#Emily Prentiss-Centric

[fandomtravelers]

Friends that become family

Summary :

A group of criminal profilers who work for the FBI and the family they found/made along the way.

Or in other words oneshots/Drabbles of the BAU team being one big family because I’m obsessed. Mostly Emily Prentiss centric

[starry-bite]

can you imagine writing the 'it gives me you' scene for a pair of characters and then having them not interact for the rest of the season? wild.

[emilyinsuits]

yes i’m still on this. morgan’s FACE, emily being physically unable to even watch jj and reid hug, the look and the nod between jj and morgan 😭 this episode gave us some juicy stuff okay!!!

[lightandheatao3]

The Bunker - Criminal Minds

Chapter 1: The Bunker

Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.

Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.

AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.

Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.

Read chapter 1 on AO3 or under the cut. All comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

Chapter 2 link

Spencer cracked his eyes open, flinching from the white fluorescent light and blinking hard against the groggy, dull ache in his head.

His mouth was dry, body heavy. A familiar wake up. He reached his hand out blindly for the relief waiting on his bedside table.

No- wait.  

His lights are all yellow toned filament bulbs, not white fluorescents.

The smell was wrong. The dull electrical buzz in the air was louder, pitched higher.

His eyes shot open wide and he scrambled to his feet.

This wasn’t home.

He surveyed his surroundings, fighting the wave of dizziness that came with standing too abruptly.

“Oh no,” he said out loud. “Nonononono…”

The room was large and square and made entirely of concrete. Up the top a small vent, too high to reach and too small for a person to fit into. A heavy door with a double walled chamber for someone to put things into without having to interact with the person on the other side. The kind you would find in a maximum-security prison cell. The whole room felt like a prison cell, a place he’d hoped to never be again. At the back of the room a small en-suit that was completely stripped bare but for a metal toilet with no seat and a sink that was bolted into the wall. There was a door that could be shut, but there was a gap under it and a hole where a doorknob had clearly been removed.

A camera. There on the roof, drilled in and protected by a plexiglass dome, blinking its little red light at him. He stared at it for a moment, then closed his eyes.

He slowed his breathing. Now was not the time to fall apart. Not now. Not yet.

Not when there were 5 of his friends prone on the ground around him, unconscious as he had been only moments ago.

Each was laid out on a thin foam mattress, the kind with no seams or springs that could be fashioned into tools.

His first stop was the door. He knew before he tried it that it wasn’t going to open, but he had to make sure. As soon as that was confirmed, he turned his attention to the people in the room with him.

He rushed over to Emily first, rolling her onto her side and checking her pulse. It was slow, but steady. He looked around at the rest of them, noting the gentle rise and fall of their chests. All alive. He sighed audibly, clasping his hands together in thanks and relief for a split second before turning back to Emily.

He gently shook her, putting his hand on her cheek in what he hoped was a comforting way. His hands were shaking. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the comedown. “Emily," he said gently. “Emily, it’s me, Spencer. Wake up Emily.”

After a few more repetitions her eyes fluttered, then opened. She looked up at him hazily. “Spencer?”

“Hi,” he said sadly, knowing there were only a second left until she realized the danger they were in and wanting to let her experience that second in peace.

She glanced behind him where JJ lay unconscious. He looked at her pupils. They were constricted, confirming his suspicions.

“Oh my god,” Emily gasped, her hand reaching up to clutch his shoulder. She leveraged herself against him to drag her way up into a sitting position. She rubbed at her eyes blearily, then opened them again and cast them around the entire room. “Fuck,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Her eyes snapped back to him. “Are you alright?” she asked urgently, looking him over. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “And I don’t know. I woke up a minute ago. I don’t remember how I got here. I think we were all drugged.”

She hummed in agreement. “Last thing I remember I was outside my apartment on the way home from the gym. I still feel a little out of it. God, Spencer, you look awful,” she said, putting a hand over his. “What did they do to you?”

“Same thing as you, most likely.” He looked away. “Emily, that’s Hotch over there,” he deflected. “And Derek.”

Emily looked to where he was pointing. Her expression was solemn, professionalism kicking in even in these dire circumstances. “Yeah. And no sign of Tara, Matt, or Luke. And no Penelope, thank God. Whoever did this, they’ve got a grudge against us that predates the others joining the BAU. Someone who met all of us but never had direct interaction with Penelope. This is good. If the others are free, they’ll find us.”

Spencer nodded in agreement. “This is someone with the skill to find Hotch in witness protection. If he wasn’t dead, I would have said it was Scratch. The logistics of kidnapping 6 highly trained federal agents takes an enormous amount of planning and ability. There are only handful of people we’ve encountered with the capacity to pull something like this off.”

She rubbed at her temples. Her eyes were losing the glassy sheen as the adrenaline counteracted the effects of the drugs. “I assume you tried the door?” He nodded. “I guess we should wake the others.”

No sooner than she said it, JJ stirred. They both crawled over to her. Her wake up process went much the same as Emily’s, but for the fact that the first thing she asked about was if her children were safe, before she’d come to enough to realize they had no way of knowing.

“Whoever this is likely targeted you while you were alone,” Spencer assured her. “It’s much safer to take a victim without witnesses, especially a victim who is trained to defend themselves and needs to be physically incapacitated.”

Next, they woke Rossi, who responded immediately by swearing up a storm and threatening to rip the head off whoever was responsible for this.

“Hey, Dave, it’s okay,” said JJ in a calming voice, even as she looked about to cry. “There’s nobody in here but us.”

He breathed. He nodded. He cursed again. He nodded again.

“At least I’m not alone this time,” he said with a world weariness that Spencer felt in his gut.

They had all been in situations like this before, but Rossi was barely recovered from the last time only a few months ago. Spencer still regret so deeply that he wasn’t there to help with Elias Voit.

“No, you’re not alone,” agreed Emily emphatically. “On that note, look who else is here,” she said.

“God fucking dammit,” cursed Rossi as his eyes swept over Derek and landed on Hotch.

Seeing Derek there was upsetting, but it wasn’t as jarring as Hotch’s presence. Derek still came along to the occasional social event, though less and less recently, as he was busy with the birth of his second child. Spencer personally still saw him once a month or so, though the past year their contact had been more limited to phone calls. They were all dreading having to watch him learn he’d been pulled into this nightmare, but if nothing else they could offer him the comfort of familiarity and camaraderie.

But Hotch… none of them had heard so much as a whisper from him in years. When he disappeared, he did so completely. It’s the kind of thing that would have wounded Spencer deeply under any other circumstances, but after everything Daniel Lewis aka Mr Scratch had put him through, he only ever hoped that Hotch had found every semblance of peace that life could give him. He’d missed him badly at times, but he would have rather they never meet again than have to meet like this.

They decided to wake Derek first.           

Rossi nearly got a fist in the face before Derek pieced together what was happening. Then, he put a fist directly into a concrete wall instead.

“I’m going to regret that when the drugs wear off,” he said sheepishly once he’d calmed down just a bit. “Whatever they dosed us with, they did not skimp. The comedown is gonna suck,” he said, side eyeing Spencer, who pretended not to notice.

The question and answer was the same as with the others. Do you remember anything about who took you? No. Has anyone tried the door? Yes. Derek threw a shoe at the camera for good measure, but of course it just bounced off the plexiglass and landed pathetically on the floor.

The bang of it hitting the concrete was enough to make Hotch finally stir. They all turned to face him, staring helplessly.

His hair was longer than Spencer had ever seen it. Still short, but more relaxed, skimming the bottom of his ears and starting to curl a little at the base of his neck. He was still lean, but some of the muscle had been replaced by fat. He looked just a little softer. Healthier. His face was peaceful. Spencer always remembered him looking tense, even in his sleep. His hair was streaked with grey but somehow this was the youngest Spencer had ever seen him look.

He stirred a little more, blinking at last.

Ah, there was the familiar tension creeping its way back across his face.

Rossi was the one who finally knelt down beside him. “Aaron? I’m so sorry my friend,” he said sadly as recognition flashed in Hotch’s eyes.

“I’m dreaming,” came the familiar voice. Spencer had missed that voice more than he'd known.

Hotch closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. He looked past Rossi at the rest of them. Spencer raised his hand in a polite greeting, then immediately felt like an idiot for doing so.

“I’m not dreaming,” he said, no trace of emotion in his voice.

“I’m afraid not,” Rossi confirmed.

Hotch fixed his eyes on Rossi again, pushing himself up so he was sitting against the wall. He looked like he was staring at a ghost, trying to figure where the projector was. “When did you get so old?” he said, reaching out a hand to Rossi’s face and poking at it.

Rossi grabbed the offending hand and clasped it between both of his. “Careful. You’re no spring chicken yourself,” he joked.

“No,” said Hotch, still expressionless. “Peter Lewis is dead. This isn’t my life anymore. He’s dead. They told me he died. I saw photos of the body.”

Spencer didn’t know that, but judging by Rossi’s lack of surprise, he pieced together that the older man had likely made sure the witness protection people had passed the photos along.

“Scratch is dead,” Rossi confirmed. “Whoever did this, it’s not him.”

“This. Isn’t. Real,” Hotch insisted, the first sign of emotion entering his voice in the form of hysteria as he pulled his hand away from Rossi and scrambled to his feet. “All of you stay away from me!” he yelled, looking at each of them in turn.

JJ grabbed onto Spencer’s arm. He flinched at first, then put an arm around her and gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze. Derek took a step towards Hotch, but Emily held him back.

Hotch backed into the corner, looking at them like a caged animal. They were all caged animals now, Spencer supposed. An unfortunately familiar role.

“Hotch,” Spencer said, surprising himself by speaking. They all turned to look at him. He couldn’t back away now. “This is real. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, but Penelope and the rest of our team aren’t here, which means they are out there looking for us. I know it doesn’t feel real. We have all been drugged and you are probably still feeling the effects. I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t real, but it is,” Spencer said kindly but emphatically.

“We’ll get out of this together,” said Emily. “It’s going to be okay.”

Hotch’s eyes were looking just a little clearer.

“Listen man, I know what you’re feeling. I got out, too, remember? I have a family and I don’t know if they’re alright. I’m right here with you. We’re all on your side. Do you believe me?” asked Derek, and this time Emily let him take a step forward.

 Hotch looked around at all of them again. He assessed them carefully. Then, he turned to the corner, putting his back to them and his hand over his face. It was the closest thing he could get to privacy and Spencer was suddenly grateful to have woken up first to process all of this without being watched.

Well, except for the camera.

They all looked at the floor and did their best to give Hotch space. It was almost a full minute before he finally tuned back around.

There was that stoic expression that Spencer remembered. All that youth and peace was gone from his face in an instant. Spencer hoped so badly that it wasn’t gone for good.

“What do we know?” asked Hotch, crossing his arms.

A moment of silence passed and Spencer wondered if the rest of them felt their hearts breaking into pieces at this cruel facsimile of a reunion.

“Why don’t we start with the last thing each of us remembers?” said Emily, stepping up beside Hotch and looking back at the rest of the room, two natural leaders doing what they do best.

Each of them recounted the details they knew before they woke up in this room.

They had been going about their lives, nothing special. The only common thread they could find was that each of them was alone when their memories stopped.

Derek had been at a picnic with his family and the last thing he remembered was leaving to use the park bathroom. Emily on her way back from the gym. JJ heading out to get groceries. Rossi walking home late from a bar.

“I was driving to work,” said Hotch shortly.

“We’re going to need more detail than that if we want to put together a timeline,” prompted Rossi. "Where do you work?"

Hotch pursed his lips. Spencer could see him strategizing in his head. He wasn’t back in their lives by choice. Spencer understood.

He didn’t get it back when Gideon left, but he got it now. Once you let people in the door, it can be impossible to fully extricate them. Hotch’s old life was filled with trauma he was trying to leave behind and the team were living representations of that past. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to be hurt by the other man’s reticence.

