple behind us hid my body as well, so it’s not noticeable that it’s me”

you thought for a moment. truth is, you love san way too much to bring him harm, as small as possible it may be. he knew this, but his reasoning made sense. for all the media knows, the guy in the picture could be a lookalike.

“please” he said, barely above a whisper. you nodded, kissing his lips reassuringly. it’s going to be okay.

MINGI

the room felt heated, despite the different pieces of clothing that have been mindlessly discarded all over the place. mingi’s mouth never left yours, tongue entering your mouth as if it was it’s second home. his hands were everywhere: massaging your chest, holding your waist, playing with your ass, caressing your thighs. you felt him everywhere, all at once.

“we should really break things off” he said, in between kisses. you nodded, letting out a small moan when his lips found your neck. “definitely” you managed to say.

you and mingi have been arguing a lot recently, sometimes over silly small things like laundry or house chores, and other times the argument would revolve around hin forgetting important dates or your stubbornness to remember that he is an idol and is, of course, busy.

mingi’s hands went back to your ass, slapping it lightly and making you jump. he proceeded to hold your thighs, pulling you up to his height as he pressed you against the wall. he kissed you again, desperately and deeply.

“min-“ you started saying, or attempted to say since his lips made it near impossible. he bit your lip in response. “mingi”

he hummed against your lips. “this is not what breaking up means” you managed to say, pulling the back of his hair lightly but enough to make hin groan. “i know, but what if it is for us? i know you’ll miss this, miss me. now hold tight” he answered, unbucking his belt as you held on him tightly to not fall while he maneuvered with his pants.

once he was done, and pressed you harder against the wall, your trail of thought immediately disappeared. if it was a good or bad decision, or something that would become cyclical, that would be a problem for the future.

WOOYOUNG

“we should break up” you said, as a matter of fact. you stood in front of him, arms crossed as a serious expression adorned your face. wooyoung, in contrast, was sitting on your shared bed, mindlessly scrolling through social media. he didn’t even bother to look up.

“and why do you think that, baby?” he asked, still not looking at you, which caused your eye to twitch slightly. “exactly because of things like this wooyoung! i’m trying to break up with you and you don’t even care!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air dramatically.

wooyoung blocked his phone and set it aside, sitting up straight in the process. his eyes found yours, probably trying to decipher how you were feeling. “are there any other reasons?”

“you don’t have time for me-“ you replied. “i still see you every night unless i’m on tour, and even in that circumstance i call every day” he interrupted. “okay, but you also never help me around the house” you argued. “baby, i literally cook half of your meals”.

“but-“ you started saying, only to be interrupted once again by wooyoung: “see? no reasons, no break up” he said, patting your head and returning to his phone.

“you’re impossible” you said, sitting beside him with your arms still crossed against your chest. wooyoung kissed your cheek “i know, but you love me nonetheless. plus i know this was an attempt to prank me as revenge for last time”

your eyes widened in surprise.

“HOW?!”

JONGHO

you might have taken a few too many drinks at tonight’s night out with your friends, so they had to call your boyfriend jongho to come and pick you up. thankfully, he answered quickly and said he would be there in 10.

“noooo you called jongho?” you asked, tipsily as you grabbed your friend’s hand that was holding your phone. “he has to wake up early tomorrow! he shouldn’t be driving around, he has to rest!”

“someone has to get you home, babe! plus he seemed fine, i promise” your friend answered in between giggles watching you pout.

once you spot jongho, your whole face lit up involuntarily, as if it was a reflex. once he reached your table, he hugged you from behind, pecking your cheek. “thanks for calling me and taking care of her” he told your friends. you clumsily bid your goodbyes to your friends and turned to jongho, ready to go.

“you shouldn’t have come, jongs” you started saying as he buckled up your belt in the passenger seat. “you have a long day tomorrow”

“it’s no problem baby, i couldn’t sleep anyways” he said, jogging back to the driver’s seat. you looked at him, thoughtful expression on your face for a few moments. “what?” he asked, chuckling as he drove the car out of the parking lot.

“you weren’t able to sleep because i was out? or because you weren’t feeling tired?” you asked, curiously. for someone who was terribly drunk, you sure got philosophical. add that to the long list of things jongho finds endearing about you.

“little bit of both i guess” he answered, stopping at a red light. you stayed quiet, strangely so, which caused jongho to turn his face to you to check if you fell asleep. but you weren’t. instead, you looked at him with tears in your eyes. “baby? what’s wrong?” he said, slightly panicking, not caring that the light turned green. since it was late at night, his car was the only one there at the moment.

“i’m a burden to you” you concluded, tears rolling down your cheeks “i’m holding you back and you should leave me”. huh?!?!

“baby, what are you talking about?” he asked in confusion, before frantically holding your face and wiping your tears away with kisses. “you always appear to save the day jongs, and i do nothing in return” you whispered, looking deeply into his eyes.

“you do more than you realize, y/n” he said, kissing you once more. “but you’re drunk, and i know nothing i’ll say will stick in this state. so let’s talk about it tomorrow, yes?”

“promise?” you asked, in a tiny voice. “i promise” he reassured.

[desperate-gay]

christmas request for leah williamson:

"Just because we’re stuck under mistletoe doesn’t mean I have to kiss you.”

“Scared you might enjoy it?"

A Christmas Tease

Leah Williamson x fem!reader

summary: your teammate has quite the reputation and she will do anything to catch your attention

a/n: just a quick blurb i thought id write due to a sleepless night

“There she is!” Katie shouts, arm extended with a beer in hand, announcing your late arrival at the party.

“Yes, here I am. My tires are horrible with the snow and everyone drives like there’s a whole blizzard outside.” You roll your eyes, removing your outdoor gear to throw on the coat rack and embrace the warmth of the house.

You greet everyone with a smile and catch up to all the conversations that have happened within the last 20 minutes you have missed. You’ve gotten extremely close with many of your teammates despite only playing for Arsenal for only a couple of months. Once your USWNT teammate, Emily Fox, was signed, you weren’t too long after.

You had already known a lot of your teammates from international games and previous clubs you had played for, so there weren't too many people to get used to.

