#I LITERALLY ONLY USE 1 BRUSH

[3dogbones]

waita second-

What art app do you use because I feel like I recognize some of the brushes on your art

So I used to use procreate but now I use the good ole’

✨IBISX PAINT✨

but uuhhhhhh errrrrr

erasers: blurring marker 1

sketches: blurring marker 1

line art: b-blurring marker 1…

A-and for coloring… uhhhhh how do I say this

BLURRING MARKER 1-

[heartorbit]

always by your side

[daemon-in-my-head]

There is absolutely no way in hell I'm getting any of the things done that I wanted to finish by today, but I've also been way too not here lately, so. WIP of the Hellsing AU that I've been enabled to contemplate

So much. Left. To do.

[delightfuldevin]

ALL VISUAL UPGRADES RUN #3 ACHIEVED

This time with brush :)

[highraccoon]

when you explain that you're looking for compassion and believing in the best in each other in a relationship and that you felt it was inappropriate to bring up how someone else's issues (they are unrelated to the problem) were worse and more valid than yours and that you have no right to be upset because you're the villain for things that they misunderstood you doing or just did themselves and blamed you for. they also accuse you of being codependent with your needs. so you try to repeat yourself on your expectations and boundaries in friendships (i will accept no less than someone at least putting in the effort or having the desire to have a healthy friendship) and that there was so much she did that i never asked for nor wanted but i accepted it because i didn't want to seem ungrateful so whatever codependency she felt we had must have been one sided because i explicitly remembered that i never made her responsible for my mental well-being, i did not actually like that she treated me like a child and i had been complaining about that for years in our friendship especially near the end of it. i was an adult and didn't appreciate being treated like a child. but i went along with it because i was willing to let her get away with it if that's what she felt she needed from our friendship. so i sent her a basic infographic about healthy relationships and how they work and noted that the things i had asked for were just basic healthy relationship things and that i have never at any point in our friendship wanted her to take care of me. i wanted us to be equals. she told me that she wasn't willing to put in that amount of effort for anyone and how her boyfriend is her family and her life and her purpose and how friends just weren't really a priority at all and they certainly never got close to the level of importance as her romantic relationship. like... she literally disagreed with treating people with basic respect because friendship wasn't worth that effort. so i told her i hope she heals that wound in her heart and that she can eventually move on from whatever caused it but that i refused to settle for less than a healthy friendship just because she doesn't know how to love anyone fully or put aside her pride. that i genuinely hope she heals and has a good life but to never contact me again because i don't care to see it. that whatever is going on with her that she's been running away from isn't my problem for her to project onto me. she doesn't get to assume my intentions or thoughts or feelings about anything when she never asked me once. but fine, she has every right to think whatever she wants about me regardless of how true it is because I'm not responsible for her feelings, especially not now and i would genuinely appreciate it if she never spoke to me again.

people in the thick of amanormativity who haven't deconstructed relationships with others who are strict monogamists are so fucking exhausting.

[apatheticlexicographer]

BRO WHY IS IT THAT LITERALLY EVERYTHING HAS DECIDED TO FALL APART AT THE SAME TIME

[niennanir]

Listen to your elders

So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.

So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.

But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?

In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.

Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download

Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title: 

No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.

Now you’re going to need some materials:  8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife

You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.

Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:

use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.

Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.

Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.

You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.

Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour

In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock

Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)

Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.

Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine

Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.

Voila:

I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.

The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.

If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders. 

[alicenpai]

princess tutu: die jahreszeiten 🌸

kind of a companion piece to my 2022 ptutu drawing | it's on inprnt

this print was at anime north; next con is otakuthon!

oops so my hand slipped and i made another princess tutu drawing. i admittedly don't watch that much anime so my catalogue of work is gonna be the same 5 animes LMAO. what can i say, i love "dark" fairy tales, and i've been really enjoying the more fine art approach to a lot of my drawings as of late (and the watercolour brush i've been using has been so perfect for that...!)

as my first princess tutu drawing is now 2 years old, there are some areas i've grown to have ... qualms with... although both drawings as a whole are pretty much exactly what i envisioned, and that's always satisfying!

both of these were drawn in roughly a week's time (yes really...) for con crunch period (and i went back to this drawing after the con to touch up some areas that were a bit rough!). i wanted a different approach to this new pt drawing, with the focus on the line work, rather than on colours and lighting in the 2022 drawing.

this drawing had 2 goals: to continue the style i adopted in my witch hat atelier "lantern bearers" drawing (which i promise i'll post in full soon as soon as all of the zine artists get their go-ahead to post their pieces!), and to emulate the art nouveau movement's heavy emphasis on line work, albeit not a 1:1 style replication of course.

the seasons also aren't a 1:1 representation, as i didn't necessarily pick flowers or colours that are most strongly associated with the season (e.g. summer being a dark tone is a bold choice?). but it's kinda whatever, as i said before i drew this in a week, there may be more appropriate flowers with better meanings. i couldn't spend too too much time drafting and researching.

FLOWER SYMBOLISM:

- spring: apple blossoms, tulips - the apple blossom is a quintessential spring flower, and thus symbolize the arrival of spring. spring is a season of change, which ahiru/princess tutu is a force of, instigating change in her friends and unravelling the story around her. the flowers below her are tulips, and there are many meanings to tulips depending on the colour, due to their ubiquitous nature. i narrowed on one, and intended for them to symbolize happiness. princess tutu's pose is one in which that is open, inviting, and warm - reflecting her nurturing nature in the series, and her willingness to help others achieve happiness.

- summer: deadly nightshade flower, yellow rose - i chose for rue/princess kraehe to symbolize a fiery summer's night instead of the typical dazzling heat of a summer's day, a rather bold and unusual choice. the warmth of sunshine didn't quite fit, as the character is quite dramatic and passionate, with her intentions often hidden in shadow. next, the deadly nightshade - atropa belladonna - has a lot of mythological associations, a lot to do with poisoning, as the flower is toxic. the flowers bloom at night (another reason why i picked a nighttime backdrop for "summer") and also outwardly match rue's dark design scheme, as the cherry on top. yellow roses, at the bottom of her frame, are the archetypal flower depicting jealousy (as with many yellow flowers are), and at one point in the story, rue only wished for her own happiness at the misfortune of others.

- autumn: douglas fir needles, orange calla lily - autumn is another season of change - although much more tumultuous, as this season is traditionally taken to prepare for a long winter ahead - fitting for fakir as the role of the storyteller. the douglas fir is not a flower of course, but is a tree - with many different parts of this tree offering many benefits in advance of the winter season. i wanted the versatile nature of the douglas fir to reflect on fakir's dependable personality. next up, the calla lily is a flower with a dual meaning - on one hand you have life, on the other you have death. a storyteller quite literally can grant both at the tip of their fingers.

- winter: birch tree, snowdrop - winter is a rather still and unchanging season, a lull in the passage of time. this symbolizes mytho's passive nature at the start of the series, especially with his doleful pose here, as if almost in hibernation. to contrast, mytho is perched on the branches of a birch tree, which means new beginnings and renewal - as mytho is one of the characters that undergo the most change throughout the series (i'd argue the most?), regaining pieces of his heart. under mytho's frame is the snowdrop flower - and if you've read my witch hat atelier: seasons piece symbolisms, one of the snowdrop's meanings is rebirth, with connotations to the bible, bringing hope, when all had forsaken eve. the snowdrop is one of the first flowers to bloom even when the snow has not yet fully melted, further echoing mytho as an analogy for rebirth.

[januaryembrs]

TROUBLE ALMOST ALL MY LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader

Description: The ONE time the BAU needs you + the FOUR times you need them.

word count: 24k (what on earth was I thinking)

trigger warnings: mentions of spencers addictions + use + side affects. MOMMY ISSUES thankyou ambassador Prentiss. hostage scene + injuries. mentions of forced/pressured marriage. fem!reader. reader and Emily struggle to bond.

authors note: We never meet Emily's dad nor do we see a picture so while reader is given a nickname of Bugsy, she still keeps her real name (no use of y/n) and is given ZERO physical descriptors. ALL of my fem!readers should feel included here, let me know if this is not the case! also I don't speak any language besides English however she does speak many because of her mom, so I really tried to get it right, message me if I'm being stupid!!

series masterlist | next chapter

[this] means its spoken in another language.

—

‘trouble on my left, trouble on my right,

I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life’

1. the one where you become a translator.

“I’ll make some calls, I may still have some friends in the Eastern countries,” Ambassador Prentiss announced to the room, standing from her place on the plush sofa. 

A case had landed quite literally in Emily’s lap when her mother had come by that morning asking for Hotch, a Russian migrant looking for her father with a ransom note and a sliced off finger shoved through her mailbox, wedding ring still attached. 

It wasn’t every day Emily wished she’d brushed up on her Russian, but today of all days she was struggling to keep up. 

“We don’t have much time, we need a division of labour,” Hotch’s serious face settled, the time constraints making him just that bit more dictatorial, “Morgan, someone needs to go to the Chernus’s house in Baltimore in case they are contacted again,” 

“What about the language barrier?” Derek raised, smoothing a hand over the short scruff of his beard, “We can’t have the unsub speaking with the family directly. He could say anything to them without us knowing,” 

Bugsy would hate to admit she fit the criteria for youngest daughter of a workaholic mother and distant father to a tea, but Emily would say different. 

Elizabeth Prentiss had never been a warm woman; Emily used to tell her the scowl was a side effect of the overplucking of her eyebrows, not the serious nature of her job. Her youngest girl once said her mother’s lips looked like she’d sucked a lemon. Of course they admired her work, but world peace meant jack shit to a little girl wanting nothing more than a mother’s hug. 