“A legal consultancy in a small town in Kentucky,” he said reluctantly, like divulging the smallest part of his personal life meant inviting the entire FBI right back into it.

“That’s an 8 hour drive,” said Derek. “No wonder you were so out of it compared to the rest of us. You must have been dosed multiple times to keep you under that long.”

“I think you’re right,” he said. “I’m still a bit foggy, if I’m being honest,” he admitted quietly. “What about you, Reid?”

Spencer blinked. “I feel fine.”

“No, I mean what’s the last thing you remember?”

Oh. Right. “I went to sleep in my apartment, then I woke up here,” he said honestly. It wasn’t important what he was doing before he went to sleep.

“Since we can be fairly confident whoever this is took Hotch first,” said Emily, “That probably means they got to you last, Spence. They hit all of us in one day. They must have known the BAU had a day off after closing the last case. They would have had to hit us quick to avoid raising alarms.”

“And the fact that we were all grabbed at different times indicates we’re likely dealing with a single Unsub. Someone highly organized and familiar with each of our routines.”

“The Unsub must have been planning this for a long time. Finding someone in witness protection, especially a former profiler, would take an incredible amount of skill or resources,” said Spence. “They stalked us, learned our routines, then used blitz attacks to stop us from being able to fight back.”

It didn’t take long for them to get into the flow. He felt his panic slipping away as his brain shifted into work mode. At some point they all went from standing to sitting in a circle on the floor.

It felt ridiculous to think about, but Spencer couldn't help but be mildly self conscious being the only one of them in his pajamas, as he was taken in his sleep. He was just glad it was a cold night so he'd been wearing nice, full length ones and not boxers and a shirt or something to that affect. Derek, Emily and JJ were all dressed in comfortable day wear. Rossi and Hotch in suits. Hotch was interesting, though. Spencer had rarely seen him outside of a crisp black suit characteristic of an FBI agent. The one he wore now was navy with a striped tie. It looked good on him.

They put together a more detailed timeline and looked back on the past few months of their lives to discuss anything that could have possibly been out of the ordinary.

The more they talked, the less cagey Hotch was about his life. It was strange to learn more about the day to day he had been living in the years since they’d seen him.

None of them talked about their kids or partners beyond a simple acknowledgement of their existence. They were all acutely aware of the camera on the roof. Whoever was doing this didn’t need to know any more about their families than they already did.

Their phones had been taken and none of them had anything to write with, so they were relying on Spencer to catalogue and compile the information in his brain. He did just that, and after a couple hours they had what was likely a fairly reliable timeline, including geographical information.

Whoever was doing this, they were extremely organized, meticulous, and quick. Not one of them saw it coming. None of them could point to any strange interactions they had over the past months, any red flags, any signs of being followed.

When it came time for Spencer to recount the details of the last months of his life, the others stared at him intently. “I haven’t seen you in person in months,” said Derek. “You don’t look so great, pretty boy.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but the bunker we’re currently locked in isn’t making the rest of you look at your healthiest, either.”

“You know what I mean,” said Derek with an affectionate eyeroll.

“You know I was doing some classified work for the bureau. That’s why I couldn’t be there for what happened with Voit,” he said with an apologetic look to Rossi, who waved his hand dismissively. They had already been over this when Spencer first got back. He noticed Hotch raise a curious eyebrow. “I can’t talk about the work since we’re currently being recorded,” he said, nodding up at the camera. “Emily knows the details. It was nothing bad, just research that kept me out off the grid for a while. But if the Unsub could find Hotch in witness protection, then it’s possible they could have been tailing me for that long.”

“That finished months ago,” pointed out Emily. “What have you been doing while you’re on sabbatical?”

“A few guest lecture series at Virginia Tech and spending time with my mom, mostly. I just needed a break. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I guess I’ve been a bit distracted. I haven’t seen or experienced anything unusual, though.”

“I hope your mom’s doing okay,” said JJ comfortingly, prompting the rest of them to nod sympathetically.

He just nodded back. She was doing fine, honestly, not that he’d been visiting as often as he should. Easier to let them assume she was the reason he had been absent.

“Why are you doing this?” said Hotch, standing up and looking directly at the camera once they realized none of them had any more details to share at this point. “What do you want from us? Tell us what it is and maybe we can give it to you.”

The camera blinked its red light at them, showing no care for their presence.

Hotch sighed. He looked down at them all helplessly. His eyes stopped short on Derek. He knelt down, staring at something on the side of his head. “What?” asked Derek, leaning away in concern at Hotch’s suddenly very close face.

“Hold still,” said Hotch. He waved Emily over, who shuffled round to his side. “Right… there,” he said, hovering a finger just behind Derek’s ear.

Her eyes widened. Hotch looked at her questioningly, then turned his own head and tucked his hair away so that she could see behind his ear.

“You have it too,” she said. She did the same as him and he checked her over. They looked at each other again and he nodded.

They all stared at them expectantly, though Spencer was pretty sure he knew what they were seeing.

“Puncture marks at the top of the neck, just behind the ear,” Emily explained. “That’s where we were injected.”

Spencer, Rossi and JJ all checked each other. Sure enough, same thing.

“That means we were likely attacked from behind,” said Derek.

“Do we know what we were drugged with?” said Hotch, shooting an almost imperceptible glance in Spencer’s direction.

His skin crawled at the way none of them wanted to look at him, to just come right out and say it. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it. Not really. But they always acted like the subject was poison and it made him feel like he had to walk on eggshells too. Like the reality of his life was harder for them to hear than it was for him to live.

“I am fairly confident it was some kind of opioid,” he said, careful to keep the irritation out of his voice.

JJ put her hand on his and he felt the irritation dissipate.

They cared about him. He knew that. It’s not as if they were wrong to worry. They had talked about it a little over the years, but not enough that it had stopped being awkward every time it came up.

“Are you certain?” asked Rossi. “Could have been a tranquilizer.”

“I’m certain,” said Spencer. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

Derek reached a foot across the circle and bumped it against Spencer’s knee in a supportive gesture, like saying ‘I’m here with you.’ Emily smiled at him softly, reassuringly.

“It could have been cut with something,” pointed out Hotch.

“The totality of the blackout indicates it may have been cut with a sedative of some kind, as a high enough dose of opioids to include that kind of memory loss reliably could be unsafe and none of us are suffering significant enough side effects to indicate that’s the case. Whoever did this knew exactly what dosage to use,” he explained. “But… I am quite sure it was predominantly an opioid.”

Of course he was sure.

“Jesus,” said JJ. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

“I don’t believe in fate but the universe does seem to have a strange way of conspiring to get you high,” deadpanned Emily.

Derek shot her a harsh look, but Spencer cracked a smile. “I think ‘an Unsub made me do it’ is going to start sounding like ‘a dog ate my homework’ to my sponsor,” he joked back, relief washing over him that they weren’t going to dance around it the entire time they were in here. Not that he’d spoken to his sponsor in more than a year. They didn’t need to know that.

The others smiled too. “You’ll be alright, kid,” said Rossi. “If you kept it together after Mexico, you’ll get through this.”

That would have been a comforting statement if not for the fact that it was completely false. It didn’t matter anyway. Penelope and the rest of the team would find them and get them out before any of this became an issue.

Or they wouldn’t. But he couldn’t think about that yet.

A crease sat deep between Hotch’s eyebrows. “Mexico?”

“You don’t know?” said Emily. “I just assumed you were across everything to do with the Scratch case.”

“No,” said Hotch. “I accepted proof of his death and told the liaison I didn’t want to know anything else.”

“It’s complicated,” said Rossi. “There were other players involved, but the short version is Reid was drugged and framed for murder. It wasn’t pretty.”

“We don’t need to go into the details,” said Spencer, oddly embarrassed at the idea of Hotch knowing just how prone to being victimized he apparently still is. He knew it wasn’t rational, given the things that had happened to Hotch and the fact that all of them were in this locked room as victims together.

Hotch looked at him. Spencer couldn’t read his expression at all. Eventually he just nodded and let it drop.

Before any of them could say another word, there was a banging at the door. The hatch on the other side of the door chamber opened.

Derek got to the door first, trying to rip the hatch on their side open. He shouted at the door “What do you want?! Talk to me! Just tell us what you want!”

There was no response.

The only thing they could see was a hand covered in a thick leather glove sliding a piece of paper in. It was a smaller hand than expected.

He continued pulling but the panel didn’t budge until the other one had closed completely. Derek stumbled backwards as the panel suddenly released.

“It’s soundproof,” Spencer said, despairing. “There was no sound of footsteps on the other side.”

Emily grabbed the note from the chamber. They all whipped around to watch her as she read the words aloud.

“Hello, old friends,” she started, all of them frozen in place and hanging off her every word. “I know you are wondering why you are here. It is simple. You dragged my secrets into the light and then put me in a cage. At first I wanted to get revenge. Then I watched you for a long time and I learned all about you and I learned that we are the same. I saw how you are suffering. How you are scared. All hiding. I remember when I had to hide. For so long I hid even from myself. Now, because of you, I am free. Even when I was in a cage, I was free, because I had no secrets anymore.

I want to give you the freedom you gave to me. Soon, you will not have secrets. You will see that in this room you cannot hide and that when there is nothing left to hide, you will be free.”

Emily looked up from the letter, meeting all of their eyes in turn. There was a painful lump in Spencer’s throat.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew it as soon as he woke up in this room and saw them all there. He knew they weren’t going to make it out in time. He knew the Unsub must have watched him closely enough to know what was going on with him. He knew he wasn’t making it out of this without all of them seeing him for exactly who he is.

Now, he thought, might be the time to fall apart.

[vampireids]

perfect stranger

summary: lauren reynolds is dead, emily prentiss along with her, and spencer finds himself alone, struggling and in need of company (smut, angst)

warnings: former emily prentiss/spencer reid, exploration of grief, references to addiction and divorce, spencer acts questionably in this but he's struggling so forgive him, reader has some backstory, reader is referred to with she pronouns and wears makeup and a skirt, reader smokes cigarettes, spencer POV (third person limited). very, very angsty.

word count: 7.8k

a/n: the first half of this is quite spencer/emily centric in its themes, but the second half focusses more on the reader character. reader means everything to me and i am cradling her so gently. posting on mobile so let me know if there are any formatting issues!

Three weeks since Emily Prentiss had died and taken half of Spencer Reid with her.

Three weeks.

Three weeks that tasted of ash and bile, where no matter how brightly the sun shone everything still looked grey, where every smile he passed on the street seemed to be mocking him.

He hadn't had an easy life, not by any standard, but even he had been unaware of just how keenly he could hurt, just how painful and violent breathing could be. It was an agony that seemed to persist beyond any capacity a human being could feasibly endure, a constant bleeding wound in the cavity of his chest.

It hadn't been long before daydreams of oblivion took hold of him. Murmurs of a phone number he couldn't forget as hard as he tried sounded in his mind, growing louder and louder as days went by. If he called it, he could remember peace. More crucially, he could forget everything. A call, a deal, a prick, a push, and every screaming agony in his mind could go away. The sweet, muggy bliss of a syringe of dreamless sleep. It would be so easy.

A disapproving voice in his head that sounded uncannily like Emily pleaded with him to resist the allure. She wouldn't want him to submit to the urge. She'd want him to withstand the pain, to feel the burn of grief boldly and without reprieve, to let time heal him with all the swiftness of a wounded sloth.

But it had been Emily who had loved him enough to keep him grounded and sober. And without her, how could he ever be strong enough to do it? The constant craving for quiet had been drowned out by the sounds of her soft sighs as his body pressed against her, by the consuming sensation of her around him and on top of him and in the beating heart in his chest.

And slowly, an idea formed. He couldn't have Emily anymore. But he could find something close enough. Some approximation to act as a temporary sigil to ward off the ghosts at his door. It had been an old coping mechanism he’d turned to in the early days of his sobriety. Nothing was more deadly to an addict than solitude, so he’d sought out company where he could get it, in faceless women in bar bathrooms and parked cars.

It had worked before, and it could work again.