Besides one very obnoxious player.

Leah Williamson.

She has a reputation for sleeping around and placing girls in her trophy case. The team jokes that she’s challenging herself to sleep with every girl in London, and, unfortunately, her new target is you.

“Were you too busy answering prayers, angel?” A thick british accent breaks you out of your trance, making you jump in surprise.

“More like digging myself up from hell.” You say, giving her a plastered grin before taking a sip of the champagne that rests in your hand.

“I’ll have you one day, you know.” Leah states confidently, earning herself a sharp glare from you in which she only returns with a cocky smirk.

Not even wanting to argue with the girl, you scoff and walk over to where Lia and Mariona sit and join them in conversation. You’d never admit this to the blonde, not wanting to make her ego swell bigger than it anyway is, you used to have the biggest crush on her before you transferred to Arsenal.

You always found the blonde extremely attractive, especially on the pitch, but when you finally met her and found out about her off-the-pitch affairs, your crush faded away.

“You still there, amiga?” Mariona asks softly, noticing your silence.

“Yes, of course. Sorry, just a bit distracted.” You smile apologetically, twisting the glass in your hand for distraction.

“No need to apologize, but if I may, does this have anything to do with a certain english blonde defender?” Lia smirks teasingly as you roll your eyes and shake your head rapidly.

“Absolutely not. You know my feelings about that, Lia.” The swiss girl allows the conversation to disappear although she doesn’t believe you one bit.

—

“Next question, what is everyone’s favorite christmas song?” Kim asks the team who all are huddled around in the living space, you coincidentally smushed on a loveseat with Leah.

Many shouts are thrown across the room from voices trying to top each other, debating on what christening song is the ultimate song, including your voice.

Noticing the girl next to you zoning out and not participating, you bump your shoulder into hers, asking, “What about you? What’s your favorite christmas song?”

“Rockin’ around the christmas tree.” Leah nods in confidence.

“Why that one?” You immediately regret asking when that familiar cocky grin stretches along the older girl’s face.

“Because I know I can rock your world when you finally let me.” She whispers, leaning closer to you so no one else can hear, and quickly snapping back when you push her in disgust, making the girl chuckle and take a sip of her drink.

Many hours pass by with more questions, movies, karaoke, and so on before people start to trickle out to head back to their destined homes. It was only you and a few people left, cleaning up the snacks that were on display and garbage littered in small areas.

Leaning against the wall of the archway, someone clearing their throat grabs your attention next to you. You quickly see the blonde locks and huff in annoyance before turning back to look at what you were.

She taps your shoulder and points above the two of you, causing you to scoff when you notice the holiday plant hanging down by a string. Leah’s white teeth shimmer at you before puckering her lips and making exaggerated kissy noises.

“Just because we are under a mistletoe does not mean I have to kiss you.” You declare, watching the older girl with squinted eyes.

“Afraid you may enjoy it, darling?” Leah questions, pulling herself off the wall and moving slightly closer to you with a wide grin plastered on her face.

A weird shock runs through your body from hearing her husky tone, but you shake it off as the thought of a cold shiver. You swiftly look around to make sure no one is around before closing the gap between you and Leah, grabbing her arms and placing them on your hips while yours wraps around her neck.

The blonde’s smile fades and instead is replaced with a huge face of shock.

“I know I’ll enjoy it. I have been dreaming of you railing me into the mattress over and over again, having your way with me on every surface of every room, and making my legs shake violently with every orgasm you give me.” You whisper, lips brushing against the girl’s ear as her hands grip your hips together with every word.

“Yeah?” Leah’s voice shakes.

“Oh yeah, but this won’t ever happen except in your daydreams.”

With that, you down the rest of the drink in your hand and strut off to help Kim with the rest of the cleanup, leaving the defender in complete bewilderment and arousal.

Merry christmas indeed.

[xoxochb]

idk what this is but enjoy!

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“stop giggling.”

you disobey. “I can’t help it! my socks are so soft and your shirt is so comfortable and you’re warm!”

percy sighs. your bare legs entwine and tangle with his own, your arms draping lazily over his shoulders as his head nestles under your chin.

“you’re killin’ me, sweet girl.” he lifts himself from your chest. you frown at the sudden loss of contact, with this his thumb rubs over your pouting bottom lip. “don’t pout.”

you glare and sit up alongside him, turning to your side with your chin propped up on your palm. your eyes glue to your boyfriend’s pretty face. his godly side shows prominently in the faint setting sunlight through the lace of the curtains. if you didn’t know any better you would say he was fully a greek god. you sigh happily.

percy turns his gaze to you, taking your hand gently into his own and kissing each fingertip before kissing your palm, and lingering his lips over the bottom of your ring finger. your tummy feels fluttery.

he lets your hand go and wraps it back around his shoulder. you let yourself be pulled into his chest, and inhale his ocean scent.

“I’m gonna fall asleep like this, perce.”

“is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

you shrug. the cabin goes silent again. that is, until percy breaks the silence of course.

“don’t sleep yet.”

“well we’re not doing anything, and you’re warm, and it’s silent, and I’m tired.”

he smirks. “I could think of something we could do.”

you regret even opening your mouth. “must you make everything I say into a sex reference?”

“kinda my job.”

“you’re weird!” you pull yourself away from him and sit up again. percy frowns at the loss of contact.

“I’m sorry, come back!”

his hands latch at your waist, attempting to drag you back down but you refrain from allowing him. you remove them from you and throw the blankets off from your legs.

“I won’t make any innuendos ever!”

lie. all lies. huge lie. biggest lie ever.

you roll your eyes playfully and walk to his dresser, finding the drawer he had cleared out special for you. swiftly, you find a pair of your lace panties and slide them up your legs. percy sits up in dramatic shock.

“is this really necessary, sweet girl?”

once slid on, you fix his/your shirt over your torso and lay back underneath the blankets. “punishment.”

“I see… so you’re saying… I’ve been bad and need to be punished?”

you rub your face with both hands, mostly to cover your smile from him. “sometimes I’d be nice if you had an off button.”