Despite the fact she’d pushed away her husband and both her daughters in favour of her career, the one useful thing about being the Ambassador’s daughter wasn’t just the money, but the widespread culture the girls had been crammed full of since they could so much as beg for a sippy cup. 

“Baltimore, you say?” Emily asked Hotch with a somewhat doubtful wince, “I mean you could always-”

“Absolutely not,” Her mother cut her off, rubbing the stress lines already creasing her forehead at the very notion of her other daughter, despite the fact Emily hadn’t even finished her thought.

Emily’s sigh was a reflex, the years of her mother cutting her off sparking the frustration on instinct. 

“She lives right in the city, Mother, it can’t hurt to have her just talk for them-” Emily tried to bargain, only for the sharp mouthed Ambassador shoot her a frown. 

“End of discussion, Emily,” Elizabeth snipped, her manicured fingernails twitching with annoyance, “Your sister is much too young for an assignment so serious,”

Emily rolled her eyes with a scoff, as if the two had slipped back into the role of rebellious teenager and scathing mother without much thought. 

“She's twenty-two, mom. She’s getting her masters degree for Christ sakes, she’s not ‘too young’,” The dark headed woman fought back, clicking her pen a few times as if the spring loaded ink would take away some of the temper Elizabeth seemed to flare up. 

Her mother’s lips pursed, in the way Bugsy hated, in the way that meant she was going to be mean.

“Immature may have been a better word, then,” She replied, and Emily seemed to pause. She couldn’t argue with that. “Or perhaps lazy, or puerile; callow, wild, irresponsible. Would you like me to name more?” 

“Asinine would be a good term; deriving from the Latin asinus it not only means foolish, but to be stubborn and lazy like an ass,” Spencer input helpfully to the Ambassador, only for his bright smile to fade when he saw the daggers Emily stared at him with, “Sorry, I love word games,” He muttered into his lap. 

“Asinine. Perfect, Dr Reid,” Elizabeth said, and Emily could only roll her eyes harder.

Hotch huffed, the victim’s daughter watching between the two women’s quarrel with wet eyes, the ice box with her father’s finger clenched tightly in her lap, the cold of the limb bleeding into his own gaze.

“Unfortunately, Ambassador Prentiss, despite just how asinine your daughter might be, Morgan is right. Having the Unsub possibly speaking with the family without us understanding what he’s saying could prove fatal,” He explained, ignoring the way the older woman’s mouth scrunched in bitterness. They didn’t need to be profilers to see that despite how tempered the relationship between Emily and her mother was, a tension seemed to fall between the women the moment the younger Prentiss was mentioned. 

Spencer was sure he was the only person who even knew Emily had a little sister. 

“Very well, but don’t be surprised when you find your hands full of the girl,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head as she led the victims, a mother and daughter that seemed to cling to one another for comfort as if to rub salt in her matriarchal wound, into the break room to get away from the frosty atmosphere that now lingered around the table.

Emily sighed, picking around her fingernails the way she did when she was bothered. 

“I’m going to hate these next words that are gonna come out of my mouth,” She started with a long exhale, “But my mother’s right. Bugsy is a handful. Just try not to get her wound up, that girl smells fear,” She looked to Reid who seemed none the wiser, “I’m talking to you, wonder boy. She’ll eat you up and spit you right back out,” 

Spencer gulped quietly. 

Derek only chuckled, slapping a hand down onto Emily’s shoulder, “Relax, Prentiss. Your mom’s just got you all worried. Need I remind you I grew up with two sisters? This will be a piece of cake,”

–

Those were the famous last words of Derek Morgan. 

Loud, heavy metal music jumped through the wooden door, so loud Morgan worried his three polite knocks would go unheard as the two of them waited outside her dorm for her to answer. Morgan was about to knock again, figuring the music had drowned out the first lot, when the door swung open and a frown the spitting image of Emily’s stressed expression met their gaze. 

She looked so different to their Prentiss, but the way she seemed already scorned by the two of them told them they had the right woman. 

“Miss Prentiss?” Morgan asked formally, though he felt the warmth grow when he caught sight of a beat up friendship bracelet around her wrist amongst newer gold chains, five white blocks spelling out her sister’s name pulling tight on her skin, as if she’d quickly outgrown the thing but hadn’t the heart to remove it. 

It was then that he and Reid seemed to both reel back slightly at the fact she was standing in a large shirt, ratty around the edges, and what seemed to be a pair of men's boxers covering her bottom half, clearly not suspecting particularly important visitors. 

She looked him head to toe with a frown, a dozen piercings in her ears, her hair highlighted with streaks of cardinal red, as if he was the one confronting her in his underwear, before she moved onto Spencer, who’s face seemed to be getting hotter by the second as he forced his eyes away from her bare legs. 

“Are you guys strippers? Did someone send strippers to my door?” She asked, strawberry gum smacking between her lips as her gaze seemed to finish mulling over Spencer’s tall form and returned to Morgan.

“Emily sent us.” Reid said shortly, the music blaring in his ears making it difficult to focus on what it was she was saying, “As co-workers, no-not strippers. We’re with the FBI,” 

He hated loud noises anyway, cringed at the sound of particularly cutting rock songs, but since he’d developed his … problem, the dilaudid had him feeling like someone was clawing at his skull, tugging his brain through his ears.

“Emily sent you here?” She asked with a scoff, looking the two up and down again. They both easily caught the way her face hardened, “Are pigs flying today or something?” 

“We’re here to ask for your help on a case,” Spencer rushed through a sweaty brow, “Emily said you’d be able to act as a translator for us and some Russian citizens who are being targeted,” 

She sighed sceptically, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame, “Any strippers or non-strippers can fraud an ID. Emily’s name was in the paper just the other week. I’m gonna need a little more than that,”

She keeps track of her sister despite the supposed distance between them. Spencer was quick to profile, his mind whirring at all the ways she reminded him of her sister down to the way she raised her eyebrows expectantly at them. 

“Emily was born October twelfth, 1970 at 7:12am, graduated from Garfield High School in 1989,” Spencer said as if reporting the weather, her eyes narrowing in on him all the more coldly, “She attended Chesapeake Bay University and speaks six languages, as I expect you do from moving so often with your mother. She coined your nickname Bugsy from your childhood love of ladybugs, which she said you grew out of by the time you turned eleven yet the name stuck, though you still like counting the spots to identify their species. Your parents split when you were five and your father moved in with his now wife, born September ninth-”

“Alright- alright. What are you, living in her walls?” She interrupted incredulously, before turning her attention to Derek who seemed to hide a chuckle with a cough. “Either you really are a stripper or you’re a terrible friend,”

“She loves Kurt Vonnegut,” Derek held his finger as if to prove her entirely wrong, although not much else came to him. Maybe he was a bad friend, he thought guiltily, or maybe he simply lacked an eidetic memory like the wonder boy next to him, who had been about to tell her how old she was when Emily’s pet betta fish died, “Slaughterhouse 5?”

Rolling her eyes, she grunted at them, kicking her door open for them to enter. 

“Everyone loves Vonnegut; only losers under a rock dislike Vonnegut,” She drawled, edging back into her room, the heavy bass rock growing in volume as they followed her in, “I’ll be ready in a second- Emily’s always bugging me about wearing pants,” She said vaguely, scanning around the dirty dorm, until she found one particular pair of jeans laying half under her bed, quickly yanking them up her legs. “Come in, come in.” 

She flicked the speakers way down to which Spencer took a breath of relief. His eyes fell to the laptop that had been set up on her desk, the five different textbooks littered around the spare space, energy drinks and empty mugs filling the cracks where he could barely see the generic white of the table top, his nose crinkling. About as gross as he’d expect from a college student. 

“Emily said your Russian was pretty good,” Derek made conversation, his eyes wandering over the various posters plastered over her walls, some fraying round the edges from where she had likely been moved from bedroom to bedroom when the Prentiss’s inevitably had to move country again. 

“Yeah,” She snarked, pulling a nicer top over her head, “Kinda tends to happen when you live in Russia,”

Morgan raised his eyebrows to Spencer who seemed to give him the same look back, though the latter was biting back a snicker at her words. 

How in the hell was she the Ambassador’s daughter?

–

“This all involves Russian Mafia, it’s really beefed up here the last ten years or so,” Agent Cramer, a tall, slim man who looked entirely overwhelmed by the workload on his shoulders reported, as she listened intently. 

She had been somewhat de-briefed in the car, Emily messaging her for the first time since Christmas, the message a simple: “Have you met with Morgan and Reid yet? Make sure to put on pants,” to which she sent her a thumbs up emoji. She didn’t have much to say to her at the moment, barely even knew her sister anymore. 

“It started off mainly in New York and LA but they send lieutenants from the old country,” Cramer went on, and she caught Reid scratching his arm beneath his shirt. She knew it was mozzy weather, and he was already under the blaring sun in a little sweater, it wouldn’t surprise her if he felt a bit prickly. 

“Pahkans,” She interrupted, the man named Gideon shooting her a glance as she dug through her purse. 

“Your Mom do much work about the Mafia?” He asked, as she produced a clear nail varnish. 

“Here and there, I had to sit with her in her office for a whole Summer once when I got caught sneaking out. Picked up a few things, though,” She said, holding the polish out to Spencer, nodding to his arm, “Here. Supposed to help bug bites,”

He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, perhaps question her sources for such an old wives tale, but he stopped himself quickly, taking the varnish out of her hand with a dejected nod. 

“Thankyou,” He muttered, shoving it in his pocket. 

Three months he’d been in this rabbit hole. She had noticed it in a matter of hours. 