At the very least, it forced him to shower and put on nice clothes, to brush his teeth and hair and remember the feeling of being alive. With his face clean and his body dressed, he could almost pass for human instead of the walking gaping wound he felt like.

The bar was an old favourite of his. The lights were dim and low, the music soft and unobtrusive. It wasn't any kind of high class establishment, but it didn't need to be for his purpose. With any luck, he wouldn't be here long.

He walked to the bar and ordered a neat whiskey. Drinking in his fragile state was unwise, but he needed to feel the burn of it sliding down his throat to remind him he was still capable of feeling anything but grief. After a bracing sip, he took a seat on a barstool and surveyed the milling revellers. They all seemed carefree and happy in a way he resented, drinking and laughing and dancing with one another, lovesick like he’d once been.

One woman caught his eye on the other end of the bar. She was alone, like him. Nursing whiskey neat like him. Seeming just lonely enough to make his own crushing solitude feel less isolating. She noticed him watching her and smiled, a coy edge to it that made heat start to simmer in the core of him.

She wasn't Emily, but she had a similar fire in her eyes, the same challenge in her smile, a striking beauty to her face that stung as much as it excited.

If he could find her beautiful, then beauty was still attainable to him. Things could still be wonderful in some far off life.

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice she'd stood, approaching him and sitting in the stool beside him.

“Waiting for someone?” she asked softly.

Yes, he thought, I’m waiting for Emily, and I’ll be waiting for as long as I live.

But for tonight, he would temporarily cease his waiting. So he smiled, shook his head, and said. “No. Are you?”

She grinned at him, and the expression was so reminiscent of Emily's sly smiles that it hurt. “I was. But I think I found what I was waiting for.”

The line was so cheesy and silly he couldn't help but huff out a laugh. “And what would that be?”

“Someone pretty. Someone who looks like they might have stories to tell.” She tilted her head. “You know anyone like that?”

“I might,” he shrugged. “I’m Spencer.”

She told him her name and he barely heard it but he knew he wouldn't forget it. He knew he was supposed to say something, so he breathed, “that's a beautiful name. It suits you.”

Her smile was like the sun and he almost believed he could feel warm again. “You're not so bad yourself.”

He’d never grown used to accepting a compliment so he ducked his head to hide his face. She was already talking again, saving him from the awkwardness of knowing how to reply.

“What brought you here tonight?”

The truth wasn't something he was ready to share with a stranger. He approximated it with, “I’m looking to feel a little less alone.”

Her hand on his was soft and warm. “What a coincidence. I’m here for the same thing.”

He couldn't fathom someone like her, so beautiful and confident and with such a warm presence, being lonely. So he raised his eyebrows. “You're really wanting for company?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she laughed. “But yes. I am wanting for company. I just moved here.”

“What made you move here?”

“Nothing special about here. I needed to leave my life behind and threw a dart at a map of the states and moved where it landed. Well, technically it landed on Virginia, but I overruled that. This was close enough.”

Needed to leave her life behind.

She'd said it casually, but it was an interesting thing to note. Like him, she was lost, alone, hiding from something. Seeking comfort in the arms of strangers who wouldn’t stick around to fix her messes. He hummed thoughtfully. “Running from something?”

With a shrug, she murmured, “aren’t we all?”

“Most people,” he conceded.

“You?”

“I don’t like to think I am. But I don’t think I’d be here tonight if I wasn’t.”

She smiled at him slightly. He was only just starting to realise what else about the smile reminded him of Emily - the slight undercurrent of sadness to it. “That’s the nice thing about running.” she said after a pause. “Sometimes you look up and realise your feet took you somewhere good without you even realising it.”

“Are you somewhere good?”

“You’ll have to tell me,” she said softly, and leaned forwards, capturing his mouth in a kiss.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his situation before he was kissing her back. She tasted like whiskey, fiery and hot and intoxicating. He reached his palm up to rest it on her cheek and she made a soft noise of encouragement, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

The angle of it was awkward, their bodies angled towards each other and hanging off their barstools, but it didn’t make the kiss any less dizzying. It wasn’t Emily, no way to pretend for even a second it was, the taste of her and the shape of her and the feeling of her were all different. But it didn’t matter. It was company, and she was beautiful, and he knew in his heart Emily would want him to do this. She’d want him to find something that would help ease the pain. She would never want him to be lonely.

She pulled away and he gasped.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked breathlessly.

He nodded desperately, wrapping his hand around her wrist. “Yes. Please.”

“My place okay?”

“Yes. That’s perfect. Let’s go.”

She picked up her glass of whiskey and motioned for him to do the same. As soon as he did she wrapped her arm around his and linked them at the elbow, holding her drink aloft. It took a second to realise what she wanted, and when he did, he grinned. It was silly, childish, exactly what he needed. She nodded at him and, arms interlocked, they downed their drinks in unison. The liquor burned his throat like a sip of liquid flame and he struggled to keep his mouth neutral as he swallowed, watching as she wrinkled her nose. He couldn’t help his huffed laugh, giddy with the drink and the company.

She led him out of the bar, weaving them around the huddles of drunks and tables of friends in silence, and pounding guilt nestled behind his chest. Three weeks since the death of his lover, and he’d already found his way into the arms of someone else. What kind of man was he? Was his loyalty so thin?

But she turned towards him, glancing back with a mischief in her eyes that was achingly, throbbingly familiar, and he couldn’t make himself pull away.

He wasn’t a man of God. He didn’t believe Emily was watching down on him, in pain at the thought of him with another woman. She was simply gone. He couldn’t live for a ghost he didn’t believe in.

It was all hollow justification, really, convincing himself it wasn’t wrong to do the thing he already knew he would do. Her pulse under his fingertips was thrumming and alive, the sign of a heart that could pump blood and skin that was flush with warmth, and he needed to feel that. He needed to want something that could want him back.

The air was chilled as they stepped outside into the street and he stumbled into her as she came to a sudden stop. She giggled softly and wrapped her arm around him, steadying him and pulling him softly against her. Her body was a column of heat beside him, every breath she took causing her chest to rise and fall against him. Living, living, so alive, something real, something tangible. He’d known this woman all of 10 minutes and he loved her as much as he hated her for simply being alive.

It wasn’t fair on this poor woman, this beautiful woman, this kind woman to be drawing these constant comparisons. That thought, more than any other, almost gave him pause. He vowed to want her for what she was and not what she wasn’t. She was sweet, beautiful, haunted, said he had pretty eyes and looked like someone with stories. She had soft skin and lovely eyes, a smile that held secrets and promises that he wouldn’t get to know. He could want her for that.

She swung out her arm and a taxi pulled in beside them and they stumbled into the taxi, their bodies never leaving each other until she shuffled across the seat to the other side. Even then, her hand stayed on his arm and he revelled in the touch. She leaned forwards to share her address with the taxi driver and they drove into the night, the flickering street lights casting shadows on her face.

He couldn’t help it, he leaned forwards to kiss her again. Her lips were a temporary oblivion, something consuming to drown out the noise of his grief. A comfort in company, a reminder he wasn’t as alone as he felt. The guilt bubbling in his stomach was dulled by the softness of her lips, the gentle movement of her tongue, the sharp bite of her teeth on his lower lip. So different to Emily. Not different enough.

No.

She was her own person.

He pulled away with a gasp, her chest heaving to match his own.

“You’re good at that,” she mumbled.

He moved his thumb across her cheek. “So are you.”

She smiled and kissed him again, and he let himself sink into it, to feel the heat of another person against him, to let the sensations wash over him and through him and stir those familiar desires beneath his skin.

It was a quick taxi to her apartment and then he staggered onto the sidewalk like a man intoxicated. He was dizzy, though he only had the one drink. On a street he’d never been on before despite his years in the city, the buildings unfamiliar, his companion a stranger, and he felt like someone totally different. Someone else. Someone who could be casual and silly and risky and stupid. Not Spencer Reid. Not the grieving man.

His alienation from himself would be frightening if he had the fortitude to care. Instead, he called it a blessing and let his beautiful stranger pull him up the stairs.

Her apartment was four flights up, and by the time they reached her door, he was breathless. She laughed at the pink on his cheeks and he felt a hum of embarrassment course through him.

“Not laughing at you, baby, I promise,” she murmured as she turned to unlock the door. The term of endearment sent something hot running through his veins and his face only got warmer.

The door was pushed open, and she waited for him to enter before shutting it behind her.

Another moment of guilt and hesitation threatened to break him and he drowned it out by pulling her closer and capturing her mouth in a desperate kiss. She made a soft noise of surprise against him before melting into it, bringing her hand up to rest on his shoulder and pressing herself against him. It was soft and sweet and nothing he needed it to be so he deepened it, pressed her against the wall to gain the leverage to kiss her roughly. She let out another low sound of pleasure and it emboldened him, gave him the courage he needed to guide his hand up her thigh and under her skirt, running his fingertips along her hip.

She threw her head back with a soft “fuck,” letting her head rest against the wall as he moved his hand from resting on her hip to tracing over the line of her underwear and brought it down until it was ghosting along her core.

Her softness, pliability, was intoxicating and so different from what he was used to. Emily gave as good as she got, was bared teeth and strength and only going down with a fight. His beautiful stranger seemed happy to let him control the night, and he was grateful for it in that moment, grateful for the opportunity to have the control in the bedroom he’d lost over his life.

She gripped onto his shoulders hard as he pushed the panties aside and ran his fingers over the exposed flesh, spreading the accumulated arousal and circling over the sensitive nub at her apex.

He attached his lips to her neck, grazing his teeth across her collarbone and drinking in the sounds she made as he slowly inserted one finger, and then a second.

“Baby, god, feels so good,” she mumbled above him and the praise went straight to his cock, the taste of her skin against his tongue and the feeling of her around his fingers creating a dizzying cocktail of arousal in his abdomen. He was making her feel good, he was capable of creating pleasure in another, he could do something right even if his life felt wrong and hollow. He clung to that knowledge as he sucked a mark into her neck and basked in her whines.

Years of magic tricks gave him agile hands, a skill at profiling let him read a woman’s pleasure in her gasps and twitches, and it wasn't long before her moans were heightening in pitch and volume and her nails were pressing into his shoulders desperately. He felt a glow of pride as she came undone around him, moaning his name in shaking cadence. He pulled his fingers from her carefully and felt a bolt of arousal at the sight of her, her skirt rucked up around her waist, her cheeks pink and her eyeliner smudged.

“You have wonderful hands,” she murmured after a few moments of loaded silence.

He laughed roughly. “I’ve been told that before,” he mumbled, and didn't mention the woman who’d told him.

“Let me make you feel good too, baby,” she said, and her widened eyes and desperate tone made it sound very much like a plea.

His head was spinning, body alight with lust, too full of want for the guilt to make a dent, and he nodded. He was sick, sick, sick in the head, his agreement a condemnation of himself, and so he nodded.

“Yes. Yes, okay. Let's go to the bedroom,” he tried to speak through the dizzy desire and warring self-loathing and his voice came out thin.

She frowned, eyes big and concerned and placed her hand on his cheek. “Are you okay, baby? You don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

He shook his head almost violently, causing her hand to drop to his shoulder. He felt its absence like a wound. “No. Please. I want this, I want you.”

She still looked hesitant so he kissed her, feeling the tension leave her body as his tongue explored her mouth. The relief of her wordless acquiescence was physical. He needed this, he needed her, he needed his life to dissolve in a melody of moans until he couldn't remember anything but the present, until everything faded but touch and heat and want.

He couldn't bear the weight of his mind alone. She might be a stranger, but he needed her. And curse Emily's voice in his head chiding him softly both for using this poor woman and for so quickly finding solace in the body of another. He was using her, sure, but she was using him too. It wasn’t like she was in love with him, and he wasn’t in love with her either. It was a one night stand, not marriage. And he and Emily had never labelled their relationship, had never been able to communicate well enough to even discuss exclusivity and all of that aside, she was fucking dead so really she’d left him first and didn’t have the right to be judging him.