“awww, how nice of you, sweet girl. c’mere.”

percy pulls you back down into him. this time, you let him do so. though when his fingers loop around the waistband of your panties you half regret it.

“perseus,” you warn.

“yes, sweet girl?”

“what’re you doing?”

“it’s not fair!” his hand drops to your thigh. “I don’t have any clothes on so why are you dressed?”

“because otherwise I’ll wake up with your drool directly on my skin. this way, it’s on my shirt instead.”

“I won’t drool on you then!”

“you always drool! every single night, which by the way, I am in your bed with you every night, so I of all people would know.”

percy sighs, his hands going underneath your/his shirt. he remains silent. you have won the drool debate yet again. forever, you would win.

[hexhomos]

little random but i really appreciate your dissections and analysis of Mel mainly bc the fandom either adore her and won't admit she is a flawed character and get over defensive when you call her out, or straight up hate her and make her out to be completely evil.

Mel is written as morally grey for a reason and when ppl try to act like she was morally correct in everything she did, it goes against the whole plot. yes, she regrets most of her actions by the end of the series and is left to deal with her family's leagacy and the weight of her actions, but that doesn't undo anything she did. and her eventually starting to care about Jayce doesn't just cancel out that she manipulated him (you'd think this would be obvious)

what bothers me the most i think is meljay shippers who say Jayce mistreated her and that Mel only ever helped and care about him and aided him in rising to power politically, and how she was so understanding of Jayce's and Viktor's friendship. yes, encouraging methods of political corruption in order to gain more power is so caring and kind of her! ❤️

Mel might've told Jayce to go spend time with Viktor after finding out he was ill, but the one time in the show she interacted with Viktor was... prejudiced to say the least. she never directly spoke to or answered Viktor, and the expression on her face any time she looked over at Viktor was so clearly full of dislike. it shocks me ppl still believe Mel and Viktor could get along and respect one another, especially romantically. no way.

anyways, sorry for the rant. just tired of how many bad takes there are in this fandom and very fond of your account lol

you are right and you SHOULD say it re: that oft repeated argument about her "only wanting what's best for him" bothers me so much. Its just... weirdly patronizing and spousing pro-piltover nationalism every time i see it being brought up. "She's doing what anyone would do/what is best for the city!" IDK MAN I AM NOT ROCKING WITH THAT. Im not an ubercapitalist. I don't think any of that was the good option actually lol. Probably I hate piltover too much to humor these arguments but from day 1 we are shown this is a city of immense class inequality in which the elite few holds all the power and all the profit gains at the cost of everyone else's submission and humanity. (Not for nothing: these are also the classic old guard Noxian tenets of supremacy. That's how they do colonization.)

The interactions Mel has with Jayce for majority of the series, before she watches that bomb come in and has her rapid onset change of heart, are her talking about how investors want his work and how she can use his discovery to advance this city (which is already built on exploitation!) or instigating his rise to power as a new ringleader for the council's rigged mercantile operations, and this is just not good or heroic in any way to me. This isn't love either, it's industrial convenience. The fact that she's conflicted by the end doesn't cancel these actions out! Jayce realizes that he's been used in ways he strongly disagrees with and any the affection in that dynamic vanishes instantly. The time he spends in isolation replaying his mistakes in that cave has an emphasis on mel/heimerdinger's voice on the council too, all of his regrets with blindly following someone else's vision or disappointing an idol he held in high regards.

And Jayce DOES care about the state of the cities, or he did before the writers forgot: He's the one who pleads for Zaun's independence at the end of season 1! He's the one who spent all his life trying to work towards improving the lives of common people, giving them the miracles they've been denied!

Viktor is a fucking nobody. He is extremely worthless in the eyes of the piltovan upper crust, only kept around on the merits working with Jayce have afforded him; and they still don't care. They're probably hoping he dies quicker. We *SEE* him being singled out and alienated during that weapons discussion where Mel is pleading for Jayce to think about "protecting his people" (only piltovans, never, ever zaunites- protecting piltovans against the zaunite menace.) and Viktor is set off at that whole exchange because it doesn't matter how loud he screams, these people can just tune him off and pretend he doesn't exist anyway. It's what they're used to doing. It drives me insane!!!!! His indignation is extremely under-explored and very inline with his act1 speech of feeling like an undesirable presence in piltover and having to push through with the grit of his teeth. It's open faced classism and I still see people pretending it didn't happen. Fandom makes all of these characters FAR less interesting by defanging them. The heart is in the friction and in the ugliness of them fucking up because they have very, very different conceptions of "utopia" - and some of those utopias require the death of the other characters present.

A lot of the Arcane character arcs have to do with realizing the above, and weighing if the sacrifice is worth the risk. Sometimes it turns out their utopias were shit.

[luveline]

hiii! i adore you jade so much and can’t thank you enough for all your amazing writing! your fics are incredible! can i have more reader and hotch with their new baby? maybe their night routine takeing care of their newborn? or literally just anything i just love the way you write hotch taking care of both babe and reader! thank you!! xoxo🤍🤍🤍

thank you for your request! fem

“Ready?” Jack asks.

“No. No, no, no!” you cry, giggles slipping through your facade as Jack pelts himself full force from the end of your bed to the pillows where you’re curled. You put your arms out just in time to avoid getting them snapped, catching Jack, and feeling the brunt of his face as he lands on your chest. “Oh! You broke me, Jack. I’m broken!”

“You’re not broken,” Jack says breathlessly, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“You better not be breaking your stepmom, Jackers,” Hotch says from the bathroom. “I’m not getting you another one.”

“Boo!” you say.

“I don’t want another one,” Jack declares, still gasping for breath as he presses your faces together.

You pull him in for a cuddle. “Good, baby, I love you too much to be replaced. And I don’t mind dad either.”

“Jack, you gotta stop jumping on her, remember? She just had a baby. It really hurts to have a baby, and it hurts afterwards to get better. Gentle hands,” Hotch says, pulling the bathroom door open completely, the baby bathed and changed in his arms.