“They open up branch offices in other cities. Baltimore, Saint Louis, Chicago, Dallas, the list goes on,” Cramer added, nodding at her words, “They’re mainly offshoots of the Odessa Mafia and they’re especially tough to crack from a law enforcement standpoint. I mean beside being well organised with sophisticated technical equipment, there’s Vory v Zakone to contend with,” 

“The thieves code, eighteen principles they live by,” Reid jumped in before she could, to which she nodded as Gideon looked to her for more. 

“It means ‘thief in law’, or ‘thief with code’. It's a system of repeatedly jailed convicts that have been crowned or ‘made’ with a strict list of ideals, breaking them usually means death,” She explained, kicking a stone between her feet. 

“It’s like bible to these guys. We’re not gonna be turning any of them informer anytime soon,” Cramer said. Gideon seemed to tune the three of them out however, his gaze locking on the house across the street, where a curtain twitched, and a man’s face appeared in the window, watching the crime scene with guilt. 

“Then we’ll need a witness who will talk,” Gideon replied, heading straight towards the neighbour who seemed just a little too invested in what was happening, much more than a concerned third party should be. Though, she had barely noticed, digging through her purse once more for chapstick. 

“So, you study Russian or something?” Cramer asked as she applied it gently, Spencer swore he could smell the cherry flavour from where he stood beside her. 

“I lived in Moscow until I was six, moved back to France, then back to Italy, then Algeria for a bit. Bounced around Europe for a bit longer, but I still speak better Russian than anything else,” She clarified, and she saw Cramer’s eyebrows shoot up, “Military brat except I don’t get the cool discount at the store,” 

“You must have had a lot of friends though, going to so many schools,” Spencer added, and though there was nothing teasing about his tone, she laughed sharply anyway. 

“You’re funny,” She snarked, but smiled at him anyway.

Spencer had never been called funny in his life. ‘Funny looking’, ‘funny sounding’ maybe, but never funny. 

In fact he was so confused by what she had meant, whether it had been a taunt or genuine that he almost missed the sound of the whole street locking their front doors, dead bolting their lives away when a black prius, an expensive one at that, pulled through the street and swerved into park next to them. 

“Guess who,” Cramer bit, her eyes ripping away from where Gideon had the door slammed in his face. 

Detective Cramer aged by about five years when two tall men got out of the luxury car, opening the door for a shorter man in the back seat, their faces thunder. 

“You familiar with them?” She asked, shoulder brushing against Spencer as she turned to watch the men approach, entirely aware of the .9mm on each of their hips. 

“Arseny Lysowsky,” The detective identified, his voice cold, eyeing the two men who flanked the leader, towering over them. 

“Agent Cramer, how are you?” Lysowsky smiled at him, which oddly enough seemed somewhat real, as he also took stock of the three other people around him. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, noting her lack of gun and badge, trying to decipher if she was local or just a very unprepared fed. 

“Lysowsky, what brings you out?” Cramer asked, a tightness to his tone, his hand all too eager to grab his own pistol. 

“I heard Chernuses had problems,” He kept it vague, didn’t reveal too much, and looked back at the victim’s house with a scorned frown. 

“How did you hear that?” Gideon challenged, stance unwavering as the mob leader turned to meet his cold gaze. 

“And you are?” He asked, a sinister smile on his face that flipped her stomach. She didn’t like the tension that had overcome the little patch of sidewalk they took up, and she was quick to notice how Spencer moved towards her. 

He, by far, wasn’t the best shot on the team, but he was sure Hotch and Prentiss would have his and Morgan’s heads if any harm came to her. 

“Churneses said they hadn’t told anyone,” Agent Gideon ignored his question, hands firmly planted on his hips. If he was unnerved by the criminal in front of him, he never showed it, not even when Lysowsky’s grin widened horribly. 

“It is a small community. Word gets out,” He said simply, looking past him to the neighbours house that had kicked Gideon to the curb, “Are you a friend of Gorban’s?”

A second of silence passed between them, neither of them backing down from the moral standoff they’d engaged in. 

“Mr Gorban wouldn’t talk to me,” Gideon admitted, and Arseny only smiled again, flicking a look at the house behind him, as if hearing his dog had obeyed without command. 

“Would you like me to talk to him for you?” The threat was there clear as day, clear enough to have Gideon’s eyes narrow, “I can’t promise something will come of it,” 

“You!” In a second, Natalya, the victim she’d briefly met when Morgan had pulled up around an hour before, had stormed out of her house, her black kitten heels clicking against the concrete, “Where’s my father? He has my father!” 

“Wait a minute,” Derek called, restraining her where she stood, trying to pull his muscled arm from her shoulder, “Do you know he has your father?” 

“He’s responsible for all of this,” She spat, her eyes cold as she glared at the three men with vitriol hate, “Why everyone’s afraid, him and his animals,” She threw a hand up to his bodyguards that seemed barely contained by Cramer’s silencing hand. 

“I am only here to help,” Lysowsky replied, confident and calm in his words, though not as taunting as the agents would have thought, as if he truly cared for her.

A vast difference to the sadistic mob boss Cramer’s team had painted him to be. 

“Help?” She laughed woefully, tears in her eyes, “You’re a dog,” 

“Natalya,” Arseny said in a warning, the way a teacher would to a student, as her breath rattled in her chest through a weep. 

“How exactly can you help them?” Bugsy braved to speak, Gideon and Reid both flashing her a look. She’d always had trouble holding her tongue. 

Lysowsky turned his attention to her then, his eyes running down her figure, still deciphering whether she was armed; she looked much too young to be an agent. 

“In any way that they’d like me to, darling,” He replied, the disdain in her frown clearly not deterring him in the slightest, though again the act of concern held up in his own grimace, “As I said this is a small community. If one is in pain, we’re all in pain.”

Natalya weeped behind Morgan, sniffling as the boss made his way over to her, “Natalya, [you didn’t have to bring in outsiders],” 

The younger woman’s ears pricked up as he spoke in his native language, Spencer’s eyes flicking to her from behind his sunglasses. 

“[Let me help you],” He continued, taking a step towards Natalya, unthreatening yet she saw Morgan tense, his fingers twitching towards his gun. 

“[My family will never come to you for help],” Natalya hissed back, also in Russian, her face contorted in disgust, “[Get away from my house],” 

“[You are not right, Natalya],” He replied, yet again the concern in his eyes was either genuine or very well faked, “[You have made the wrong decision],” 

Taking a step away from the victim that wept with a scorned sneer, he looked back to the agents, noting the way the youngest of them glared at him hotly, before retreating to his car. 

“What did he say? Did he threaten you, Natalya?” Morgan asked, the woman watching the group of men drive away, as if Mr Chernus wasn’t still missing and they hadn’t just bumped themselves up to number one of the suspects list. “Talk to us and we can do something about it,”

“He said I made the wrong decision,” She said wetly, frustration turning on Derek as he pushed her for an answer, “I hope I didn’t,” 

With that she stormed off back into her house, the same stomping of her kitten heels in her wake, leaving the agents to all look between one another before they simultaneously turned to look at Bugsy, questions hovering on all of their lips. 

“What did he say exactly?” Gideon asked without frills, a hand rubbing his brow. Relaying the information, the men’s faces all drew into frowns as they heard Lysowsky’s parting statement. Gideon huffed, turning to Morgan and gesturing for him to follow Natalya inside. 

“Morgan, keep an eye on her, Reid and I are going to Cramer’s office to look over the files,” He looked at her then, worry lines littering his otherwise friendly face, damn near scowling as she looked over at him, “You are here to interpret, you understand? You do not speak to the suspects, that’s our job.” He growled, watching her with disappointment, the same tone a father used when scolding a petulant child, “Do you have any idea how much danger you could put yourself in? These guys won’t hesitate to take you out the second we’re not around, kid,” 

“But-” She started with a bite, though her whole fight left her when he silenced her with a raised hand. 

“Buts are for cigarettes, kiddo,” He interrupted, and Spencer winced slightly, knowing he’d heard that one a few hundred times when he’d first started under Gideon and had yet to mature entirely. Reid watched something rebellious flare in her eyes, and he worried for a moment she might just slap his boss for the patronising tone he took, “Just keep your mouth shut, you’re doing great so far,” 

She opened her mouth to protest, only to then register his words entirely and stay silent once more, appreciating his praise with a guilty smile. For once, she listened. 

–

The grandfather clock chimed to tell them it was merely 11am; two hours until the unsub would start cutting more if they didn’t get the ransom fee, two hours to figure out who wanted Natalya’s family to suffer. 

Said woman paced her living room at the sound of the hour, as Bugsy picked over the knick knacks on her fireplace, a small smile teasing her lips when she saw a picture of three small children grinning toothily at the camera. 

She had never gotten any photo’s similar, Emily being fourteen years older. The majority of their childhood photos consisted of a very grumpy teenager holding her baby sister that seemed to squirm in the tight, formal dresses Elizabeth Prentiss had forced them into, identical scowls on their faces as they were made to sit for the picture. 

There were some good memories, ones where Emily let herself be a sister and not a mom, where she would put makeup on her for fun and do her hair, let her have all the clothes out her wardrobe she thought looked nice, reading to her before bed, even letting her sister keep her pet corn snake when she left home for good. 

But now, it seemed like she was too caught up in her super serious grown up job to give a shit that her sister lived just an hour away. Still messaged each other for holidays, but the last few times she’d braved a call to the eldest Prentiss, it had gone unanswered. They argued the majority of the time they spoke, or there was an awkward long silence in between words, whichever was worse, but they each knew the other would come running if they were to ever need them so desperately. 

“Are you hungry? I could make something?” Natalya offered kindly, Derek having a poke through her collection of books that sat on the end table, though he’d have a tough job reading them as she’d already caught most of them were in her home language. 

“Oh, no thanks. I’m fine,” He replied with a small smile, putting down the books to calm the clearly on edge woman that looked to the twenty-something year old hopefully. 