He was talking so much to the Emily in his head he was starting to remember that he was still in the window for schizophrenia. 

He kissed the woman more desperately, drowning out that thought. She made a keening, broken sound against him, and it temporarily brought him to the present. 

He took a hold of her wrist, still resting against his collarbone and stumbled back. “Bedroom, please,” he begged, too far gone to be self-conscious of the pleading tone. 

She smiled, her pupils blown wide and her lips darkened from the bruising force of the kiss. “Come on, baby.”

She took a stumbling step towards him and he felt a surge of pride he’d taken her apart so thoroughly. He was still a man, after all, and she was a woman, a stupidly beautiful woman he was undeserving of, and it felt good to know he was bringing her pleasure. 

He let himself be led like a lamb by its shepherd to her bedroom. It was clean, minimal, the bedroom of a flight risk who didn’t want anything tying them down. No photographs, no personal effects, nothing in the room that didn’t serve a utility. 

The profiler in his brain was switched off by her hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with nimble fingers. Once his shirt hung loose, her touch moved to his bare chest, tracing across the planes of his torso. He felt unavoidably self-conscious under her scrutiny, but she looked at him with such a heat in her eyes he couldn’t help but know she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He still wanted to know what demons had led her to him, to seeking solace in the arms of a man she didn’t know, but he shoved the thought down. She was well within her right to want a one night stand, she didn’t have to be damaged just because he was. And besides, she’d started removing her own shirt, and it was hard to think about anything other than her chest, framed by a delicate black brassiere.

She caught his heated gaze because she laughed softly. “Like what you see, baby?”

He nodded stupidly. “God, so much.”

And then she was kissing him, walking him backwards towards the bed where he was all too happy to go.

His knees hit the back of the bed and he dropped onto it, looking up at her as she undid the button fastening her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Her underwear matched the bra, and she wore them well, the lines and curves of her silhouette enough to intoxicate him. He leaned forwards to kiss her abdomen softly and she gasped. Their positioning, her above him with his head against her stomach, was some strange parody of worship. In a way, she was a god to him. He was giving himself as an offering in futile hope of salvation, devoting himself to a beautiful concept of a woman. She was nothing real and everything wonderful. A perfect stranger.

Her hands wove themselves into his hair and he groaned out his oblation into her skin.

“I need you, baby, please,” she whispered into the still air of the room, and he was her willing servant.

He sat back, and before his hands could reach down to unfasten his pants, she was undoing them for him, her fingers trembling as she fiddled with his button and then his fly.

There was something unsettling about her movements, and he stilled. “You okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah. Yeah, just want you,” she mumbled as he shimmied out of his pants.

There was something she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t have time to ask before she was dropping to straddle his lap, his cock only separated from her arousal by the flimsy fabric of their undergarments. He might have been a genius, but even he found it hard to think about anything much with a woman in his lap, her hips shifting against his and sending his senses into overdrive.

He begged a silent plea of forgiveness to the Emily in his head. She remained stonily silent. He took it as permission and put his hands around the waist of his perfect stranger, using his leverage to twist them both until she was lying beneath him on the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, and the tender words felt like more of a betrayal than the sex.

“So are you,” she whispered, and he kissed her gently. The kiss was short, chaste, before his lips were moving - kissing down her jaw, the column of her throat, her chest, her abdomen, her stomach. She gasped softly as he reached the waistband of her panties, and he lingered there just a moment, looking up at the rapt expression on her face.

He noticed, not for the first time, how very sad she looked behind the desire. Maybe she knew he was thinking about someone else. More likely, she was thinking about someone else. It wasn’t his business. He understood what it was like to need to drown out the ghosts.

It was the echo of that thought that played in his head as he slowly pulled down her panties. Drown the ghost, make her feel good, bask in the warmth of another, remember what it means to live and breathe and feel. Simple instructions, a defined victory condition, something black and white and real. He tossed her underwear aside and looked up at her, propped up on her shoulders to watch as he exposed her.

He must have stayed there a moment too long, because she made a soft, plaintive sound and mumbled, “Baby, please. Don’t tease me.”

“Sorry,” he grinned, not sorry at all if it made her call him baby in that desperate, whining voice, and licked a stripe up her core.

She made a harsh, pleading noise at the contact, and he felt it like lightning under his skin. He pushed away the thoughts of the sounds Emily had once made, and moved to suck gently on her clit, summoning more sweet whines from her lips.

Her hands came down to twist in his hair and he groaned against her. He felt hot, shivery, alternating waves of lust and guilt rocking through him like a boat tossed about through the surf. Something about the sheer wrongness of it was only heightening his desire. His grief was getting tangled in his need and his body was turning all of it into heat and want.

Eventually, she gasped raggedly and used her grip on his hair to pull him off of her, looking down at him with eyes turned the inky black shade of lust. “Need you, now, please, baby,” she groaned, and what man could say no to that?

He nodded, dizzy and hazy, and lifted himself onto his knees. “Condom?” he managed to force out through the white noise of his mind, and she sat up to lean over to her bedside drawer, rifling through a little box to pull out a Trojan.

He pulled off his own underwear hastily as she unwrapped it, and hissed as she leaned forwards to roll it onto him. He hadn’t realised how hard he was until her soft hands were ghosting over him, and the touch felt like little lines of fire over his skin. He groaned thickly and let his head fall back as she stroked him experimentally over the latex.

He didn’t want to wait any longer, couldn’t risk being still when the thoughts of everything he was hiding from could come back. Emily was being quiet in his skull, probably furious at his betrayal, but it was still quiet, no voice in his head but his own. So, he gently pushed her back until she was lying against the pillow, and put his weight on one arm as he guided himself to the centre of her arousal. He teased for a bit, sliding his length along her a few times to hear her breath hitch.

Finally, slowly, he pushed in, his eyelids fluttering as he was constricted by the tightness inside of her. It hadn’t even been that long since he’d had sex, but after years of having it almost daily, his body had grown accustomed to a certain frequency, and the tight heat felt like home.

As soon as he was fully immersed inside her, he let out a ragged, hoarse groan. Her own thin whine was in harmony with his, the musicality of their pleasure intertwining as their bodies did.

His vision blurred as he started to move, the friction sending sparks up through his skin as she gasped his name underneath him.

“Oh, fuck, Emily,” he groaned in return.

He didn’t realise what he’d done until she stilled completely under him.

“Emily?” she said quietly.

It was like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him, every nerve going dead with the shock.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and it felt so inadequate to the scale of his mistake.

She swallowed under him, her throat bobbing. Something was playing out behind her eyes, something not even years of profiling could clue him into. Eventually, she shook her head, the movement minute.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I understand. I can be Emily. If that’s what you need, I can be Emily.”

The words broke his heart. Who was this woman? Who had broken her down to the point she was willing to contort herself to be another woman for a man she’d never met?

He shook his head. “No. You’re not Emily. You’re you, and that’s a good thing to be. Don’t- you don’t- I’m an asshole. My head is a mess right now, it’s nothing to do with you. You’re wonderful, you’re beautiful, you’re kind. I want you.

She smiled thinly and brought her hand up to rest against his face. “It’s okay, baby. It’s one night. I’m whoever you want me to be, okay? Whatever you need. Let me take care of you.”

He groaned slightly, a war in his torso as her words cast a sick sort of spell on him. The person he wanted to be fought the battle, screamed at him that she obviously had her own demons, that he’d be taking advantage of what must be a self-esteem issue, to be allowing him - asking him - to pretend she was another woman. “It’s not right,” he mumbled.

“Does that really matter?” she whispered. “No one’s watching. I’m saying it’s okay.”

“Why?” he said desperately. “Why would that be okay?”

“We’re using each other, that’s all this is, right? I don’t know your life or your last name or your job or your friends, you’re whoever I want you to be tonight. I can be whoever you need me to be. It’s only fair.”

Her words made a strange sort of sense, or maybe he was choosing to believe that to stymie the guilt bubbling behind his ribs. He was using her, plain and simple, no matter whose name he was saying. If she didn’t care, why should he?

Because you’re better than that, the Emily in his head murmured disapprovingly. But who was she to talk when she’d left him all alone, when she’d lied to all of them to follow a terrorist without thinking of the wound she’d be leaving behind. So he nodded. “Okay. Okay. Are you… Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes. Please,” she said, eyes big and pleading, and he gave only another cursory thought to wondering if she was okay before starting to move again. She wasn’t Emily, there wasn’t really a way to pretend that she was, unless he closed her eyes and that seemed too sick even for him. But the feeling of it all was still so achingly familiar - the heat, the tightness, the slick sounds of bodies connecting and the shaking gasps of pleasure.

He couldn’t pretend she was Emily, but he could pretend he loved her and she loved him. And with the way she looked at him, her jaw slack in ecstasy and her pupils blown with lust, it wasn’t hard. She looked beautiful, genuinely divine in the throes of her desire, in that way people only do at their most unrestrained. He leaned forwards and kissed her, drinking in the sounds she made against his lips and revelling in her hand gripping his shoulder like he was a lifeline, the thread connecting her to reality.

“Baby, oh, baby, I’m close, please, just like that, fuck,” the words were mumbled against his lips, garbled among gasps and soft whines, and it took a moment to decipher what she was saying. But once he’d decoded it, he glowed in his pride.

“Come for me whenever you want to, sweetheart,” he groaned, “Let me make you feel good.”

His tone was tender, fragile, delicate, the words of lovers and not strangers, and maybe that was the fantasy he was fulfilling with her. One where he loved freely and received it in return like he never could with Emily and her shroud of secrets. He’d pretended with her, and he was pretending again now, playing the role like he was born for it.

And when, maybe seconds or years later, her noises climbed in pitch and she tightened around him, he pushed her hair out of her face gently and fucked her like he knew her beyond the feeling of her body and the sounds of her bliss.

Her nails dug into him, and she called him, “baby,” again in that sweet, overwhelmed voice, and it was that which pushed him over the edge to his own undoing, his rhythm faltering and stuttering as he twitched inside of her.

This, the release, the moment where the world stopped and all he could feel was beautiful, perfect pleasure, was why he'd gone out tonight. A simulacrum of hydromorphone all released in one, lovely moment. One addiction swapped for another, oblivions traded. Her hand ghosted back over his cheekbone as he slowed and stopped, his head leaning into her palm as he stilled.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he laughed, breathlessly, smoothing out her hair before pulling out of her with a wince.

She sat up and watched as he tied off the condom. “I know, but I want to. I needed this. Let me take that, I’ll bin it in the bathroom.”

He smiled weakly and handed it to her, watching as she walked into the little ensuite next to the room. She shut the door behind her, and he sat awkwardly for a moment, his nakedness suddenly visceral in the solitude of another person’s bedroom. He stood and found his underwear, discarded next to the bed, shimmying into them as he waited for her to be done. He never knew what to do in this part, never knew the etiquette of the afterglow. Eventually, he heard the toilet flushing and the sound of the tap running, and she emerged from the bathroom clad in a short white satin robe, tied loosely at the waist.

“I’m going to have a cigarette,” she said with a little smile. “Care to join me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he said, his voice hoarse, and followed her outside to the balcony. It was nice, a wrought iron railing shielding them from falling into the city skyline, two chairs nestled around a small round glass table. On it lay a crystalline ashtray, stained with dead embers, and a small pack of Marlboro Golds.

She sat on the far chair, motioning for him to sit too, and picked up the pack, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up. She took a long drag and let her head fall back as she exhaled the smoke.

“I know it’s a bad habit,” she said quietly. “But I can’t bring myself to quit.”

He tilted his head as he watched her take another drag. “I used to tell my mother every cigarette she smoked was 6 less minutes she’d get to spend with me.”

“The way I live my life, I’m not expecting that to be an issue,” she shrugged.

“How do you live your life to expect to die young?”

She gestured at him. “Bringing strange men I meet while alone at a bar to my apartment, for one,” she deadpanned, and he couldn’t help his exhale of a laugh.