Hotch has cared for a baby before, so while you’re not useless, the majority of things have defaulted to him while you recover. You’re lucky, even if it’s how a woman should be treated —Hotch hasn’t made you get up once since you came home almost a week ago. He’s forced you to sit down a few times, actually. And you’d told him how thankful you were for it in whispers only yesterday night, grateful to be cared for with so much dedication.

I should've been better, for Haley, he’d whispered back. She was amazing all by herself when she didn’t need to be. You’ll be amazing too, but we’re gonna do it together.

Maybe he’s overcompensating for past regrets, maybe he’s just looking after you.

Jack strokes your cheek with a little hand. “Sorry. I don’t want to break you.”

“You won’t.” You lean back and attempt to bring him in with you, but Jack won’t be contained.

He springs down off of the bed to crowd Hotch’s legs, face up and smiling. “Dad, are you done?”

“I am.”

“Can you help with the robot now?”

“Yeah, yes. Sorry, I’m gonna fix your robot. You ready, honey?”

You open your arms eagerly. You’ve had a hug from Jack, and Hotch held you under his arm while you were eating your lunch, so all you need now for the trifecta is a cuddle with your baby. One day he’s gonna be able to hug you back, but for now he stretches out in the well of your arms and coos when you kiss his tiny forehead.

Hotch and Jack leave to fix their robot. You slink down, further and further, too tired and sore to want to sit, sliding the baby’s weight into one arm beside you and leaning down to watch him smack his lips. The few baths he’s had have made him tired each time. You feel sleepy just looking at him.

You’d hope that the baby will be handsome like his brother, though Jack looks so much like Haley they probably won’t be very similar. There are hints of Aaron in them both. Babies look like babies, sure, but he has the Hotchner nose. You can tell already.

“My handsome handsome boy,” you sing-song under your breath. He sniffles. You bring your pinky to his nose and give it a gentle touch. “Beautiful baby. I love you.” Your voice turns to sugar. “I love you, baby, you’re so beautiful, just like daddy.”

Footsteps creaking on the landing. You quieten without looking away from the baby, until you feel a familiar hand on your arm. “You okay?”

“Did you fix the robot?”

“Of course I did.” He leans down and in, lips and nose pressing to your arm. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

“I am tired. Maybe I’ll nap while he’s sleeping.”

“That’s a good idea. Give him a kiss and I’ll put him back in the crib.”

“No, no, can’t he stay?”

“You want me to stay here and watch you sleep?” he asks, laughing into your arm, pressing another kiss in a path toward your shoulder. “You can keep him until you fall asleep, okay? Then I’ll move him.”

“Will you do that thing to my cheek?” you ask quietly.

“If you tell me what you were saying before I walked in, yes.”

Hotch sits on the bed behind you where you’re sidled up to the baby, the back of his hand falling gently against your cheek, fingers curled and knuckles brushing the skin just shy of your eye one tender centimetre at a time. “Well?” he prompts.

You close your eyes with a contented smile. “Was just telling him he’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” He turns his hand, his pinky finger rubbing the delicate skin under your eye briefly, and the his palm flat to your face. His thumb takes up the guard. You feel fatigue pulling at you from the sheer comfort he offers, though you can manage a few more words, at least.

“He’s beautiful, he has his daddy’s nose.”

“I don’t think that’s what makes him so handsome.”

“No?” you mumble.

Hotch lets his face rest again on your arm. “No, that’s his mother. Couldn’t be anything else.”

[mattsnight]

Hide it - Matt Sturniolo

Summary: in which Matt hides his feelings for you, but eventually can’t take it anymore.

Warnings: fluff, cursing,

A/N:

Matt couldn’t hide it any longer. He couldn’t hide his love for you. His feelings were hard to control when you were around. It was sickening. He didn’t say anything about it, because he didn’t want to hurt you or ruin the friendship you guys have. It was too important for, but he also couldn’t stuff his feelings away any longer. He was in love with you and that was a problem.

Every time you hang out with Nick Matt’s in the room. He’s always staring at you, but when you turn to look at him he quickly turns away. You didn’t think much of it, until things changed. Matt started acting weird. He was always stuttering around you and didn’t have proper conversations with you.

You had come to the triplets’ house to make some pictures with Nick. The house was mostly quiet, only soft sounds were heard from Matt’s room. He was most likely playing fortnight. You sat down on the couch, waiting for Nick to return from his room.

“Oh hey y/n..” you suddenly hear a voice say. You look at the figure, it’s Matt. A small smile forms on your face as you wave at him. He freezes at your smile, regretting his decision of coming out of his room. He was already getting nervous at the fact of his crush being infront of him. Suddenly a wave of confidence washes over him. It was now or never. “Y/N i can’t do this anymore.” He says, swallowing.

“Can’t do what?” You ask, looking at him in confusion.

“I-“ he runs his hand through his hair. There’s a moment of silence. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t just say ‘hey im in love with you! Can we make out?’ can he? Another deep breath leaves his mouth as he tries to get himself together. “Fucking hell..” He holds his breath as he looks into your eyes to see any kind of reaction. “Can’t you see how obsessed i am with you?” A surprised sound leaves your mouth. You don’t say anything for a while, surprised by his confession.

“Jesus Y/N, say something please.” He begs. His nervousness gets worse within seconds. Did you hate him now? “I- you like me?” You ask. Realization hits you hard. He actually likes you. Your mind goes blank at the thought, all your thoughts vanishing. He slides both his hands into his pockets, hiding how badly he’s sweating.

“Yes Y/N and im tired of you not noticing! I tried everything to make you look at me, yet it’s not working.” He groans mentally, blaming himself for raising his voice at you. “Sorry… i-“ he starts, but gets cut off when you slam your lips against his. This kiss was everything he needed. Everything he needed to know you had the same feeling about him and it was amazing. It wasn’t passionate, just full of love and desperation.

Your hands slide into his hair, gently pulling at it to get closer. His hands go down your sides, gripping you tightly. You slowly start backing up into a wall, which he does too. Then he pulls back to get some air. You look up into his blue eyes, smiling. He smiles back almost immediately, wiping your hair out of your face. “That was..” he chuckles, still a hit breathless. “So fuckin’ amazing.”