She shook her head, “I’m good, thanks,” which seemed to deflate her entirely as she sat next to Derek with a sigh.

“I guess I’m like my mother. When she’s upset, she cooks,” Natalya said with a sad huff of a laugh, running a hand through her short, dark hair. 

“Yeah, mine does too. I think that’s just a mom thing,” He replied, and Bugsy felt the two of them look at her as her finger traced the old brass ornaments gently, “How about you, baby Prentiss?” 

She snorted, “You’re kidding, right?” smiling bitterly, “My mom never cooked for us, she said we needed to figure it out for ourselves rather than relying on the staff. Didn’t stop her from trying to end world hunger though,” 

It wasn’t lost to Morgan the way her eyes trained on the picture of Natalya and her mother, cuddled together with genuine love in their embrace, the snarky humour as she spoke, the same longing Emily seemed almost too good at hiding from them. 

“Your mother is a great woman,” Natalya complimented, though she missed the way the girl’s face steeled over, chewing her bottom lip as if to stop herself from snapping at the woman who meant well. She said nothing. “Where is your mother?” She turned her attention back to Derek who seemed the more talkative of the two of them. 

“Chicago. That’s where I’m from,” He replied, watching Bugsy turn away from the two of them to inspect more of the Chernus’s trinkets on their walls. 

“I’m from Dolgoprudny. Just North of Moscow.” Natalya replied. Opening her mouth to add something else, she was cut off by a knock at the door and the three of them froze in their place. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Morgan asked Natalya in a hushed tone, reaching for his gun and heading for the door. 

She shook her head, “No,” She whispered back. Morgan pulled the curtain back the smallest inch to see a small blonde boy staring back, a box in his hands and a bored look on his face. 

It all happened too fast from there, Natalya opening the door for the neighbourhood kid, opening the box to see a decapitated ear, the blood fresh and pooling in the bottom of the box. It couldn’t have been taken longer than an hour or so ago, unless they were keeping the parts on ice. 

Bugsy’s hand slapped over her mouth, Natalya’s scream piercing through her as she shoved the box into Derek’s hands, fleeing to the toilet, and she heard the woman retching. Part of her felt the same nausea settle in her stomach, looking away from the body part with a wince as Derek got straight on the phone to Gideon. 

“They didn’t wait, man. They sent a box with-” He swallowed thickly, “With Mr Chernus’s ear inside.”

Gideon replied, and whatever it was, it had Derek looking back to her. He agreed, hanging up the phone and rooting through his pockets, producing a set of rattling keys, holding them out for you between the tips of his fingers. 

“Gideon wants you, kid. He said they’re at the Little Kiev restaurant, they’re going to talk to Lysowsky,” Morgan said, grimacing as he held the ear away from her, “You sure you’ll be okay to drive?” 

“I’d rather be on the road than look at what’s in that box,” She said in disgust, taking the keys and heading out to the car.

She thought it best for everyone she didn’t tell him she hadn’t yet got her licence as she made her way over to the restaurant. 

-

“Reid and I will do the talking, just see if anything he’s saying connects with Vory v zakone, think you got that?” Gideon instructed her the second she got out of the car, taking the keys and handing them back to Reid who gave her a small nod. 

“We think the reason it was Mr Chernus who was targeted has something to do with the code,” Reid explained, his hands in his pockets as the three of them approached the restaurant, “You said earlier you understood the tenants,” 

“Why me, though? I thought I was just translating?” She repeated Gideon’s earlier words, almost cocky that they needed her.

“Lysowsky would feel the need to show face in front of men like Morgan and Cramer, even in front of Natalya since she lives locally. Between the three of us, he had less reputation to uphold, less so with a young woman like yourself,” Reid added, holding the door open for her to go in front. 

And so there she was, trailing behind Gideon and Reid over to where Lysowsky sipped a spoonful of borscht, as she tried not to marvel at the grandeur of the establishment inside. Clearly, Arsney had money to build a place like this, and wasn’t afraid to be flashy about it either, that much was apparent from the other clientele that tended to their beers around their own tables, Rolex watches and designer shoes adorning nearly every one of them. She hated to think of how many ears or fingers those suits had cost. 

“Would you like something to eat?” He asked, a chunk of bread in his hand dipping into the thick sauce, seemingly unbothered that they were there, “This borscht is exquisite, it’s my mother’s old country recipe,” 

“Didn’t you forsake all your relatives when you swore the thieves code?” Reid asked, which she guessed was hit foot in to get Lysowsky to talk. 

“I didn’t forsake her recipes,” Lysowsky replied with a shrug, looking to her where she seemed to be staring at his plate, “Borscht?” 

She shook her head, her nose wrinkling, “Much preferred stroganoff, mom used to force me to have borscht to make sure I ate my veggies,”  

His eyebrows raised, surprise written over his face, before he gave a short laugh. 

“[Where are you from]?” He asked in his mother tongue, gesturing for the three of them to sit down, though his eyes lit up as he watched her carefully. 

“[I was born in DC, but my mother worked in Moscow for a few years],” She answered shortly, and he seemed to find it even funnier that the near child they’d brought along on their case spoke as fluently as he did. 

Laughing with a heavy hand smacking on the table, he gestured to a nearby waiting staff to come over. 

“What are you having then, borscht for the gentle man?” He looked at Reid and Gideon, the former shaking his head while Gideon nodded with an awkward smile. 

“I’d love a taste,” He said, though any enthusiasm seemed to have drained out of his voice. 

“And what is the little lady having?” Lysowsky asked, his eyes falling back to her, as she straightened in her seat. 

She chanced a quick glance to Gideon, who nodded at her to play his game. She had not expected to be so deep in criminal territory when they’d said they needed a translator, and truly they hadn’t planned on getting her in the field until they realised she would know much more about this than they would.

“Do you have sharlotka?” She asked, returning his smile wearily as he clicked at the waiter who all but bolted to the kitchen. 

“A sweet tooth. I like it,” Arseny replied, shovelling a heap of beets into his mouth, “Our favourite was always Leningradsky,”

“Ours?” She prompted, giving a polite thanks to the waiter who returned too quickly with a slice of cake. She caught Spencer glancing at the bowl with intrigue, the hunger clear on the quiet man’s face. Gently pushing the bowl and clean spoon towards him, he flicked a look up at her, “Apple cake,” She whispered, sending him a small smile, “Really yummy with the sugar on top,” 

“Mine and my mother’s,” Arseny replied, though Gideon and Reid both caught how he paused before he replied, as if he had to think about the answer he was giving; the oldest tell that it wasn’t entirely true, “We didn’t have much when I was a boy, but that was always our dessert of choice,” 

She stopped for a mere second, missing the moment when Spencer spooned the tiniest bite of the cake into his mouth, trying to ignore the way his tongue exploded in the sweet, fruit taste. He hadn’t eaten anything properly in days, and maybe that was why it tasted so good, but more likely it was just the fact that everything sweet tasted even better when he was on his come downs. 

“We need to talk, Arseny,” Gideon interrupted, ignoring the way Spencer pined to go back in for a second mouthful, but chose to hand the bowl back to her with a small smile. 

“We are on first name basis?” Lysowsky asked, shaking his head, and she took a small bite of the sweet cake for herself, “I still don’t even know who you are,” 

“I think I understand something about this,” Gideon replied, his thumbs tapping together, the waiter returning with his borscht, “You have a problem,” 

“I do?” The pahkan titled his head at the agent, the annoyance clear on his face. 

“That’s why you came to the Chernus’ house this morning,” Gideon answered, unbothered as he began to scoop the borscht onto the spoon, the apple cake in her own mouth going down a treat. 

She kept her head down, took tiny bites of the dessert that certainly tasted like a fresh baked sharlotka. But her thoughts lingered on what Lysowsky had said, about his own favourite pudding. 

It made no sense that he would have ever tasted Leningradsky shortbread, not for the time that he was born, nor with the amount of money he claimed his family lacked. Infact, the way he fully pronounced his vowels, the akanye, the stress he put on certain parts of his words, all pointed to the same dialect you’d heard back in Moscow, more central than anything else. 

So how on earth would he have eaten the so-called ‘Royal Cake’ that had only been made eight hours from there, in the town it grew its name from. 

There was something glaringly obvious about his story missing. 

“A man like me?” She tuned back into the conversation, swallowing another mouthful down as Gideon took another bite himself, though it seemed the topic had turned sour as Arseny wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin. 

“Four watchtowers and a convict signifies a stay in prison,” Spencer cut in, nodding towards the tattoos branded across his knuckles, “Each one of those crosses symbolises an individual sentence,” 

“Twenty three years in prison in the Ural mountains,” 

But she was still stuck on what it was she was missing. It had been such an odd thing to lie about, particularly when he’d even admitted himself that they hadn’t had much money, so he clearly hadn’t been lying to fake a reputation. 

So why lie?

She was ripped out of her stumped silence when Natalya entered the restaurant, her voice grabbing the men’s attention immediately. 

“Mr Lysowsky. You said you could help me,” She said, her purse over her shoulder and her own car keys gripped tightly in her hand as if she’d all but thrown herself out the vehicle to get there faster. 

“Don’t you already have help,” Lysowsky snapped, clearly Gideon had dug under his skin enough to garner a reaction. 

“I made a mistake,” Natalya replied, barely meeting Bugsy’s gaze as she stared at her from her seat at the table. “I talked to my father on the phone,” 

The girl frowned at her, “That’s a lie,” It came out before she could hold herself, brows furrowed at whatever it was she was trying to pull. Gideon said her name in a reprimand, though he too was looking at the woman as if she’d grown a second head. 

“Thankyou for coming, but I don’t need your help,” The woman met her confused look with a saddened expression, nodding to her solemnly. 