“Mm, touche, I suppose,” he sighed. “What makes you like it?”

She raised her eyebrows. “The cigarettes or the strange men?”

“Both, I guess.”

“It’s the same reason for both. Makes me feel like I have some control over things. Forces me to… confront my mortality, to get comfortable with the idea of death. It can’t scare me if I’m inviting it.”

He frowned. “You’re suicidal?”

A long pause where she seemed to be thinking, her eyes fixed on the twinkling lights of the city around them. “No. I’m not. But I’ve spent a lot of time living in fear of things that are inevitable, and I’m tired of that.”

He couldn’t help himself from wanting to pry. It was like that, sometimes, in the afterglow of sex. After the intimacy, the bedroom could become a confessional. “What inevitabilities are you scared of?”

She sighed and took another drag of the cigarette. “I married my high school sweetheart a year after we graduated. Our relationship was… fine. Good. He was the only man I’d ever been with, the only one I knew how to be with. Even when I knew he was having an affair, I couldn’t bring myself to let go of him. He was an asshole, sometimes, and a cheat, but sometimes he was so wonderful. He worked and supported us the whole time I was in college, he’d plan these extravagant dates and trips for us, always remembered birthdays and anniversaries. And I’d been with him since I was so young, I didn’t even know who I was if I wasn’t his wife. Even when I knew he didn’t love me anymore and I barely loved him, I stuck around. In the end, he left me. He got the other woman pregnant and owned up to everything I already knew. I didn’t even have the guts to tell him that none of it was news, because I felt so pathetic for tolerating it. That night, I quit my job, threw a dart at a map and moved here. Just like that. I didn’t want to be scared anymore. I wanted to just… live.”

He was quiet for a long time. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually, and it was a pale pleasantry against the scale of her admission.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “Not like it’s your fault. Just illustrating the point. I knew the relationship was over years before it actually was. But I was so scared of the unknown I refused to admit it. I’m not going to do that anymore.”

“That’s a good philosophy,” he said softly.

She smiled at him, the look stained with melancholy. “Yeah, I like to think so.”

The silence dragged, unobtrusive and comfortable as she ashed her cigarette and lit up a second. “Who’s Emily?” she asked eventually, and he startled.

He watched her hands as she let the cigarette dangle between her fingers. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” she pressed. “Story for a story.”

“I have a… stressful job. One where I have to travel a lot. And I had a coworker, Emily. We started sleeping together as a way to let off steam on tough days. I fell in love with her. I think she loved me too. We never said it. She’s a… flight risk, I guess, runs away at the first sign of anything emotionally scary, and any time things between us got too real, she’d freeze me out. I learned to keep my feelings to myself. But I was in love with her. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to keep her near me.”

“That’s hard,” his perfect stranger murmured. “Where is she now?"

“She’s dead,” he said flatly, as if keeping the emotions from his voice would stop it from hurting him. “She was murdered.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Fuck, that’s- I’m sorry. That’s horrible.”

He shook his head, the ugly bitterness in his chest building up and spilling from his mouth. “She knew. She knew he was coming after her, she knew what he was capable of, and she never told me. I could have done something, and she took that chance away from me. And I’m so angry at her, but I can’t be angry at her because she’s gone. What use is it being furious with a ghost?”

“It’s normal to have mixed feelings when a loved one dies, baby,” she says softly. “In a way, she left you, even if she didn’t want to. It’s hard. It’s a breakup with no room for self-reflection and no way to change things. The loss of your future and the shadow over the past. There’s a lot of different stuff going on in your head right now. There’s no wrong way to feel about it all.”

He knew that, was intellectually versed on the complications and machinations of grief. He’d seen all kinds of people in the throes of their losses - mothers who’d lost children when their last words had been in anger, husbands whose wives had stormed out and never made it home to talk it out, children who’d snuck out and returned to find their parents dead. He was acquainted with the intricate weaving of love and guilt and grief, had read every study on managing loss, had sat in the room with countless people in the seconds after learning their loved one had been taken from them.

And yet, there still lingered a revolting feeling of wrongness in his grief. For all that he knew the way he was behaving and feeling and coping was normal - all of it, the sex, the cravings, the depression, the bitter, cruel anger - he couldn't help but sink into the belief he was wrong for all of it.

But the look on her face, wide eyed and earnest, her brows slightly furrowed as she watched him intensely, made him believe her. This was a woman acquainted with loss, he could tell. He didn't have to pry to know that. She understood him in a way the journal articles didn't quite seem to.

Maybe, for all his overreliance on academia to navigate the world, he needed people like everyone else did. Emily had taught him that loving was worth the agony of losing.

He was quiet for a while, thinking through her words.

“Why were you willing to pretend to be her?” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “I liked what we were doing. I didn’t want you to stop. And you seemed like you needed it.”

“That's it? I mean, I called you the wrong name, I would assume that would be a dealbreaker for anyone.”

“I'm not under any illusions about what this was. It was a beautiful thing, but nothing to do with who I am or who you are and what we deserve. Just… people fucking for the sake of it, like they’ve done through all of human history. I wanted it to be good for you, just like I could tell you wanted it to be good for me. It makes it feel better if you're both getting what you want. And I've been a lot of people for a lot of people. It doesn't bother me.”

It still didn't seem quite right to him, but he nodded anyway. He just watched her for a moment, watched the movement of her irises as she looked at the shimmering skyline of the city, the careless elegance of her cigarette drags, the way her robe split over where she crossed her legs to reveal the soft skin of her thighs. She seemed solid in a way he deeply envied, a steady contrast to his own flickering identity.

“Thank you,” he said softly before he even thought the words. “Tonight could have been a bad night. But it wasn't. This has been the easiest night since-” he swallowed, stopping the thought there. “I feel… lighter.”

She made a quiet humming noise in response. “I feel the same. You're a nice person to be around, baby.”

He flushed a little at the endearment, a little token of affection she seemed so at ease sharing. She was a forthcoming person, he was noticing - quick to give. Her thoughts, her kindness, her love. It was an interesting counterweight against a scarcity in her home that spoke to solitude and distance. In just the short time he'd known her, she had shown her share of little contradictions. Clearly self-assured, but willing to pretend to be another woman to please a stranger. Clearly loving, but isolated and lonely.

Before he could stop himself, he said, “I'd like to get to know you better.”

The statement was innocent - he truly meant exactly what he said. She was, in many ways, fascinating to him, and solving her was a welcome distraction from trying to solve his own issues. He liked being around her. But her eyes widened and then crinkled sadly.

“I'm not- you're sweet, baby, and you're handsome, too. Your Emily was lucky to have you. But I'm not ready to be anyone's love anytime soon. And I don’t think you're ready for that either.”

He shook his head. “Oh! No, I didn’t mean- no, I'm not ready for anything like that, I'm- I just meant… I don’t have many friends, or at least friends who didn't know her. And you said at the bar you were lonely too, and I just thought- I'd like to be your friend. If that's okay with you.”

She looked at him for a while, as if trying to find a double meaning behind his irises. Then, wonderfully, she nodded, her lips quirking up at the edges. “I'd like that, baby. Let’s be friends.”

He felt a strange sense of gratefulness bubble in his chest. This could be something good, even if it came from something bad. He held out a hand to shake. “Friends.”

She shook it with a little laugh. “Friends.”

Trying his luck, he added, “And if friends involves doing,” he gestured back towards the bedroom, “that, I wouldn't complain.”

She raised her eyebrows and ashed her cigarette. “Give me a second to brush my teeth and we can demo it, try out our new friendship arrangement?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes. Please. In the name of trial and error, I think we should definitely do that.”

She stood and leaned over to kiss him gently on the forehead. “Wait for me in the bedroom, baby. We've got some friendship to do.”

He watched her go inside. her robe swaying softly with her movements. Emily was quiet in his head, but the silence didn't feel reproachful. He allowed the grief to take hold of him for a second.

And then he followed the perfect stranger inside.

[strawbeerossi]

August || Chapter Five

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid, fem!reader x Emily Prentiss 

Description: After a conversation with Emily, Spencer drowns in a sea of regret and guilt. That’s when JJ gives him a harsh reality check.

Content/Warnings: Spencer/JJ centric chapter, friendships are threatened, drama, emissions of guilt, regret, Spencer thinks of you and Emily to a deep degree, a break up ensues, one use of Y/N. 

WC: 2.1K

Y'all know the drill. 450 notes for next part!

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The sound of the ceramic shattering on the ground had you looking at the floor first, the overly sugary coffee surely going to make the floor sticky and give everyone’s shoes that annoying sound of them getting stuck to the ground.

“That’s going to be a pain to clean up.” Was all Emily could say, unphased by his reaction. Truth be told, he had no reason to react the way he did. He had made his bed the moment he got with JJ, losing every chance that he had with you. “Pick up the pieces, don’t need anyone getting hurt.” She added.

“So this is what you two do whenever you're supposed to be working? Not very professional.” Spencer huffed, kneeling down to pick up the remains of the navy blue coffee cup, his head shaking. 

“Everyone is entitled to a lunch break for an hour every workday. What anyone else does outside of this office is absolutely none of your business.” The unit chief countered back while she was heading over to the bullpen doors. “When you’re finished, come to my office. We need to talk.” 

You were looking between Spencer and Emily, hands pushed into your pockets while the both of them had their little back and forth. “Can we all just calm it down? There’s no need for any more drama than this team already has.” The voice of reason. How fitting.

“I am calm. I just find it shocking that you’re kissing our boss in the elevator.” He commented, the shards rested in the palm of his hand as he pushed himself to stand up straight.

“You have no right to be mad and you know that.” You countered, deciding against furthering the argument as you approached the doors to the bullpen. How dare he act angry at you after what he did. He had no logical reasoning to act like a child over your decisions.

You knew that this was him lashing out, showing that deep down, he really is bothered and has noticed what he lost out on. That could’ve been you and him kissing in the elevator instead of you and Emily, the both of you could be going out to lunch together… He knew where he went wrong and this was going to haunt him. 

Spencer was always dramatic in that way, needing to see just what he lost before it was hitting him like a freight train. It was something he did with JJ, then he got with her and things haven’t exactly been smooth sailing in the department of their relationship.

He felt immense guilt, especially whenever JJ and Will had to make plans for the boys to visit with her. She should’ve been home with her children, not with him. Although it was seemingly too late, he highly doubted Will would take JJ back. 

He made it known on several occasions that she made her bed and she had to lie in it, to suffer from the loss of a loving marriage. In a way, it made Spencer feel dirty. What would Henry think of his beloved uncle when he got older? What would Michael think? In their story, as well as yours, Spencer was the bad guy. 

Those thoughts were in his mind all day after that. Even whenever being scolded by Emily, he just wasn’t present in the conversation. All he could think about was how happy you seemed with her, the way you looked at her. It made him feel nauseous. 

He knew Emily would take care of you at the end of the day but all he could do is think about what he lost. Emily was the lucky one, the one who didn’t break your heart into a million pieces. She got to hold you, to kiss you, to bask in your love and presence. 

His mind wandered farther, the idea of you two being intimate together. The idea made jealousy tug at his heart. She would be the one to worship you, to bring a rush of euphoria over you so strong that you wouldn’t dare think about another person in the same manner. 

It made him irrationally angry, upset at Emily because she was lucky enough to step in to the relationship that should’ve been shared between you and him. 

“Are you even listening?” Emily’s voice made Spencer look over at her, his eyes searching her features. She was angry at him, the comments he made earlier being the driving force behind it. He understood why, however this talk was unnecessary. 

“Yes. I’m listening. I just think this is all a waste of my time and yours. I’m sorry for making the comments I made but you have to admit, you are our boss at the end of the day. If you can’t handle what I have to say, imagine hearing what other people will say.” He stated. 