Suddenly you hear a laugh behind you. You turn around to see Nick standing there. He had watched the whole scene and was laughing by it. Matt rolls his eyes, before looking away. “Took you long enough, kid. Will you stop bothering me now you’ve kissed the girl?” Nick smiles, before looking at you. “He wouldn’t stop talking about you. Seriously. It was so tiring.”

A small smile forms on your face. You look at Matt who’s now filled up with embarrassment. “I’ll leave you guys alone. Let’s do the pictures another time, alright?” Nick suggests. You nod, knowing you need time to let this sink in and spend some time with Matt.

This was gonna be great.

no nut november fic 3! I hope yall like this💞 (also i wont be posting as much since i need to learn for assignments and stuff</3)

[backinmyphase]

Not your letter

Synopsis: Gojo Satoru wouldn't call himself a very anxious man. But now as he hears cries every night, he can't help but worry- about his darling wife.

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 3300 words

Series masterlist

Contains: arranged marriage, generational trauma, jujutsu clans and higher ups

I'm sooo tired, but I hope you enjoy! I'm really happy you all seem so sincerely to enjoy it. Like always your comments make my day <333

Gojo Satoru liked spending money far too much.

After the last few days, this became clear very quickly. Yes, he was rich. But the way things were going this week, probably not for long.

He probably wouldn't even read every book that was on the bedside table.

Every morning he was awake before you and explored the town the two of you visited. When you were awake he took you out of the little charming hotel and showed you what he discovered.

You wouldn't see any problem in it if he didn't always had his credit card ready, the moment you looked at something.

And the two of you didn't need that many souvenirs either. But at the same time, it was hard for you to tell him not to use his money.

And now, too. As you walked through the small village. You knew what was coming when you passed a small café.

His eyes grew wide behind his sunglasses and a smile stole itself onto his face.

"Would you fancy something sweet?"

Not really. But he smiled in a way that made you feel sorry for taking the wind out of his sails.

So naturally, you left with three bags of sweet pastries.

Your mother would wring your neck. You could hear her lessons. 'You should bake something for your husband instead of letting him buy it!

"Don't you want something?"

Satoru looked at you with a bitten cupcake in his hand and some icing on his cheek. At the same time, he held out a new cupcake to you.

Of course, you didn't just take it because of his smile.

"Thank you." carefully you took a bite, trying to not look messy while you eat.

As you looked over to Satoru, you saw how he swallowed the rest of the cupcake in one go. You couldn't help but smile as you saw him chew way too much at the same time.

"Satoru, you have no manners." It was refreshing.

He gasped. "Am I now not even allowed to eat normally in front of my wife? What has the world come to?" Dramatically he held onto his chest.

His eyes shut and head tilted a bit back, he expressed his 'hurt' so playfully you couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh Satoru, if that's how you eat normally, I'm really concerned for your stomach."

As you saw how shooked he looked at you, you regretted saying anything. But then he grinned at you and leaned a bit forward.

"Did I just see my darling wife laugh?"

"It's not like I never laugh." you muttered as you started to eat again, hiding your embarrassment behind the pink, sprinkled, icing of the cupcake.

"Well, never before in front of me."

"Nonsense." you shook your head, while making sure your face was clean.

"It's true." he took another cupcake. "You should do it more."

The warmth that shot into your face was now a regular visitor. Something had changed. His presence made you jumpy, your heart was suddenly working overtime.

And your head. Oh, your head.

The thoughts that crept into it became more and more jumbled. Every time your looks crossed paths you couldn't help but spiral in a trail of thoughts, that made you feel dizzy.

You were truly sick. But it didn't feel bad.

A scream shattered the relaxed atmosphere. Your stomach turned when you saw a woman with a baby behind Satoru.

The baby was thrashing around, his voice continuing to tear the air and his cheeks red from the water running down.

The baby clutched the woman's hand, crying desperately.

"Are you okay?"

You quickly turned your head away to hide the rising panic. "Yes, I'm just tired."

His look spoke volumes. Always being tired was probably not the best sign.

"Then let's go back." He stood up, the food tucked away carefully.

"It's alright. It's not too bad."

He shook his head. "You look like I'm forcing you to go out everytime. I don't want that."

Defeated, you also stood up slowly and trotted behind him. You really wanted to enjoy your trip away, and get to know Satoru. But the words of the higher-ups were like a pest, constantly reminding you that your duty wasn't getting to know him.

It was having a heir.

"I'm sorry." your voice was hoarse, embarrassingly quiet. "I'm always in the way."

He laughed, while slowing down, to adjust to your speed. "What do you mean?"

"I'm always breaking of our time." you shook your head. "We barely get to do something."

"Oh please." he chuckled. "We have still plenty of time. We are just three days away. And it's not a problem, I still get to know you."

He looked at you again, his sunglasses barely covering his skylike eyes. "And I know." He smiled at you. "That you are not sleeping very well. Or that you are very exhausted. Maybe both."

"Am I right?"

He was. You were sleeping terrible. Even though the reading helped with sleeping in, the nightmares didn't disappear.

The constant thoughts about your 'duties' were kept alive through them. You wished you could just forget all of these things. Satoru seemed like he could.

You just shrugged.

"Just try to sleep when we are back." Slowly, very hesitant, did his hand engulf yours. His hand was warm. So, so warm.

"I have planned something for later. And I want you to be able to enjoy it."

You were wrong. Gojo Satoru didn't like spending money too much. He just enjoyed spoiling you far too much.

~~

"So how do you like your little 'rebellion'?"

The dark surrounding you, engulfed your mother almost whole as she sat there in her chair. Her arms crossed like chains, heavy, ready to arrest you.

"It's not like that-"

"Yeah, yeah." she waved her hand, wiping your words away. "That's what they always say."

Her leg twitched, but her face remained a mask. She sat unimpressed on her throne, looking at you like you stole candy. "How did you imagine all of this?"

She crossed her legs, it's twitching being held down like a child. "What did you think will happen after all of this?"

You looked at her, your mouth thin as a line. Your tongue felt like it was chained down. Heavy, like a boulder.