Leave it alone, she seemed to be saying, there’s nothing more I want you to do. 

And with that, the two of them left the restaurant, Natalya walking by his side obediently, her purse tucked in close under her arm, as Morgan and Cramer filed in from the parking lot, watching their only leads drive away without a fight. 

–

The team were quick to head back to Natalya’s home, only to find the ear missing and the finger gone too, the only evidence left of any crime being committed leaving with the victim’s daughter herself. 

“She’s not here, and the garbage was never taken out,” Morgan said with a grimace as he walked down the front steps to meet the four of them on the sidewalk. 

“Her dad just went missing, surely we can cut the girl some slack-” Bugsy words were hidden in a huff, rolling your eyes at the man who cut a glance to her. 

“No, no. When Hotch first talked to us, he said she noticed her father’s car in the driveway when she took the garbage out,” Morgan explained, his shades blocking the way the cogs turned behind his dark eyes. 

“Right?” Reid asked, his own sunglasses now covering his eyes that winced at the brightness, surrounding them.

“Garbage can in the kitchen is completely full, she never took it out.” 

“She lied,” Gideon said with finality, the penny beginning to drop for him too. 

“She could be half way back to Dolgo-whatever by now,” Morgan scoffed, his arms smacking against his side as the lightbulb went off over her head, the final puzzle piece falling into place. 

“Dolgoprudny?” Spencer asked, exchanging a glance with Cramer, “Isn’t that where Lysowsky’s from-”

“Yes, YES, of course!” She exclaimed, grabbing onto Spencer’s arm as he spoke. 

He looked at her with wide eyes, not that she could see since his shades blocked the way, only to feel her shake him harder in the midst of her enthusiasm. Part of him wanted to rip his arm out of her grip, waiting for the sickness to crawl up his throat at a strangers germs touching him, but the oddest part of him reasoned she had the same germs as Emily did, that the fifty percent DNA the women shared negated the fact she was a stranger, just as it did when he met Jack. Jack had Hotch germs. Bugsy had Emily’s. He didn’t feel so sick thinking of it like that. 

“I knew I was missing something,” She said, turning to Gideon, “He was lying before, about his favourite dessert. There was no way he could have had Leningradsky with his mother. Given his age, at that time in Soviet Russia, shortbread was incredibly expensive, only extremely wealthy families could have eaten it. That, and given the Central dialect he speaks in, I’d pinpointed he lives somewhere near or around Moscow, which means there was no way he was eating that cake considering it was only ever baked in one shop at first, one way up in Leningrad, where St Petersburg is now, like nine hours away from Moscow-” 

“What’s your point?” Cramer asked, tired of the somewhat slew of thoughts she’d been saving until she knew for sure what she meant. 

“Before when he said it was ‘our favourite’, I don’t think he was talking about him and his mother,” She explained, looking to see if Spencer at least understood what she was getting at. 

“It was him and his own child…” Spencer finished, as Morgan’s phone began ringing.

“Yeah, what?” He asked, the frustration clear in his tone that they were all still without the evidence needed to pin it on Lysowsky, “You’re sure? Uh-huh. Okay, thanks doll,” 

The four of them looked at him expectantly as he nodded to her, “Garcia just got into the bank’s system, somebody wired 500 thousand dollars into the account ten minutes ago,”

“Who wired it?” Spencer asked, though he was still reeling from the way she’d touched him, the way her voice went up about five octaves and a dozen decibels.

“She didn’t say, but the name on the account is Lyov Fulenko. She says that’s Lysowsky’s wife’s maiden name. Fulenko.” Morgan replied, and her brows furrowed. 

“Why did she bring us into this?” Gideon asked, though the solemn look on his face said he already knew, “Because she needed to put pressure on the other victim,” 

Gideon headed towards Mr Gorban’s house once more, though it was clear he had already sketched out in his head who was their unsub and Natalya’s involvement, he simply needed the confirmation. 

Morgan clapped a hand on her back, “Nice job, baby Prentiss. Those were some mean profiling skills out there,”

She frowned at him, scoffing,  “I’m not a profiler, that’s Emily’s job. It was just basic linguistics really; more a display of how I need to lay off cake for a while.”

The man kissed his teeth with a grin, “Don’t put yourself down. What’s your degree even in?”

She shrugged, picking under her nails for something to do, “Individualised genomics and health.” She said as if it were child’s play, though Spencer’s head shot to her. 

“Biotechnology?” He asked, and she glanced at him with a nod, “What’s your thesis on?” 

Gideon had returned by the time he’s asked, and began corralling the two of them back to the car, “We’re heading back to the restaurant. We need to speak with Lysowsky again,” 

But it had fallen on deaf ears as Spencer looked at her expectantly. 

“Just some new research into prenatal screening, nothing too fun,” She simpered, climbing into the back seat as he nodded with her. 

“I read a fascinating paper on the uses of hCG in a woman’s body-” 

“Reid,” Gideon cut him off with a short glance from the front seat, “Continue this conversation once we’ve found Mr Chernus alive,” 

Spencer blushed, feeling like a kid caught in the cookie jar, “Sorry, sir,” He looked over at her, only to see her hiding a smile to herself. 

He thinks it was then he’d decided Emily had been wrong about her.

-

“You paid the ransom already,” Gideon said plainly, the four of them trailing behind him as he followed Lysowsky to a small seating area in the front of the restaurant. She could tell the whole way Spencer had been itching to ask her more questions about her paper, barely contained as his fingers had twitched in his lap, but he seemed to straighten himself out once she’d reached the restaurant, “You paid all the ransoms,”

“Sit,” The boss ordered, barely glancing at them as he held his strong whiskey up.

“Are they going to kill Mr Chernus?” Morgan asked, cutting to the chase as Lysowsky spared him a bored glance.

“No,” He replied shortly, the look on his face about as grumpy as when they’d left. 

“The account is in the name of Lyov Fulenko. Lyov is a man’s name.” Spencer input, crossing his arms as the boss glared at him, “A son’s name. Vory v Zakone. Never have a family of your own. No wife. No children.”

“Lyov,” He looked at her then, gesturing to her with the glass of strong liquor, “You know what it means?”

“The Lion,” She replied gravely, steeling herself against his dark eyes. 

“No one else would be so stupid,” Lysowsky ran a hand over his weathered face, swigging his drink as if it was the only thing keeping him talking. “At first it didn’t mean much. It was a way of letting him earn his own money. I could afford it, it came from the fund. And no one questions the use of the fund-”

“Where is he?” Gideon asked, his elbows on his knees as he leaned in.

“What else could I do?” He was ignored, “I couldn’t admit I wasn’t blessing the kidnappings, I couldn’t even admit my son existed.” He huffed when he saw Gideon’s face unmoving from the glower, his question still unanswered, “Chernus will be home in a few minutes. You should be there, he will need medical attention,” He shooed them away, with his final words, drink sloshing in his hand. His face darkened, impossibly so, and the five of them looked at him, something sad and remorseful shining back. 

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer. 

“Vory v Zakone.” He said heavily, nodding to her, “We take care of our own troubles.”

It was a silent journey back to the Chernus’ house. 

-

Morgan and Reid pulled up to the campus, the younger girl in the back seat almost dozing off with the rhythmic hum of the engine, the evening sun much nicer on Spencer’s sensitive eyes. 

“This is you, baby Prentiss,” Derek’s voice jolted her out of the half sleep she was in, straightening herself from where she had her head pressed against the window. 

“Thanks,” She muttered, rubbing her eyes and unbuckling herself as they did the same, assuming they wanted to walk her back to her dorm since it had gotten dark, “I’ll be okay on my own, campus security should be out by now,”

“You sure?” Reid asked, flicking his watch up to his eyes to see the meagre 6:13pm staring back at him, “I thought they started at 7,”

She blinked at him, her eyebrows quirking for a moment, “How do you know that?”

“Johns Hopkins was my backup option- well actually it was my third, I much preferred Caltech’s curriculum, Yale was my second-” He started, flicking a glance to her where she waited for him to finish, “Not that Johns was bad, there were just better- alternative options out there-” 

“Don’t shit your pants, I’m hardly the dean of the university,” She chuckled indignantly patting them both on the shoulder before sliding over to open the door, “Nice meeting you both, I’ll just get back to my mediocre college with my poor curriculum, nothing like the solid gold bathrooms at Caltech-”

“I never said that!” She laughed again, with her whole chest, at his defensive tone as she stepped out the car, hand on the door to shut it behind her. 

Leaning down to give them both a wave goodbye, Derek’s voice stopped her again, “Baby Prentiss, do us all a favour and enrol yourself into forensics, we need more people on our team,”

Smirking at him, she shook her head, “Very funny. Never gonna happen. I like my little slides and samples, thankyou,” 

Slamming the door on the two of them she headed for the front gates, swinging her purse over her shoulder. She was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, and she quickly realised she’d been too tired to even realise a set of footsteps jogging after her. 

Maybe she should have taken that walk home after all. 

Whirling around, her eyes widened as Spencer had clearly not been leader of the track team as he was half out of breath just from the few feet he’d covered, though she reckoned she could have guessed that seeing his lean ribs beneath his shirt.

He shoved a business card in her face as he caught his breath, though it was more just his name and credentials followed by a phone number. 

“I-I don’t have email otherwise I would-” He huffed, scratching his forehead as she frowned and looked at him.

“I’ve never been hit on via business card before,” She bit her lip with a smile, reading over the card again as he choked on his words even more than before.