“I can guarantee you that nobody would care as much as you do. There will have to be a tedious paperwork process done for this to continue, but I don’t mind it.” It was a wonder how Emily kept her composure despite Spencer’s shitty attitude. “I am just asking you to stop with the comments and quite honestly, you need to grow up. The Spencer that I know would be happy for his coworkers who are also his friends. He wouldn’t be throwing a hissy fit over jealousy.”

“Look. I am happy for you, for her. I’m not jealous either.” Debatable. He didn’t care to admit things like that. “I just don’t like how I didn't know. She used to tell me everything!” 

“And then you ruined that for yourself. You know that I love you but you’re acting foolish. I don’t want to constantly have battles between us, alright? Just take this time to reflect and realize what you did wrong and then let all of that built up anger go. Now, go and wash your face. Get your shit together.” 

That was the end of the conversation, the male slowly pushing himself to stand before making a slow retreat from the office. Washing his face was good, would clear his head, settle his nerves.. So, he made a b-line straight for the men’s washroom. Although unbeknownst to him, JJ was hurrying out of the bullpen right behind him.

“What happened in there?” She made her presence known as she grabbed Spencer’s arm, startling him in the process. “What are you trying to pull now?”

“Trying to pull? Are you serious? Emily wanted to have a private discussion with me. I suggest you mind your own business, Jennifer.” He spat, the built up aggression causing him to breathe heavier thn usual, his face red. He needed to get to the bathroom now. 

“Woah, hold on. You think you are allowed to get rude with me because you don’t know how to leave things alone? Spencer, don’t be ridiculous.” She began although the male’s hands were raised in self defense as he looked in her direction. He had no time for this.

“I know how to leave things alone. I’ve proved that enough these past few weeks. You just don’t like that all the attention isn’t on you for once. Nobody really cares what you have to say in regards to this situation. I don’t care. You don’t like the way I carry myself and that is your problem. I can’t change myself just to make you approve.” 

“Are you crazy? I’m just telling you to leave them alone.”

“Yeah, well how about you leave me alone?” He spat, now turning on his heel to get to the bathroom. He knew taking out his anger on JJ wasn’t fair but she just always poked and prodded at him. He hated that. 

As he made it to the bathroom, he was staring at his reflection, the man in the mirror being someone who he could barely recognize. The old Spencer would’ve never taken things this far. He would’ve been too afraid of backlash, would’ve pulled away entirely once he saw the hectic nature of what his decisions could unleash.. 

With the sink water steadily running, he was leaning down to splash some cold water on his face. He just needed to calm down, to think through this situation and what his options were. His brain was amazing with conjuring up ideas and theories, although it was like as of late, he was lacking.

“Get your shit together.” Spencer spoke to himself, his eyes closing to avoid looking at himself, at who he became over the years; a man who broke someone’s heart, broke a family, and broke a team dynamic. Hell, he might’ve even broken himself in the process.

The sound of flowing water coupled with his breathing was all he could hear, blocking out the rest of the world as he was bringing himself back down to a more calm and collected state. His decisions have never haunted him like these past few ones have. 

Once calm, his hand was turning off the water, his eyes watching a steady pour slow down to nothing. Alright. He was alright. 

Upon exiting the bathroom, JJ was still there, arms crossed as she was waiting patiently for him to come out. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” She stated, looking up at the man in front of her.

“I don’t want your help. I just- I feel like this isn’t working. I don’t like this relationship or whatever we have anymore. I can’t keep up with it, I just can’t.” He blurted out, heart beating like a drum in his chest, threatening to burst out of his chest cavity.

A tense silence came over them as JJ pursed her lips together. “After I left my husband to try and make this work?” She asked, not giving the man time to answer as she took in a breath. “Fine. Maybe you’re right. You can’t do this anymore. Because now you’ve realized the weight of your decisions. I always wanted you to reflect and realize what you did wrong, to take accountability. I just didn’t expect it to lead to this.”

“I just can’t do it. I can’t look at Henry or Michael without feeling immense guilt. I broke up the dynamic they were used to, at least contributed to it. We’ve both lost important things to us. The only difference is, you’re lucky enough to have your children. You could salvage a cordial relationship with Will. I’ve lost everything.” 

“You’re unbelievable!” The blonde stared at the taller male in disbelief. “You are throwing a pity party for yourself because suddenly you feel the need to be jealous over what Emily has? After this whole experience, I can tell you that Y/N is much better off with her than she is with you.”

The ugly truth that hit Spencer harder than a train derailed from the tracks.

“I have to agree that this needs to end. You also need to leave those two alone. If anything, take my advice on that. Let them live. Let them be happy.” She frowned while bringing her hands up to tiredly rub at her face. “She doesn’t love you and you need to realize that.”

Those words stuck with Spencer, even whenever he made it to his apartment later that night. He was pacing around his living room, arms over his chest, as he really had time to think about everything. The silence never did him any favors, but he couldn’t even ignore his thoughts with a book like he usually could. He tried. 

Every conclusion that he conjured up was the same; he needed to leave you alone. Not that easy, though. You knew him better than the others did. You two talked and shared a lot in the time frame of knowing each other.

He got a horrible idea, one that he knew he shouldn’t have had, but it was an idea. 

With his hand digging into his pocket, he was eventually retrieving his phone, getting into it before getting to his contact list.

There wasn’t much scrolling that had to be done, eventually finding a familiar name. Your name. He was silently outweighing his options. You could answer, you could block him, or you could flat out ignore him.

So, throwing caution to the wind, he hit call, slowly sitting in the middle of the floor as he patiently waited for an answer.

[hoe4hotchner]

What He Left Behind | [E.P]

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x gn!reader CW: abandoment issues, daddy issues, big emotions, smoking, r is a little rude to em, angst but with comfort in the end. WC: 2.4k

This is still very Hotch centric, it wouldn't be me if it wasn't ;)

           The air in the BAU headquarters was thick with tension, the recent ordeal with Mr. Scratch still casting a large cloud over the team. Every desk seemed untouched, paperwork scattered but stagnant, as if the entire office had been holding its breath since the case closed. The familiar hum of conversation was reduced to murmurs, eyes glancing over at one another, silently acknowledging the looming unease.

           Rossi had summoned everyone into the conference room with a somber expression that spoke volumes to all of you. You knew something was about to happen. Everyone did. After everything you’d all endured, there was an unspoken dread in the air, the kind of weight that settled deep in your bones. You weren’t sure you had the energy for whatever news was coming, but there was no avoiding it.

           You sank into your usual seat at the table, the exhaustion wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. Spencer slid into the seat next to you, his fingers twitching restlessly, tapping an uneven rhythm on the smooth surface. Derek leaned back, his arms crossed, jaw set in anticipation, while JJ sat directly across from you, her brows drawn together in quiet worry. And then there was Emily, standing at the head of the table, her posture rigid, though her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place - concern, maybe, or apprehension.

           The sound of Rossi entering the room broke the stillness. He moved deliberately, placing a thick, worn file onto the table with a thud that echoed like the ticking of a clock. His eyes traveled around the room, pausing briefly on each of you as if preparing for the blow he was about to deliver.

           "Hotch isn’t coming back," Rossi began, his voice was low but unwavering, each word landing like a hammer. "He’s decided to stay out of the field for good. His priority is Jack now, he wants to keep his family safe."

           The impact of his words hit you square in the chest, knocking the wind out of you. The room shifted almost imperceptibly, the tension coiling tighter in your stomach. You stopped paying attention to the words coming from Rossi's mouth, only noticing the movement of his mouth. You had known this was coming - felt it in your gut for weeks now - but hearing it spoken aloud made it real in a way that cut deeper than you were ready for. Hotch had been the anchor of the team, the steady hand guiding everyone through the storm. And now… now he was gone. A gap that couldn’t be filled.

           "As a result," Rossi continued, turning his gaze toward Emily, "Prentiss will be taking over as Unit Chief, effective immediately."

           There was no surprise in Emily’s eyes - she had clearly anticipated this moment, if not known about it longer than the rest of the team - but you could see the weight of the responsibility settling over her like a mantle. She nodded slightly, stepping forward. "Thank you, Rossi. I know this is a huge change for all of us, but I’ll do everything in my power to lead this team as great as Hotch did."

           Her voice was steady, the right kind of confidence to reassure the team, but the finality of it all made your heart sink. The person you had always relied on, the father figure who had been there through your darkest moments, wasn’t coming back. And that realization… it stung more than you’d expected.

           You felt your chest tighten, the weight of the news pressing down harder. The walls of the room seemed to inch closer, and the air felt suffocating. You needed to escape, even if just for a moment.

           Emily’s eyes found yours from across the room, her gaze softening as she noticed the change in your expression. She opened her mouth as if to say something, a question, or maybe a word of comfort, but you couldn’t bear to hear it.

           "I - I’m sorry," you muttered under your breath, standing abruptly. "I just… need a minute."

           Before anyone could respond, you were already out of your seat, your legs carrying you toward the door in a rush. You could feel Emily’s eyes on your back as you hurried out, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you leaving the room in a stunned silence.

           The cold, biting wind greeted you as you pushed open the door to the roof of the FBI Academy building. It wasn’t the first place you would usually go to clear your head, but tonight it felt like the only place to escape. The sounds of the world below - the bustle of cars, distant conversations, the faint hum of life - seemed far away, drowned out by the heavy silence in your chest. You reached into your pocket and pulled out a nearly forgotten pack of cigarettes, the cellophane crinkling under your fingers. You weren’t a smoker - never had been - but the weight of the job sometimes craved for you to search for something dopamine inducing. The weight of this day, of Hotch's absence, had pushed you to search for some sort of release.

           With shaky hands, you flicked the lighter, the flame catching after a few attempts. The soft click of the lighter closing was swallowed by the wind as you brought the cigarette to your lips. The bitterness of the smoke filled your lungs, foreign and sharp, but the burn was grounding. You exhaled slowly, watching the thin line of smoke drift into the dark sky, curling and twisting as if it could carry your pain away.

           But the ache in your chest remained, deepening with every thought of him. Hotch wasn’t coming back. No matter how many times you'd heard the echo of Rossi's voice replaying in your head, the words echoed like a cruel reminder of what you had lost. He was safe and alive, but that knowledge didn’t stop the hollow feeling gnawing at you. He had been more than a boss to you - he was the father you'd never had, guiding you through the chaos of the job, offering stability when everything else was falling apart. You trusted him, relied on him, and now he had chosen not to return.

           The cigarette trembled between your fingers as memories of him flooded your mind. The quiet, reassuring conversations, his steady presence in the bullpen, the way he always seemed to know when you needed guidance or a hug without asking for it. You had counted on him, believed he would always be there. But now… now it felt like he had left you behind, and it hurt in a way you hadn’t expected.

           You took another slow drag, the bitter smoke swirling in your lungs as the hurt twisted deeper. The sense of abandonment stung, cutting through your composure, leaving you raw and exposed. You had always told yourself that you could handle anything, that you were strong enough to face the toughest moments. But this - being left behind by the person you trusted the most - felt like too much. Too final.

           Your gaze drifted over the dark cityscape, the lights of Washington D.C. blinking somewhere in the distance like stars that felt too far out of reach. The cigarette burned low between your fingers, the warmth of it a sharp contrast to the cold, but even that small comfort felt fleeting. You stared at the wisps of smoke rising into the air, wishing, just for a moment, that it could take your pain with it, leaving you free from the weight pressing down on your heart.

           The door to the rooftop swung open with a loud creak, cutting through the air, and you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The sharp, deliberate clack of Emily's boots echoed across the concrete, each step heavier than the last as she approached you. The cool breeze ruffled your hair, carrying with it the faint scent of the nearby trees, but even that couldn’t distract you from the inevitable confrontation coming your way.

           You inhaled deeply, pulling another drag from the cigarette between your fingers. The taste filled your lungs yet again, mixing with the dull ache of betrayal still biting at your heart. You exhaled slowly, watching the smoke swirl and dissolve into the sky as you stared blankly at the horizon.