"Perhaps…" She tilted her head. "Running away together?"

'Stop.' you wanted to say, no scream. 'Stop speaking.'

"Maybe a romance where he takes you in his arms? Just leaving jujutsu society together behind?"

Your body felt light and so so heavy at the same time. Dizziness overtook you mind, making your vision blurry.

"No Clans and no responsibilities. Like Paris and Helen." she laughed loudly, her voice made you shiver.

"That would never happen. You know that. You are no Helen. Helen was a beautiful, desired and foolish woman. She didn't consider her people."

She stood up, while you lost your balance, she was suddenly towering above you, looking down with this well-known expression.

"And Gojo is no Paris. As if he would start a war for you. This boy has no courage. That's just selfish to wish." she shook her head again.

"Stop mother." your throat was burning. "This is pointless. Satoru is not like that. Satoru-"

Her eyes narrowing like a predator ready to pierce her prey. "I'm just reminding you to not do something foolish. And after your recent behavior that seems rather needed."

Your hands were shaking, sweating. Your breath was heavy and your body seemed paralyzed. You felt like a kid again. Crawling to your mother crying.

'I don't want to marry someone I don't know!' you hiccuped, chocking on your own tears a bit. 'I don't want-'

You still felt the burning sting on your cheek. Still felt her unforgiving stare as she looked at you.

'You don't have to want. You have to fulfill your duty. And that's bringing connections to your clan.' she didn't scream. No she was in control of herself what made it so much worse.

"So stop whining."

You only saw darkness. Your body jolted uncontrollably, it felt like being pushed down into the darkness.

Like you were dying.

"Enjoy your time. And use it." She waved and-

Your consciousness came crawling back, while you were being shaken awake. You felt cold, unbearable so. The sweat on you rather sticky.

It was a nightmare.

"Everything is alright."

You felt heavy, eyes fighting to open. But in the end they lost. You were so tired. Every ounce of sleep was a fight with your conscience. It was almost… Unnatural.

Warm arms embraced you, pulling your limp, cold, and heavy feeling body towards their warmth.

"I'm here now."

You knew it was him. It was the only logical explanation. But it felt so surreal. Feeling his strength and reassurance so close.

His grip on you was not forceful. No, it was so soft you couldn't help but start slipping into unconsciousness again.

"I'm sorry."

You didn't know why you apologized. It just felt right.

~~

"How late is it?" you paced through the room, while Satoru layed lazily in the bed, yawning.

"Don't know. It's not that important." as he sat up his silver white, no snow white hair was sticking up in all directions. It was so messy, it was endearing. Which is obviously just a fact-

"I thought you had something planned? Why didn't you wake me up?" you gathered new things to wear, since you obviously had to take a shower.

"You were sleeping so peaceful." he shook his head like it was obvious. "That was the first time I saw you smile in your sleep."

You stop for a second, cheeks feeling like they were on fire. "You watch me sleep?" you joked, while you pretended to look for something in your suitcase.

"No! I-, that's not what I-, I don't…" he stopped and you couldn't help but chuckle at him. It felt so crazy to have him stutter. You looked at him over your shoulder, hoping to have cooled down your face.

As he saw you holding in a laughter, his panicked look fell.

"Oh, ha ha." he raised an eyebrow.

"What did you plan? Can we still do it?" You didn't want to cancel his plans. Not Again. Not because of you.

He scratched his the back of his neck while thinking a bit. "Do you know the time?"

"It's…" you search for the clock in the bath. "8:46 PM? How long was I out??"

He chuckled while murmuring something to himself. You wanted to ask but also didn't.

"Well it is a bit late. Don't know if you even want to-"

A long, loud growl from your stomach interrupted him. Silence set in while he was just looking at you. The warmth in your face returning.

And then he laughed. "Well I guess that answers my question. Can't let my sweet wife starve."

"Sure, Satoru." you muttered as you chuckled a bit too. "Because you are of course not hungry at all after being here the whole day."

He grinned crookedly, while pulling the blanket away and also standing up. "Let's just make ourselves ready and then go."

You nodded and gathered what you found for yourself. Standing up from the ground and gripping the door of the bath, you stopped as he spoke again.

"But if it's too much please say so right away. I don't want you to suffer through anything."

Hands sweating again, you smiled at him. "I will." Then you got ready.

~

Satoru was nervous as fuck.

It still felt so unreal. Having you in his arms, you holding so desperately onto him, but slowly over time relaxing.

You cried. During your sleep.

It wasn't a one time thing. You cried almost every night. It was very silent, almost not audible, but he could hear it.

And see it.

He wanted to help you, but didn't know if he overstepped a silent boundary. A boundary so carefully layed out the last days.

But today was different. You spoke. Saying something like 'Stop mother'.

And you whispered his name.

He didn't know why. Didn't know if you had a nightmare where he was a part of, but he felt like he had to help you. Like you called for him.

He didn't watch you sleep. He listened to you sleep. To your cries.

~

"Where are we going?" you looked around. This was not a street you two had explored before and it was dark enough that you couldn't recognize even if you did know it.

"It's a surprise. Guess you have to wait." he grinned as he went sternly, while still making sure you two were going next to each other.

"You are so unfair sometimes." you shook your head. "Can't believe I married you."

"Oh please." he grinned back at you, playing into your dramatics. "As if you don't love surprises."

"Oh, Satoru." you deadpanned at him. "I hate them."

For two seconds you just stopped and looked at each other. But then you started laughing at his nervous expression.

"I'm joking, sorry. But you should have seen your face!"

He chuckled lightly, while looking around. Then he grinned back at you. "Well I hope you were joking, because here it is!"

You looked around but only saw a fancy restaurant. After looking for any small places you usually had take out, it dawned on you that the restaurant was the place he wanted to go.

"Oh Satoru…" you looked at the old, but very preserved, Restaurant in front of you. The letters on top of it almost shy, not being big and very eye catching, but very elegant. It spelled Sato's Kitchen.

"If you don't like it, we can always go back-"

"It's not like I don't like it!" you interrupted him, before he could make false conclusions. "It's just… This was very expensive, was it not?"