“N-no, I-” He spluttered, ignoring the way Morgan beeped the horn for him, seemingly in a debate with a ticket metre that had caught him parked on yellow, “If you needed us for anything, or if you needed a second pair of eyes for your thesis, I’m happy to help,”

“You don’t have faith in the dummy that got into Johns?” She asked, and his head couldn’t shake fast enough, though he seemed to catch her teasing and shared her smile, “Thanks, Dr Reid,” 

“Spencer’s just fine,” He said, giving her a small nod and a wave as Morgan’s palm bounced on the horn a dozen times. She flashed him one more smile, pocketing his number and heading back to her dorm, wondering what the doctor would think about the paper due in tomorrow she’d yet to get started on.

+1. The one where you get arrested.

The case had been heavy. They’d felt it in the car on the way back to headquarters. A little girl, molested and groomed by her own uncle, his own wife covering for him. 

His mother always told him love makes you do crazy things, but Spencer hoped that whatever part of him worth loving would at least stay sane by the time he found the one. He was loyal to his team, to his mother, but that was where he drew the line. He was loyal to his family, undoubtedly so. 

Yet so was Emily. 

The call came to the second SUV, her phone set up to hands free mode, quickly flicking to answer the call on speaker, the other half of the team ahead of them on the freeway. 

“Prentiss, speaking. Who is this?” She spoke clearly to the unknown number, her knuckles going white at the wheel when she heard a nervous laugh.

“It’s me,” Her sister mumbled through the speaker, “You wouldn’t by any chance be near DC would you?” 

She huffed, cursing the knack Prentiss women had for showing up at the worst times. 

“Can’t this wait, I’m on the clock,” Emily hissed, her finger edging towards the ‘End Call’ button, “I’ll call you after,”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up!” As if sensing her movements, she all but screeched, “This was my one phone call, they won’t let me have another,” 

The car went silent for a moment, Spencer’s eyes narrowing on the dash from his place in the passenger seat, JJ also leaning forward from the back with a frown. 

Emily grit her teeth, her upper lip twitching the way it did when she was mad. 

“What do you mean by one phone call? Where are you?” She bit in a cautious tone, though knowing how reckless Bugsy tended to be, she had a pretty good idea. 

The hesitation on the other end of the line was palpable, as was the way she awkwardly cleared her throat. 

“Fairfax County Jail,” She murmured sheepishly, “But it wasn’t my fault, these assholes don’t know what they’re talking about, I swear-”

“Stay there and keep your mouth shut,” Emily ordered, her expression furrowing into a sneer, “And for the love of god don’t antagonise the officers,” 

The agent didn’t even wait for a response, knowing it would probably be something snarky, her mind already racing at what the hell her sister could have done this time, every worst possible explanation jumping to the forefront. 

“I’ll call Hotch and tell him to turn around,” JJ offered, her fingers already searching her contacts for their boss, as Emily sighed through her nose. 

“Tell him not to worry, I’ll drop you guys back to headquarters, make my way there myself,” She said, picking the skin of her nail softly with her thumb. 

“By the time we’ve reached Quantico, visiting times will be over and she’ll have to stay the night,” Spencer pointed out, his own surprise evident. Sure, she had certainly been a personality when they had met, but a criminal seemed a stretch. 

“Maybe it would teach her a lesson,” Emily mused, shaking her head to herself, “Who am I kidding, that psycho would Shawshank her way out of there by dawn,”

“You don’t actually think she would hurt anyone do you?” JJ said, the dial tone ringing out from the phone she held to her ear. 

“Wouldn’t put it past her. She once cut a girl's pigtail off for wearing the same dress as her on her birthday,” Emily winced as Spencer’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. 

“I thought getting swirlied was bad,” He muttered, watching out the window as Emily made a U-turn at the traffic lights. He and the now twenty three year old had been bouncing research papers back and forth for a few months, the odd one every week, Bugsy even once joking it was much more interesting and riveting than foreplay, which had his face red hot at his desk.

She was like that, he’d quickly realised, had a vulgar sort of humour about her, yet he couldn’t help the snigger that came out whenever he’d receive one of his papers back through the mail with pink writing scrawled all over his ideas. The little hearts that dotted her exclamations whenever she wrote “AMAZING!”, the odd time she’d written “sexy ideas, doctor Reid” which he’d come to understand meant it was really good. He’d even gotten back the drawing at the end of the paper of a stickman of the two of them, his hair a curly scribble and a purple tie which told him immediately who was who, her line of a hand pointing at his caricature with the speech bubble, “everyone point and wave at the smart man,” which had made him laugh. 

She was odd, toeing the line between childish and witty, nothing like the scholars he usually worked with, and the writing he usually sent back on her papers were all in standard black ink, his own pharmacist handwriting staring back at him as he crammed in his every thought of her research into the margins. If she couldn’t read it, she hadn’t said, but he liked to think she took notice of it all, even if it wasn’t strewn with stars and doodles and the occasional flirt he knew meant nothing. He knew her from her writing, knew her from her ideas that sometimes kept him up at night thinking more about them, but the two of them hadn’t spoken directly, most certainty hadn’t seen one another since that day with the Chernus’.

Emily hummed, fingers drumming on the wheel, entirely unaware of the thoughts rattling around in Spencer’s head, then again that’s how it always was, “I just pray to god she’s listened to me for once in her damn life and keeps quiet,”

-

“Fucking bitch. The nuns in Moscow hit harder than you,” She spat, blood dribbling from her split lip. She wasn’t entirely lying, but god did her mouth sing with pain as she tried to muffle a moan. 

“You got jokes, pig lover?” The other woman asked, a tattoo covering half her cheek, her nose crooked from the shiner the Prentiss girl had already given her. “Won’t be fucking laughing when I’m done, bitch,” The woman was quick to tackle the girl around her stomach, slamming her into the hard concrete of the holding cell. Bugsy felt her skull rattle, the wind whooshing from her chest as rough hands grab her shirt and pin her down harder. 

The younger girl reached the nerve under her opponent's armpit, the soft of her ribs, twisting until the woman gave a bark of shock, and she took the opportunity to shove her off, climbing on top of her as they both scrambled for some sort of control.

“I got one for you. What’s got a broken nose, a black eye and doesn’t know what’s good for her?” She swung twice as hard, the other women in the cell rattling against the bars as if watching a matador taunt a bull, the air thick with excitement as the two of them cursed eachother out.

Emily’s sigh was audible across the room as the wardens separated the cat fight, the largest of the officers all but grabbing her sister by the scruff of the neck like a feral beast, dragging her over with stubborn feet to where the BAU stood in the lobby, eyes widened at the state of her. 

“You better start acting your age, little girl. Mommy’s not gonna be around forever to save you,” The officer hissed in her ear, manhandling her over to where Emily glared daggers into the side of her head. She knew that look, it was eerily similar to mom’s that time she’d been caught sneaking out of the house, something in the warm brown of Emily’s eyes frosting over into a cold blackness. Fury. 

She chewed her words for a moment, waiting until the man had turned around with a grunt of acknowledgement to the badge Emily had flashed to get his attention, before she spoke. 

“She’s not my mom, she's my sister, dumbass-” Emily slapped a hand over her mouth, gripping her shoulder with the bear-like strength her jagged nails possessed when she was mad, the scoff of disgrace leaving her mouth as her team trailed behind the two of them. 

“What the hell happened, baby Prentiss?” Morgan asked, ignoring the way Emily’s heated gaze turned on him, “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Don’t entertain her, Morgan,” Emily seethed, all but shoving her into the back of the SUV. She looked up at her sister with an open mouth, the guilt flashing in her eyes as she wavered under the pointing finger Emily jabbed in her face, “Don't you even dare,” 

“But-” She stammered, cut off when she saw the glare intensified, if that had even been possible. 

“I don’t want to hear another word from you for the rest of the day unless you’re prepared to give me a good explanation why I’ve dragged my team out here to save your sorry ass,” Emily hissed, and the girl’s mouth bobbed a few times, feeling the rest of the team watching as she got thoroughly chewed out. 

“Wait-” Emily’s hand lingered at the car door, ready to slam it in her face as she rubbed her cuff over her chin, mopping up the damage. Her head tilted for a moment, hoping her sister had something good to say, only for it to be; “He just called you old, I hope you realise that,”

Emily’s gaze darkened, slamming the door shut with an anger she imagined her mother had kept warm for the past twenty three years, whirling around heatedly when she heard a snigger from one Derek Morgan. 

“Damn, mama, hear the girl out.” He said, slapping a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he passed, heading back to their own SUV, “Maybe she’ll surprise you,” 

If Emily was going to bite anything back, she didn’t. Instead she ran a hand over her brow, the group disbanding to their cars now the problem child had been picked up from daycare, except for Hotch who watched the older Prentiss with a scowl, despite the worry in his eyes. 

“Hotch, I’m so sorry, just take it off my timecard, I’ll cover all the costs,” She said shakily, her own frown adorning her face as she felt herself blush from embarrassment under her boss’s gaze. 

“I understand she’s your sister, but this was a gross misuse of agent time and resources, Prentiss,” He said, his gaze drifting to where Spencer sat next to the girl, pulling a packet of tissues and hand sanitizer out of his satchel while JJ rooted through her own purse for a plaster, “Don’t let it happen again,” 

Emily nodded vehemently, flushed with anger, her palms sticky as she wiped them on her jeans. 

“Absolutely sir. Believe me, this ever happens again, she’s on her own,” She replied, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. Emily would never. 

He nodded stonily, deciding quickly that it was punishment enough that she felt so ashamed, he knew from his years of arguments with Sean what it was like to have a sibling stray so far. 

“We can fill out reports in the morning, just get Reid and JJ home,” Hotch said, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder as he passed her to head towards his own vehicle, “And try not to kill each other in the company car. It doesn’t look good on paperwork,” 

She beat off the smile on her lips as she got back into the driver's seat, the air that engulfed the four of them foul as she glared over her shoulder and into the back. Spencer twitched in his seat uncomfortably, his hand still passing over tissues to the bloodied girl. 