           "Found you," Emily’s voice was softer than usual, the concern behind it undeniable, yet there was a slight grin to her tone as she tried to lighten the mood. Her steps slowed as she reached your side, the gentle rustle of her coat barely audible over the wind. She tucked her hands into her pockets, her posture relaxed but her gaze heavy on you. "You shouldn’t be up here alone."

           "I’m fine," you replied, your voice clipped and distant. The words were more out of habit than truth. You dropped the cigarette to the ground, grinding it beneath your heel with a sharp twist. The tension between you was palpable, but you refused to acknowledge it. Not now. Not with her.

           Emily lingered for a moment, her eyes searching your face, trying to read the emotions you were so carefully keeping hidden. "No, you’re not. I saw how you reacted in there. You don’t have to pretend, not with me."

           A wave of frustration surged through you at her persistence, but you kept your gaze forward, refusing to meet her eyes. "I’m not pretending, Prentiss." the sound of her name laced with venom.

           The use of her last name caused her to pause, and you could feel her shifting slightly beside you. She wasn’t buying it, but she also wasn’t going to let you off the hook that easily. "You’re upset about Hotch."

           Her words struck a nerve, one you’d been trying desperately to ignore. You turned away from her, clenching your fists as the weight of everything you’d been avoiding pressed down on you. "Don't you dare profile me! Of course, I’m upset. We all are. But it doesn’t change anything."

           "That’s not what I mean, and you know it," Emily said, stepping into your line of sight. She didn’t raise her voice, but the quiet firmness of her tone left no room for evasion. "This is different for you. He was more than just your unit chief."

           You swallowed hard, your jaw tightening as the familiar sting of hurt rose in your throat. "I don’t want to talk about it," you snapped, more harshly than you intended. The words hung in the air between you, sharp and defensive. You took a step back, putting distance between the two of you, your heart pounding in your chest. The pressure inside you was building, emotions you’d been holding down threatening to spill over.

           But Emily didn’t back down. She stood firm, her eyes never leaving yours. "You feel abandoned. Like he’s left you behind."

           "Emily, stop it!" The raw truth in her words shattered what little control you had left. A surge of anger bubbled up inside you, breaking through the cracks of your carefully constructed facade. "Of course, I feel abandoned!" you shouted, your voice trembling with emotion. "He was like… he was like a father to me, Emily. He helped me when no one else did, and now he’s just… gone!"

           You could feel your voice rising, emotions swirling uncontrollably. Your hands shook as you continued, the dam finally breaking. "He’s out there, living his life with Jack, safe and happy, and I get it - I do. But what about us? What about the team? What about me?"

           The tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them, blurring the world around you. You swallowed hard, trying to push the lump in your throat back down, but the words kept coming, spilling out like water from a broken dam. "He promised he’d always be there, Emily. He said he’d never leave, and now he’s just… not. He left, and it feels like I didn’t matter. Like I wasn’t enough to keep him here."

           Your voice broke, a sob finally escaping as the weight of it all hit you. Hot tears streaked down your face, and your chest heaved with the effort of holding it together. But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

           Before you could fall apart completely, Emily closed the distance between you, wrapping her arms around you in a strong, secure embrace. You stiffened at first, unaccustomed to the sudden closeness, but the moment her hand rested gently at the back of your head, you crumbled. Sobs wracked your body as you buried your face in her shoulder, your fingers clutching at her jacket like a lifeline.

           Emily’s arms tightened around you, holding you close, her steady heartbeat grounding you in the chaos of your emotions. She whispered softly, her voice soothing as she stroked your hair. "It’s okay. Let it out. I’m here. I’ve got you."

           The warmth of her embrace, the steady cadence of her breathing, the soft murmur of her voice - it was everything you hadn’t known you needed. You clung to her, the pain and hurt pouring out in ragged sobs as she held you through it, never letting go.

           After what felt like an eternity, your sobs began to quiet, your body still trembling but no longer overwhelmed. Emily loosened her hold just enough to pull back and look at you, her hand coming up to brush a tear from your cheek. Her eyes were filled with understanding, with care.

           "You didn’t lose him," she whispered, her thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "He didn’t abandon you. Hotch made his choice for Jack, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you. He cares about all of us. But you’re not alone. I’m here. The team is here. We’re still a family."

           You sniffled, your hands still gripping her jacket as you wiped at your face. "It just hurts, Emily. I don’t know how to… how to do this without him."

           "You don’t have to do it alone," she reassured, her voice soft but steady, unwavering in its promise. "We’ll figure it out together. And I’ll be here every step of the way."

           For the first time since the news broke, you felt a small, fragile flicker of hope. Emily smiled gently, her hand still resting on your shoulder, a silent anchor amidst the storm. You nodded, the weight in your chest lifting, just a little.

           "Come on," she said, her voice lighter now. "Let’s get out of this wind. I'm freezing."

           You allowed her to lead you back toward the stairwell, side by side, the cold wind slowly fading behind you. As you walked, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay. You weren’t alone. And with Emily by your side, that felt like enough.

[jjtheresidentbaby]

PLEASE AGERE FIC OF JJ REGRESSING WHILE OUT ON A CASE AND SHE SLIPS SO FAR DOWN BUT STILL WANTS TO DO HER CATCHING THE UNSUB WORK BUT EMILY AND SPENCER NOTICE AND THEY DO SOMETHING ABT IT!

˚. ❝₊˚ big enough ❞ ˚₊·

» jennifer jearau x spencer reid x emily prentiss

» a/n: lowkey just turned spencer & jj centric but it’s fine

» warnings: pen chewing, jj being insecure about her regression, minor case details are discussed

Spencer taps his foot against Emily’s, nodding his head over to where Jj sits across from them- her face is all screwed up like she’s thinking extremely hard about something, the bottom of her pen stuck between her teeth, and the papers she has in front of her spread across the table in a very-unlike-Jj way. Well, unlike big Jj, regressed Jj loves to spread her papers around so she can look at them all at once without having to try and flip through them as he motor skills can falter at times during her regression.

“You okay Jj?” Emily asks, picking up on the same behavior Spencer has.

“Mmm, all good…” Her voice trails off and the pen gets gnawed on a little harder, her shoulders hunching inwards in a way Reid has come to know means Jj’s trying to hide herself away.

“Are you feeling small?” Spencer’s sure to keep his tone perfectly neutral, not wanting Jj to think he’s expecting one answer or another.

It’s been a couple months since the team was let in about Jj’s regression and Reid’s quickly cataloged what shifts in her actions or word choice could mean she’s slipped, in turn, he’s also learned how insecure Jj can be about her small side. One night she had admitted to him that she feels like a burden for regressing around the team and anytime someone asks her she feels like they’re waiting for her to say she’s big, getting disappointed when she admits to feeling little. Of course Spencer reassured Jj how wrong that is and that the entire team loves her little side, he’s not sure it’s sunk in yet. He’ll just need to keep reminding her.

“I dunno.” She finally mumbles out after a beat of silence, Spencer feels himself soften at her sweet tone.

“Do you think you should take a break from working?” It’s just reading old files and writing down some notes to present to Hotch tomorrow morning so it really won’t be a problem for Jj to stop. Half the team has already disappeared to the hotel next door to go to sleep for the night, the trio are the only bau members left in the police station.

“No! I- I mean, no, no I’m okay.” Her volume drops as her cheeks burn red from the sudden outburst, her hand reaching to twist a lock of her hair around and hide her face behind it.

“Sweetheart it’s okay if you need to stop.” Emily offers gently but Jj looks away from her and back down to her notes, her free hand picking the pen she dropped back up to resume biting the end.

“I wanna help, I’m big enough.” The protest borders on sounding like it could send Jj into tears- Reid instantly searches his brain to come up with a solution, the last thing he wants is for Jj to cry.

“Course you are J, do you think you could help me with the map?” Thankfully the blonde perks up at the offer and watches with rapt attention as Reid turns to rummage around his satchel bag.

“I need to color this area red so we know where the unsub has already been.” He hands over a map and a red colored pencil - he has a second copy of the map if this one becomes unusable but he figures this could actually help with the case which is obviously what Jj wants.

“Can you do that?” He gets an eager nod in response that Spencer can’t help but smile at. He’s sure she’ll either be beaming tomorrow when the map is hung up or absolutely mortified, he’s hoping for the former but either way he’s just happy to help her out right now.

[virescent-v]

Hey Reid Girlies

I swear to god I'm going to start blocking each and every one of you who posts a Reid fic with "Emily Prentiss."

You should not be tagging Emily in a Reid centric fic.

I will give you some leeway if she's in the fic, but if she's not like one of the main characters, don't tag her or anyone else that isn't the main character.

I don't know how many times other people in the CM fandom have to post this to get it through your heads, but it's annoying as hell.

I'm in the tag "Emily Prentiss" FOR EMILY. NOT REID.

Keep him to his own tag.

[blackbird-brewster]

Emily-Centric Fic Recs

@isagrimorie: I’m interested to know recs! I am looking for Emily-centric stories!

You caught me on the perfect day bc I've been updating all my rec lists! Hope these links help ya' out. I already have a list of recs ft. Emily + Kids: [MomEm Fic Recs]

i can't be wrong (to be craving you)

JJ/Emily | Rated: E | WC: 101,294 Author: w00t4ewan (me) Heavy Angst, Character Study, Slow Burn

Emily just wants to feel something, anything. She needs to be alone, but she's also desperate for human contact, desperate to have someone make her feel loved. JJ is not the person she should be longing to fill that need, she knows better than to get involved with her. An Emily focused story chronicling her relationship with JJ and her mental health in the aftermath of everything she's survived. [Starting in S4 and following through the years of Emily and JJ's relationship]

Late Bloomer

JJ/Emily | Rated: E | WC: 153,306 Author: angestreet Angst, Romance, Slow Burn

When Tara Lewis invites Emily Prentiss out to a gay bar on a hunch, she just wants the FBI section chief to have a little fun, and, yes, maybe pick up a phone number or two. But the ordinary evening sends Emily spiralling, forcing her to confront a truth she has pushed down for decades — and face how she really feels about Jennifer Jareau. An Evolution-era fic about coming out and finding love in middle age.

What If It Doesn't End Well?

JJ/Emily | Rated: T | WC: 8702 Author: w00t4ewan Angst, Happy Ending

Four months after Emily joined the BAU, she and JJ have settled into a friends-with-benefits relationship. But when the team is called to New Orleans to work a case, they meet Detective LaMontagne and Emily's insecurities force her to make a difficult decision. [Reimagining of 02x18 'Jones']

If You Need Me

JJ/Emily | Rated: M | WC: 3958 Author: w00t4ewan Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Emily wakes up from a night terror and seeks JJ's comfort in the middle of the night, just like she has done so many times over the years…but this night is unlike any of the others.

Becoming Real

JJ/(trans man Em) | Unrated | WC: 17,670 Author: sissy_bloke Coming Out Story, Angst, Happy Ending

A case involving transgender youth brings some things to the surface for Prentiss. This transition then brings some things to the surface for JJ. Warnings: Contains transphobia and transphobic violence, but NOT expressed by the good guys. Also contains other violence, but less than what you'd see on the show

A Journey Through the Silent Chasm (Series)

JJ/Emily, Emily & BAU | Rated: M | WC:12,488 Authors: w00t4ewan, Phoenix_Falls Heavy Angst, Grieving

This three-part series details the journey through JJ's depression and PTSD, her death, and eventually, through Emily's healing with the help of everyone else JJ left behind.

Ashes and Wine

JJ/Emily | Rated: T | WC: 8376 Authors: w00t4ewan, Phoenix_Falls Heavy Angst, Happy Ending

Emily's insecurities about herself and her past threaten to tear her relationship with JJ apart and emotionally destroy them both

Why Am I Like This?

Tara/Emily | Rated: T | WC: 9611 Author: w00t4ewan Character Study, Coming Out Story, Fluff

A look at all of Emily's past relationships that led her to believe one undeniable truth, Emily Prentiss was broken. (Or maybe, she's just not as straight as she always thought she was) Six relationships that made Emily feel broken and one relationship that didn't.