"Why talk about money? Let's just have a nice evening." he smiled and you knew it was expensive. Defeated you sighed.

"Okay. But you have to stop spending so much money-"

"Alright, let's go!"

He just took your hand and pulled you softly behind him.

~

It was very late. So it wasn't so surprising that your reservation was already long gone. But as you stood there behind Saturo while he tried to get a table for you, you felt bad.

It was almost laughable how naiv you were.

Dragging him out at these hours just to be told that they didn't have any tables left and we should come back tomorrow.

"Is there really no way-"

"I'm sorry good sir, but we are out. We can rearrange your reservation for tomorrow."

They were very kind for that. But you still felt bad.

"That wouldn't be so bad, would it Satoru?"

He nodded, obviously a bit frustrated as he gave his information to make the reservation or furthermore rearrange it.

"Yeah, that's alright." he muttered to the waiter. After making sure everything was alright, yoi two left shortly.

It was a bit embarrassing. Showing up almost an hour and half late at such a desired restaurant. Another reason you felt bad.

"I'm so so-"

"Well we can still do it tomorrow." Satoru smiled. Smiled so softly at you that you felt like crying. It made you feel so stupid, so unstable.

"Yeah." you almost chocked at the word.

He started going again, silently trying to get you to walk ahain. Silently walking beside him, you tried to find the light words you just had said so easily. But there were none.

"Well we can still have take out." he walked closer than before. Not too close, just a bit closer. "If that's alright for you?"

You chuckle a bit, trying to relax. "Of course. That sounds lovely."

The night was beautiful. The moon was already high up and you could see countless of stars here. In Tokyo you could only rarely see the stars. It was comforting.

The silence between you wasn't awkward anymore. Maybe you two did start to get to know each other in a way. Even though Satoru was still a mystery to you most of the time.

It just was comfortable as a whole.

Going together to your favorite ramen shop. Eating in silence and slowly walking back.

It must be really late. But Satoru did bring the bag of the sweet pastries. And as you were walking back to your hotel, he did eat from them.

You couldn't help but watch him. It was cute really. How he enjoyed it so much. And a small smile made it's way onto your face.

"Did you Always like sweets this much?"

Satoru looks at you and thinks. A cupcake still in his mouth, he tries chewing faster to give you your answer.

"Well, I think I did." he coughs as his mouth was empty. "When I was a kid I wasn't allowed to eat anything sweet or unhealthy because of those obsessive higher ups. Said it would make my powers weaker, to keep me away from them."

He took another big bite after saying that and smiled at you as he chewed.

"Well," he was grinning like an idiot after he swallowed. "After I started eating sweets I didn't get weaker. In fact quite the opposite!" He laughed.

You admired him, as he took another bite. That he could just call them obsessive and wipe it away. You wished you could not care.

And as he took his last bite, you looked at the remaining cupcakes and wondered. Could you try making them for him? Would he like them?

It was too late to think anymore, after you got home you just got ready for bed and layed down while Satoru was in the bathroom.

But as you wanted to close your eyes, this uneasiness from before seemed like it was back again. You began to feel cold and wrapped yourself tighter in the blanket.

Satoru came out of the bathroom looking at you, like he was fighting with himself.

And in a moment of weakness and exhaustion you let yourself say the words you normally would only think.

"Do you want to sleep in the bed?"

He just looked at you, the darkness around you made it hard to see his expression. Also your vision started to get blurry because of your tiredness.

"If you don't mind.".

You yawned as your eyes fell close. "You helped…" you mumbled and didn't fight your exhaustion anymore.

And as you felt his warm arms around you, again you couldn't help but smile.

~

Satoru didn't want to wake you up, but he also wanted to do his daily routine round to get you and himself breakfast. Tough decision.

Before all of this he would have never gotten up earlier than he had too. But here with you it was different. So so different.

And he didn't want to let you go. But in the end he did get up and got ready to leave for his round.

As he went down the stairs, Hina's Grandma smiled at him like every morning.

"Good morning, Mr. Gojo. On your way again?"

He laughed a bit and nodded. It was part of the routine to talk to her a bit, as she was a lovely person and knew the place well.

"Well a two letters arrived today. Both adressed at Mrs. Gojo. So I thought I could give them to you for later."

She handed him the two envelopes with a smile.

He didn't mean to sneak into your business or anything like that. But he couldn't help but feel uneasy almost angry when he saw the names of the senders.

One was from the higher ups. And one from your mother.

And he felt cold as he wondered why they would only write you.

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[narizaki]

video  calls  &  sick  days  ―  s. kiyoomi

tags   manager!reader,   gn!reader,   fluff,   sickfic,   post-timeskip

notes   wc is 1.5k,   thanks for 2 hunnid enjoy :p

over the few months you’ve been sakusa’s manager, you’ve ingrained daily video calls into your schedule. 

it wasn’t hard to tell that sakusa thought calls were inconvenient, to say the very least. the slight tick of his eye and the clench of his jaw were difficult to miss, even if he bit his tongue in the name of professionalism. you understood, really. no one would want to be disrupted early in the morning, especially when they’re someone who has a carefully crafted routine like sakusa — which is why you insisted on aligning these calls with his schedule, instead of deciding for him. it seemed to satisfy the spiker enough, seeing that he appeared much less tense almost immediately after. 

however, you’re starting to regret not bringing it upon yourself to dictate a time — especially when the back of your eyes are burning and it’s hard to breathe because it’s six in the morning and you’re sick.

“good morning, sakusa,” you groggily greet. you internally cringe at your voice, scratchy and making your throat hurt. you’ve opted to have your camera off just this once — you prefer to keep it on, as it makes these exchanges a little more humane, but you think your appearance is far too unfortunate for someone else to see right now. your hand runs through your hair, and you wince when your fingers get caught in a knot. 

sakusa’s camera is on, however, and the sound of pots clinking against one another fills the air around you. when he re-enters the frame, he’s focused on the meal he’s making, only mumbling a short greeting back. 

you take a swig of water and clear your throat, hoping that it helps with the ache, before beginning with sakusa’s schedule for today.