“So, you gonna tell me what that was about?” Emily asked, her tone brittle and warning, not in the mood for any snarky response she could give, “Or is this old lady going to have to lay into you some more,” 

The smell of strong ethanol engulfed her nose as she held the soaked tissue to her face, frowning into her lap silently and avoiding the burning stare as Emily stuck the keys in the ignition and started the car.

“Let’s start with why you were there,” JJ input, the same tone of voice she used as when talking to victims, calm and motherly, unlike the pissed off snarl Emily gave, “You wanna tell us why you were arrested?”

“You two really gonna pull the good cop, bad cop on me?” She snapped, her lip swelling around the wound, tongue grazing it softly despite the heavy taste of the sanitizer.

Emily said her name in a warning, her last warning, and she knew better than to push her luck even more, the SUV pulling out of the station and onto the road. 

“I was just shopping for groceries,” She started, fiddling with the bloodied tissue, wincing under her tongue stroke, “Store clerk made a pass at me, I told him I wasn’t interested. So he put a pack of smokes in my handbag while I wasn’t looking; the alarms went off. I didn’t even know what was happening until security grabbed me at the door,” 

JJ flashed a glance at Emily, like two parents deciding an appropriate punishment, the brunette’s lips straightening out into a line. 

“You’re telling the truth?” She asked cautiously, glancing in the rear view mirror to see how her sister balled the mess of paper between her palms. 

Rolling her eyes, she gladly accepted the other packet of tissues Spencer slid over the leather seat between them. 

“I went out for milk and oranges, I was not looking to get picked up, Em,” She bit back, groaning when she felt it jostle the cut, “And certainly not for cigarettes, you know I only smoke on New Years,” 

Spencer looked at her with a frown, and she caught his confusion quickly, pulling another leaf of paper from the packet. 

“Emily and I had a rule after she caught me smoking when I was like fourteen, that we could have one cigarette between the two of us on New Years eve,” She explained, JJ also perking up to hear it, “So that by the time morning came around, it would be last year’s mistake, and it would be like it never happened,” 

JJ smiled to herself, remembering the time she caught Roz sneaking one of her dad’s cigarettes on the back porch back when she was just ten. She remembered the little secrets the two of them kept back then, held them even all these years later. 

“So how did that lead to, well,” JJ gestured to her lip, “That,” 

“Yeah, didn’t I specifically tell you to not antagonise anyone?” Emily chimed in, signalling she was changing lanes as they headed down the freeway for a second time that day.

“Technically you said not to antagonise the officers,” She pointed out, before Spencer had the chance to, shutting his mouth as he caught the glare Emily shot through the mirror.

“Keep talking,” The older Prentiss ordered, as Bugsy sighed and blotted her lip some more. 

“That woman, Mira I think her name was, anyway, she recognised me from that picture mom had us take on Independence Day, the one they put in The Hill, and she asked me if it was true my sister was a fed,” 

Emily’s fingers twitched at the wheel, knowing the status agents and even people associated with agents held in prisons; knowing just being a Prentiss in a jail cell held a big, dazzling price over her head that said ‘kill me, kill me!”

The air sucked out of the car, a look passing between JJ and Reid as they thought the same thing, waiting for her to go on. 

“So then you hit her?” Emily guessed, the bitterness slowly ebbing as she understood maybe her sister wasn’t as unruly as she thought. 

“No, I told her to leave me the fuck alone, but she said you guys sent her brother down for something a while back, and she asked again if my family were all Pigs,” She picked her nails, the blood stain on her sleeve staring back at her, “I told her if she didn’t stop calling you a Pig, I’d make her squeal like one. And then I hit her,” 

Emily tried to pretend she didn’t smile hearing that, her cheeks tightening, lips pulling down as she fended it off. 

“Is that good enough, officers, or will you be needing fingerprints?” The girl chimed after a moment, a weight seemingly lifted from the car as Emily quickly realised she had, for once, not been entirely at fault. 

“I want a handwritten apology to my boss for wasting his time,” Emily demanded, her unforgiving gaze softening when she saw her smile, “And you owe my team coffee,”

“I can do coffee, coffee coming right up,” She agreed, shoving the used tissues into her purse with a crooked smile, “It’s a date,”

Spencers ears turned red, looking over the seat at where she dabbed at her lip gently. She didn’t look much older for six months, but she had gotten her nose pierced since the last time he’d seen her, unless he just hadn’t noticed it before, and the streaks of red were slowly fading out into a blush pink that said it was old, and he wondered if she’d done it herself in that tiny little cubicle bathroom of hers she shared with the four other girls in her block. 

“You finished your stats papers yet?” He made polite conversation, though part of him was dying to know out of curiosity if she could crunch numbers and equations as well as she could in her own labs. 

“Got two more this week, they’re kicking my ass man,” She replied with a huff, and he didn’t think he’d ever been called ‘man’ by a woman before. He knew if he’d known her in college, ignoring the fact he would have been twelve, he would have thought she may just be the coolest person alive, “I miss my labs with my microscopes and watching all the little baby cells move around in the ethanol. Stats are like, just not sexy,” 

He smiled at her as she stared out the window, unaware of the way she’d managed to make DNA sound like a play pen full of kittens. He held off from telling her he found stats really quite sexy, knowing it would never sound the same coming from his mouth.

He pulled a leaf of the tissues from the packet, producing his own pen from his pocket and began doodling carefully so as not to rip the delicate canvas. 

Sliding it over to her after five minutes as Emily and JJ made conversation in the front seat, she didn’t care that the grin tugged on her split lip, the reaction was instant, she couldn’t stop it if she tried. 

Two stick men stared back at her, her hair a close match in texture and a childish triangle drawn as means of a dress, a very tall stick figure next to her patting her metaphorical head, a speech bubble coming from his mouth. 

“Maths is fun!” It said, and she flicked a glance at him, her smile the most genuine he’d seen yet. He just smiled back. 

+2. The one where you graduate

Emily felt the looks on her the moment JJ had mentioned Maryland. The case was a little under their pay grade, nothing more than a stalker, no bodies or bloodshed, but one very rattled woman that had turned to the communications liaison with fear for her life. 

With Hotch and Rossi in Boston helping a case of their own, the rest of the BAU had been twiddling their thumbs waiting for something to come across their desk. 

“This case is in my hands now, and if we do nothing and something happens to her,” JJ took a heavy breath, her eyes lingering on the three names Keri had given her in case of her untimely death, “I’ll be the one notifying her family,”

Derek, despite his own hesitations about using their time for a case like this, caved the moment he saw the guilt on the blonde’s face. 

“Okay,” He shuffled the papers into a pile, Emily and Spencer gathering their own resources on the case and standing from the round table. 

Luckily, one government SUV was more than enough to carry the four of them for the hour drive North, all of them well aware Hotch would flip if they used more funds than necessary.

JJ piled into the front beside where Morgan climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving Emily next to a particularly fidgety Reid. It took all of fifteen minutes of the man flicking a glance at her, his mouth quirking as if he were about to use it, before he thought better and looked out the window, and the whole thing would start again. 

Derek, the less shy about his thoughts of the two men, even glanced at her through the rear view mirror, before he too returned his gaze out the window silently. JJ shifted in her seat, knowing she had to tread carefully around mentioning Bugsy to Emily, particularly after the last time they’d seen her. Emily had said they’d grabbed coffee once or twice since then, but that was all she spoke about it, which left her team walking cracked eggshells at the thought of bringing her up. 

It seemed the three of them were bursting at the seams with the same thought, and it wasn’t until Reid cleared his voice, his puppy eyes stuck in his loop, that she had had enough. 

“Does anyone here have something to say?” Emily huffed, Derek immediately reaching to turn the radio up the same time that JJ flicked the AC on for something to do. Realising they weren’t easily broken, she turned to Spencer who already looked slightly guilty, thumbing at his sweater, “Reid?”

“Did you want to see your sister?” He asked without hesitation, as if the words had fallen out of him, “You know, since we’re so close on this case. It would be a good excuse to-”

“You did say she owed us a coffee,” JJ pointed out, spurred on by Spencer’s nerves, “Wouldn’t mind cashing in if we’re coming all this way.”

“Morgan, do you have anything to add?” Emily asked with raised brows, though she already knew what was coming.

Derek chewed over his thoughts a second, “I’m just saying, you only get to see your baby sisters grow up once- you know, and it couldn’t hurt to see her even if she runs rings around you with that smart mouth-”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on the case?” Emily cut him off incredulously, but received three knowing looks back. She met JJ’s gaze where the woman had swivelled in her seat to talk to her, and Prentiss was fast to catch the buried grief in her best friend’s eyes. She knew it pained her to even bring up sisterhood, let alone watch Emily throw hers away for the sake of a decade and a half between them. It was the desperation in JJ’s face that did it, knowing she would give anything to spend just an hour with Roz one more time, that had her drawing her cell out her pocket and calling the contact with the little ladybug next to it, “Fine,”

As a profiler she would have been tempted to ignore the way Spencer smiled into his lap; as a sister, her eyes narrowed at him.

The phone rang surprisingly only once before she answered, and she heard an unnaturally tame version of her sister answer.

“Emily?” She asked, her voice hushed, worried almost, “You okay?”

Her brows furrowed, “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” She got no more than a hum in return, somewhat agreeing though Emily could tell clear as day she was holding something back. “Look, we’re gonna be in Silver Spring, I was thinking tomorrow we could grab lunch-” 

“Can’t, I’m busy, it’s an all day thing,” Her sister cut her off, yet it wasn’t rude or demeaning like usual. Nervous almost, sad, “Sorry,”

“What’s an all day thing?” Emily asked, the concern matching her words. 