I Want to Love You

Tara/Emily | Rated: M | WC: 13,289 Author: w00t4ewan Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn

It had been two weeks since Gabriel Lewis had been murdered after he had been abducted by Mr. Scratch. Tara hadn't seen her brother in years before his death. Now, his face was the only thing she saw when she closed her eyes. [Takes place over the course of S12 with obvious divergence]

from afar

Tara/Emily | Rated: G | WC: 447 Author: just_a_torn_up_masterpiece Angst, Feels, Fluff

emily will always love tara, even if it has to be from afar

Drowning, No Sign of Land

Emily & Derek, Tara/Emily | Rated : T | WC: 1379 Author: @illegalcerebral Unrequited Love, Angst, Pining

For the longest time Emily had felt alone. Even with other people. She had adopted her team as her family, the ferocity with which she loved and protected them only increasing when she became unit chief. It burned inside her but it was so fierce, so wild, so dangerous that the more she loved them the more she kept them at arms length. Tara had pushed through all that, walked through fire and reached inside her without being aware of it. It touched something deep and aching inside Emily for the briefest moment. Now she had someone else.

The Valhalla Arc (Meta)

Emily Prentiss | Rated: G | WC: 2269 Author: w00t4ewan Character Study, Meta

This is a personal character study of why the Valhalla Arc was so important to the character development of Emily Prentiss.

ADDITIONAL CM FEMSLASH FIC RECS:

Past Friday Fic Recs:  [Friday Fic Recs - Tumblr] || [CM Fic Recs - AO3 Collection]

My Fanfic Master Lists: [JJ/Emily] || [Tara/Emily] || [JJ/Tara] || [Tara/Rebecca]

2023 Rec Lists: [JJ/Emily] || [Tara/Emily + Other Femslash]

2022 Rec Lists: [JJ/Emily] || [Tara/Emily] || [Other Femslash]

[elsie-talisman]

flabbergasted crim is already giving us new content and filming genuinely so grateful they’re working so hard and fast to give the fans what they want!!!

and please know I will take crim in any form!!

…but god forbid if they think this season is going to less Emily centric… they have a chance to correct where all previous seasons failed and to take a moment to digest and perhaps have Prentiss work through some trauma maybe or at least evaluate everything she’s actually been through!

i just want more Paget. I am greedy and won’t apologise!

i know last season was intense for her and ended in a high note when she joins the team, but come on… girl can not compartmentalise this!

or I just want a Emily centric storyline where she’s happy!

basically Paget best not think she’s taking it easy and the writers best be working my girl thoroughly into this season

also I hope we get more voit. he’s funny and I wont apologise

:)

[sunlightgalaxy]

Lauren

emily prentiss centric, mentions of emily/ian

warnings: cm typical violence (lauren arc), suicide, heavy angst

a/n: i posted this on ao3 like 3 years ago so im uploading it here

(my gif) / (read on ao3)

lauren reynolds.

that was her name. nothing else. her past didn’t matter anymore. she had to live second by second, minute by minute. that was the only way she would survive.

sitting in that dimly lit dive bar on the outskirts of boston, that was the only thought running through her mind. lauren reynolds, lauren reynolds, lauren reynolds.

and as the stranger she would grow to know over the next few months sat across from her, she knew who she was. who she would become.

he was charming, a flirt. anyone looking in from the outside would see them as a perfect match, but not to her. she would have to ultimately flirt back, get him to trust her, but there would be nothing serious. that wasn’t part of the plan.

as they conversed, she began to zone out a bit, focusing more on him. he was kind, his eyes hiding more than he would ever admit. truthfully, if he wasn’t a weapons dealer with law enforcement after him, and if she wasn’t more into women, she could imagine some sort of future with him. a house in europe, two kids, the so-called perfect family. but of course, this was real life. there would be no house in europe, no kids to look after.

or so she thought.

***

it was fine in the beginning, being in europe with ian. she’d travel with him, helping him with business. they’d sometimes take weekend trips to get away from it all, staying in the countryside on one of his many properties. she didn’t necessarily enjoy being intimate with him, but she had to. after all, it was really just an act. and it would soon be over, hopefully.

but the first time she had felt her heart flutter when he looked at her, she knew. she had to get out. she couldn’t just fall in love with a weapons dealer, it would end terribly. and he didn’t even know who she really was, that the lauren he had fallen in love with didn’t actually exist.

when they finally settled down in italy, she saw her chance to get out. she’d call clyde every few days, pleading with him to just arrest doyle. there was no good reason that her team couldn’t take him. but clyde had other plans. “a few more days,” he had promised, claiming they were getting closer. but he’d been saying this for weeks. she turned to tsia, eventually, but even that was useless. tsia would say the same as clyde, confirming the thought lurking in the back of her mind. she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

to her, there was no end in sight. he wanted to marry her, have her raise declan. she knew deep down that this couldn’t go on for much longer. she needed an out. she didn’t want to be lauren reynolds anymore.

every morning, her first thought was “this could be the last day.” and it never was. it was getting to be too much, she couldn’t keep going on anymore. the stress of it all had finally caught up to her.

and as she laid in the guest bed, hidden away from ian’s prying eyes, she let her tears fall. reaching into the drawer of the nightstand, she grabbed the bottle of pills and took one. and another. and another. she took enough that she knew would kill her. and that was okay. she didn’t want to be lauren anymore, and now she wouldn’t have to be. she wouldn’t even have to be emily, a whole other life that she was never quite sure if she wanted to go back to. this was better for her. for everyone.

clyde would get her message eventually, or perhaps he would figure out something was wrong. but she didn’t care, she wanted them to find her when it was too late. the letter on the table would explain everything.

“it’s for the best,” her mind reassured her. she recited it softly under her breath until she couldn’t anymore.

her eyes drifted shut, heart slowly stopping.

lauren reynolds was dead.

***

they caught ian doyle the next morning.

[youbutstupid]

My personal ranking of all of the episodes directed by Matthew Gray Gubler

1. Mosley Lane, 5x16: the first episode directed by MGG and arguably one of his most iconic. The carnival themes along with the actual story created a really stressful but engaging watch and I loved watching the mum be proved right. The line ‘he was alive yesterday’ really sealed the episode for me.

2. Mr Scratch, 10x21: I love dark and creepy episodes, as you will see from this list, and this episode was perfect. The horror movie aspects added to the mind games that were being played on both the audience and the characters were insane. I loved how the lighting in this episode remained dark so the audience never got any reprieve from the horror. We also had to grieve each character at some point.

3. The Lesson, 8x10: this episode was so gruesome and I don’t normally like gore but this was done in such an interesting and terrifying way. I loved the ballet scene and the end when Hotch is walking through the fake ‘audience’- both such beautifully haunting scenes and I loved how we were put inside the unsub’s delusion.

4. Lauren, 6x18: arguably one of the most iconic episodes for Emily Prentiss’ character. I really loved how this episode opened a lot of things up for Prentiss as a character and also allowed for a lot of things about her to be explained. I also loved the reveal about Doyle’s son and it really left me on edge and questioning a lot.

5. A Beautiful Disaster, 11x18: I really deliberated this ranking because I wanted it to be higher but didn’t know where to place it. I’m not easy to make cry yet this episode had me sobbing. It was so intense and Morgan’s departure was done so beautifully, I honestly didn’t know what to do with myself after watching it. MGG really perfected his craft with the set out of this one.

6. Tall Man, 14x05: this episode is amazing because you can see the influence it takes from the real life Slenderman case which made it really eerie but interesting to watch. I also loved that the episode was JJ centric and we got to learn more about her and her background with Roslyn and her parents. This episode really made me adore JJ’s character even more and AJ’s acting was incredible (I know that isn’t a note about MGG’s directing but I just needed to give AJ her credit because she was insane).

7. Heathridge Manor, 7x19: the old Salem themes with the medieval dresses and the old rituals? Stunning. The visuals for this episode were amazing and the story was so interesting. The end when she hallucinates and we are left with the image of her alone on the doorstep; my Lord.

8. Elliott’s Pond, 12x06: this might not be the right word for a Criminal Minds episode but it honestly felt kind of cosy? With the 80s horror themes and the overall lack of death, this episode is more wholesome than other Gubler episodes whilst still maintaining his classic spark. The end of the case itself was really emotional and heartwarming and I’m glad that MGG gave Hotch’s character some semblance of a goodbye because we know how close he was to Thomas Gibson.

9. Blood Relations, 9x20: probably the most messed up episode ever. Picture every dark theme you can put into a piece of media and you get this episode. It honestly made me feel sick and I think that’s why I liked it so much; I like episodes that make leave an effect and this one definitely did that. I can’t even describe what happened in this episode without getting banned but oh my. This only isn’t higher because I preferred the storylines in the previous episodes.

10. The Capilanos, 13x17: this episode had a good premise and I think the introduction where there is no music and you’re left with the odd squeaks of the clown was amazing. I liked the calls to IT, my only issue with this episode is it had the opportunity to be really tense and scary but the middle chunk of the episode just wasn’t. The end of the case was good though and it started to pick up a lot.

11. Alchemy, 8x20: this episode had a good storyline and the visuals definitely had influences from horror movies such as The Shining. The only reason it’s not higher is because it didn’t hit me as hard as the others, but it’s still a really good episode to watch.

12. The Gatekeeper, 9x07: the storyline was good, it just felt more like classic Criminal Minds than a Gubler episode. The main star of this episode is the team bonding that we get to see with Rossi helping Reid grieve Maeve and then the karaoke scene was so beautiful.

[wingedsuitdelusion]

Working on a Reid Centric Zombie fic with a supernatural twist if anyone's interested it will include the following:

- Reid joined the BAU at 18 and left it at 22 for his own safety (will be explained in fic)

- Reid angst

- Big Cat shifter Reid

- Witch Emily Prentiss

- Zombies

- Badass Reid

- Hotch as everyones dad

- Not Gideon friendly (like he does some fucked up shit to Reid)

- Garcia being a queen and keeping phones running (not super nice ones but ones you can just call on)

And more

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Dick Grayson: A Case Study

by writersagainstwritersblock Words: 8384, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Criminal Minds (US TV), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: Gen Characters: Dick Grayson, Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake (DCU), Batfamily Members (DCU), Wally West, Clark Kent Relationships: The BAU Team (Criminal Minds) & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Wally West, Batfamily Members & Dick Grayson Additional Tags: Dick Grayson-centric, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Romani Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Has PTSD, Dick Grayson Has Eldest Daughter Syndrome, Dick Grayson Has ADHD, Dick Grayson Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dick Grayson Has Daddy Issues, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Batfamily (DCU), POV Outsider, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), The BAU Team as Family (Criminal Minds), Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid Friendship, Good Friend Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), Autistic Spencer Reid, Good Friend Penelope Garcia, Good Friend Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner is the BAU Team's Parent, BAMF Dick Grayson, Short Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Has Secrets, Case Fic via https://ift.tt/oIu0Enz

[eyesontheskyline]

reckless (just enough) - ch 1/3.

Read here on ao3.

Rating: M

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply (but we're talking about pregnancy, abortion and Emily-typical Catholic guilt, and there's a decent amount of non-graphic vomiting going on)

Relationships: Eventual Hotchniss in chapter three, but this chapter is Emily and Matthew friendship centric.

Summary: Emily Prentiss and three pregnancies: at fifteen, thirty-three, and forty. (Demonology, Lauren arc and Hotchniss vibes.)

Chapter Excerpt:

“I think. . . a person should be wanted,” she says. “Loved, and. . .” She closes her eyes, wraps her arms around her waist and looks away, looking for the words. “Not – a consequence, you know? A punishment for making a bad choice. A person should mean more than that to their mom.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and without any warning, there are tears rolling down her cheeks, dripping onto her folded arms as she drops her chin to her chest. “I don’t want a baby,” she whispers.

“We’ll figure out a way,” Matthew says, resolute.

“He said I can’t come back to church.”

“Fuck him, Emily. He’s wrong.”