“let’s begin,” you start, “you’re free until 1 this afternoon, where you have a promotional shoot with hinata, bokuto, and miya. it should last until 3 or 4, depending on how long they take to prepare the four of you.” your words are curt and straightforward, and you hope that sakusa doesn’t notice. typically, you’d attempt small talk with him, but you’re currently trying to savor the last of your voice. 

“knowing miya, he’ll probably manage to drag it until 6 in the evening,” the spiker grumbles, and you can’t help the raspy (and tired) laugh that leaves you. a cough follows soon after, and if sakusa wasn’t able to tell that you were sick before, he definitely can now.

you watch as his eyes flit to his phone, a questioning look on his face. they roam around the screen for a moment, and you nervously wait for his reaction.

“are you sick?” sakusa bluntly asks. his eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s stopped stirring whatever he’s preparing on the stove. despite the fact he can’t even see you, you abashedly look away from your screen.

you’re tempted to deny it, but you know it’d be a futile attempt anyway. so, you relent, sighing out an affirmation. “yes, i am. i won’t be present at the shoot today, but you can expect the other three managers to be there. if you need anything, you can call me.” 

“no, i’ll be fine, but you shouldn’t be doing anything if you’re sick.” sakusa replies, turning away from his phone to move his food onto a plate. selfishly, you allow your eyes to rack down the wide expanse of his back, appreciating the way his compression shirt hugs his figure. it becomes clear that you were staring for too long, though, when sakusa turns back around, plate in hand and waiting for your response.

you have it in you to feel the slightest bit embarrassed, even if he can’t see you. 

“sorry,” you sheepishly murmur, “i can assure you that i’ll be okay, sakusa. i’ll be working from home today.”

“again,” he says, voice a tad harder than it was before, “you shouldn’t be doing anything if you’re sick. even if you’re working from home. is that everything i have on my schedule for today?” 

you’re not sure if sakusa’s being so insistent out of genuine worry for your health, or if he’s concerned that you’ll get him sick if you come to work in your state. “sakusa, i promise you that i’ll be okay in a day or two. and even then, i’ll make sure to wear a mask,” you say, assuming sakusa’s worried for his health. “moving on, though, i believe that’s all on your schedule for today. tomorrow you have your shoot with calvin klein, but i’ll remind you tomorrow morning. you have some pr, too. i believe a brand sent you pickled plums, which are your favorite, if i remember correctly?” 

you watch as sakusa shakes his head, sighing through his nose. “i’m not worried about me. i know that you wouldn’t get me sick. but if you keep on working instead of resting, you’re going to get worse, and you’ll be out for longer.” 

you’re beginning to become slightly irritated — a mix of tiredness, sickness, and sakusa’s nagging (even if it comes from a good place) beginning to annoy you. regardless, you try to pay no attention to it. once you’re done with this phone call, you’ll rest for another hour or two before doing whatever work you can from home. 

“i’m glad that you’re not worried about yourself, but as i said earlier, i’m sure i’ll be fine. i can take care of myself, sakusa,” you curtly reply, hoping that the spiker leaves the topic alone. 

thankfully, it seems like he does, because he relents and asks you to give him the pickled plums later on in the week. a few minutes later you’re greeting sakusa goodbye and hanging up, slouching into your mattress and performing a futile attempt at staving off the ache in your temples. 

you wake once again hours later to the incessant sound of your doorbell ringing. it’s certainly at least mid-morning, considering the way sunlight is filtering into your room, making your eyes ache. 

you stumble over to the door, paying no mind to your appearance and throwing the door open. to your surprise, sakusa is standing in your doorway, impatiently waiting for you to let him in, a plastic bag in hand.

“sakusa?” you gape. if you were being completely honest, he was the person you were least expecting to see right now — especially because you’re sick. he’s staring at you incredulously, like it’s not insane for him, out of all people, to willingly be around someone else while they’re ill. 

“you’re sick, right? i have soup and medicine,” he grumbles, “are you going to let me in or not?” 

you blink, before barely coming to your senses enough to open the door for him to step through. he does so immediately, taking long strides towards your dinner table to set the food down. then, he turns to you, and you have to resist the urge to curl into yourself. your head is pounding, you can hardly breathe through your nose, and you’re sure you look absolutely terrible right now. fuck professionalism, i guess, you sarcastically think. you’re not sure if you’ll ever allow yourself to live this moment down, even if you spend hours trying to forget about it.

“you didn’t…have to do this, sakusa,” you murmur, still somewhat in shock. and it seems that he’s just full of surprises today, because sakusa laughs, and you’re as surprised as you are annoyed because he’s laughing at you. 

“you’re my manager, i can’t have you dying on me,” he nonchalantly replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “now get back to bed. i’ll prepare the soup for you and get you some medicine.” 

you’re tempted to cuss at him, but decide that your entire body is far too weak to stay standing anymore, so you listen and make your way towards your room. sakusa doesn’t take very long, coming back with the items he promised and a damp towel — where’d he even find that?

and you think you’ve never seen sakusa so gentle before, placing the towel onto your forehead and handing you the warm soup. you eat it all in one go, not having realized how hungry you truly are, and graciously take the medicine sakusa offers you once you’re done. 

“...thank you, sakusa, you didn’t have to do this,” you say, feeling rather guilty that he took it upon himself to take care of you. 

sakusa only scoffs in reply. “you basically decide my entire life. everything would be thrown off-course if you weren’t able to work for even a week.” 

his response makes you laugh weakly, and you promise him that you’ll be back and better soon. 

“i have to go now,” sakusa says, glancing at his phone. you nod, remembering about the photoshoot you reminded him of earlier. 

he awkwardly stands still, before his hand comes to rest on top of your head in a strange head-pat. sakusa’s face is slightly flushed pink, an obvious show that he’s flustered.

“feel better soon,” he mumbles, and you thank him with a smile.

(sakusa was ten minutes late to his photoshoot. when asked why by his teammates, they gave him teasing looks when he said he dropped a few items off by his sick manager’s house.)

(he thinks he may hate his team.)