Her sister swallowed on the other end of the phone, before she found her words, or maybe even the balls to actually speak, “I’m graduating tomorrow,”

Emily’s face lit up, the smile spreading fast on her face, ignoring the way Morgan’s words seemed to ring true in her ears; she was growing up too fast. 

“Graduating, why didn’t you say!” She asked, the joy in her tone unmissable, “How’d your papers go?”

Spencer held himself off from correcting her that she’d only done five papers, that the rest of her results had come from theory and labs, thinking better than to interrupt the one conversation they’d had where there was no underlying argument brewing. 

“Full honours, obviously.” Bugsy drawled with a snicker, and Emily shook her head, the smile never dimming. 

“Look at you, y’little superstar,” Emily bit her lip, ignoring the guilt that tore at her when she realised she barely knew what Bug spent her days doing, “Did Mom and Dad get good seats? Oh god, dad’s not bringing Stephanie is he?”

The silence on the other end had her halting, the light in the conversation wavering for a second, before she understood the nerves, the quick defence her sister had been on the moment the call had been answered. 

“Bug-”

“They’re not coming,” Her heart ached in her chest hearing it, “I sent Mom the details, she said she’s in Ukraine this week settling some papers. Didn’t even get a chance to ask Dad before he and Stephanie were off on their fifth honeymoon in the Bahamas until October,” A painful laugh echoed down the line, as if she were holding back the gravity of the situation. 

“Bug,” Emily tried again, picking her thumb viciously, punishingly, hating herself for being so blind to her sister’s troubles, “Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I figured you’d be busy,” Came the reply, sad and tender, the most honest she’d heard in a while, “You’re always busy,” 

“Never too busy for you,” Emily’s guilt tripled when her sister didn’t answer, knowing if she were to counter the statement with hard evidence it would only hurt both of them, “Look, I have some time today, probably,” She didn’t, not even a few minutes, “Why don’t we get that coffee, you don’t even have to pay,”

Bugsy gave a sad laugh, “Sorry, Em, I gotta get my dress fitted today, and some of the lab techs invited me to a party later. Maybe some other time,”

“A party with biology nerds?” Emily asked with false excitement, the air turned stagnant between them now, “Well, rock on, science freak. Don’t leave your drinks with strangers, and don’t walk home alone, and for god sake use protection-”

“Bye, Emily,” She said with a chuckle, the older of the two gracing her with the same, as they put the phone down. 

The car was quiet, waiting for Prentiss to speak, none of them missing the way her lip pulled between her teeth, a bitterness on her face that told them she was holding in something close to sadness. You’re always busy. It echoed around her head, stabbing at her chest to think her sister was graduating alone, no one to congratulate her, no one to pat her on the back and tell her how clever she is despite the fact Bugsy would happily tell anyone just how smart she was on her own. Never too busy for you. 

“She’s graduating tomorrow,” She said to the three people waiting for an update, Spencer’s brows shooting to his hairline. He hadn’t heard from her since her last paper got sent off, and why would he? They had exchanged a few little anecdotes and doodles, sent each other research papers to be graded like teachers exchanging lecture notes, “She didn’t even tell me. She’s gonna be alone,” 

JJ grimaced, “What? What about your mom- or, or your dad, an uncle, someone-” 

“Mom and dad are out of the country, Mom’s brother lives in Mexico with his seven kids, he can barely get a night’s sleep let alone a day off to travel up to Maryland. Dad’s sisters passed away when I was a kid,” Emily explained, running a hand over her face, “I can’t let her go up there alone,”

“So we don’t,” Spencer said, as if he’d never been more sure of anything in his life, “We don’t let her do it alone,”

-

“Graduating with Masters in Biotechnology; Jasper Adams, Tom Adamson, Kristen Afkins, Gavin Agriths-” 

The dean read off the names of the students as she fiddled with the hem of her dress. 

The dress fit beautifully, her make up done to near perfection, her hair styled neatly, she was graduating with full honours for christ sakes. Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had? Why had she got to be so spoiled? 

Lots of peoples parents missed their graduation, lots of people her age didn’t even have parents anymore, she ought to be grateful her mother was increasing famine aid in foreign countries, all the lives she would save, or even be happy her father had found a pretty, rich new wife to tour every known vacation destination with. Or even that her sister had called her just yesterday and told her in a few words she was proud of her. 

But none of them quelled the feeling of loneliness that blossomed inside Bugsy. The kind that had always been there, the kind that just wanted someone in her corner, telling her she was doing pretty good for a kid who raised herself in all those big houses they’d moved to, who saw the au pair more often than her own mother. 

All those rooms were so empty, the houses so quiet besides for her. It was like living in a cemetery. 

“Robert Lewsinsky. Marcus Linford. Tara Lorence. Katie Macauley.” 

P would be up soon. Each name of her classmates drew an applause, some whoops and screams, one family she swore there must have been ten of them in the back row cawing and howling like monkeys at a zoo, proud of their son for making it. 

She willed a smile on her face, hearing Orla Parkins get called up, and she knew just by the steward that directed her where to stand in line she was close. 

“Kenneth Patterson. Joshua Perriman. Harriet Pimms. Lauren Pintons.”

She held a rattled breath as Renly Prackett walked ahead of her, strolling over the stage to collect his degree, flashing the crowd a wide smile and a fist pump. She had always liked Renly, having been his experiment partner for a year, despite the fact he never washed up after himself in the lab. 

Then it was, her name was called. The one no one but her mother and Stephanie ever called her, she solely went by Bugsy courtesy of Emily. It was a family name, a nice one at that. Maybe it had been the fact she had been eight and her cool big sister crowned her the new name, or maybe it just rolled off the tongue better, made her feel less like a Prentiss, that she chose to go by her monika. 

She tried not to think about where or what Emily was doing, only hoping she was safe, as she began walking over the stage, her heels clicking loudly with her hesitant steps. 

To her utmost surprise she heard a loud whistle echo through the auditorium, a group of jeers and screams of her name, even an air horn signing off that had her almost tripping over her own feet turning to see who it was. 

Surely it was a joke, a cruel prank, she barely had any friends in her class. Acquaintances sure, but no one so bold as to make such a fuss over her. 

Squinting down at the audience, her cap nearly slipping off her head as her head turned to the source, she felt her chest burst when she saw the dark hair and bangs, her sisters butchered fingertips in her mouth with a loud cattle whistle, screaming like a firework right to the stage where she graciously accepted her award, despite the fact she barely paid any attention to the dean anymore, more to her sister who smiled at her widely as she clapped. Behind her, her team she’d met on the off chance, the pretty blonde, JJ, who pressed the air horn a few more times, cheering just as loud for her. Morgan, the handsome one who had stood himself on top of his chair, cupping a hand over his mouth to scream “Kicking ass, baby Prentiss!” at her, ignoring the way other people stared wide eyed at them. 

And Spencer, tall enough to be seen over the crowd even without the help of a chair, who smiled at her, clapping those big hands of his loud enough to reach her, his own whoops never ceasing even as she stepped off the stage to head back to her seat. 

The rest of the ceremony dragged, a speech from one of the alumni and the exit music playing, but she simply grinned into her hand, where her degree smiled back at her, counting down the moments she would be allowed to stand. 

And then she was fast walking down the stairs, amongst the bustle of students, the black gowns flurrying around her as she burst out into the square where parents, fiancees, brothers, sisters, cheered their loved ones, pulling them into tight hugs. 

Her eyes scanned the wave of black hats, landing on two dark eyes, the thick sable hair framing the dazzling smile that awaited her with open palms. All but shoving her way through the crowd, she stopped in front of her sister, the urge to jump at her with a hug shying the moment she got close. 

“Told you. Never too busy for you, Bug,” Emily said, pulling her in by her shoulders for a tight hug. She knew her sister wasn’t one to beg for affection, wasn’t one to let her guard drop so soon, but she also knew she’d needed it by the way she melted against her, the way she chuckled into her hair, pulled her closer. 

“Do I owe your boss another letter of apology for this or do I get you guys for free?” The girl asked, as her sister pulled away, keeping an arm around her shoulder as they turned to the rest of the team. 

“No, this one is entirely on us, promise,” JJ said with a smile as she saw Emily beaming maternally over at the girl, the flat of the cap knocking against her cheek as she squeezed her in once more, “We’re very proud of you,” 

She heated under the woman’s words, wriggling in her shoes as bad as Emily did when she felt awkward, Derek chuckling and taking the degree out of her hand. 

“Alright, lets see the creds, Prentiss,” He held it up next to her face as she shrugged, the ‘4.0’ clear as day next to her name, “Good looking, and smart. Those boys in the lab ought to watch out,”

She grinned under his teasing, “What can I say, I got the deep end of the gene pool,” She teased, feeling Emily swat her ear, her eyes falling to where Spencer held a plant pot with a poorly wrapped bow of twine around it, the soil a little displaced from the journey.

“This is for you,” He said, handing her the small green sproutling, his cheeks blushing as her face lit up, reading the small inscription on the front, “It’s-”

“Dionaea muscipula,” She said, biting her lip as she smiled at him, “This is so cool! Where on earth did- I had a paper last semester on the ways to study their electrophysiology you just have to read- oh thank you!”

“English, please?” Emily asked, though the warmth flooded her chest when her sister threw her arms around a very rigid Spencer. 

Thinking she should grab her and warn her the man disliked touch almost as much as she does, she was surprised to see him give her a small embrace back, smiling proudly the way he did when he’d made someone happy. 

“Piège à mouches Vénus,” Her sister responded cockily, tugging herself away from the tall man, to inspect her new plant, well aware that Emily rolled her eyes at her use of French, “Venus Fly Trap. I’ve never seen one so young, still I should be able to pull some slides on the Rhizomes in the soil-”

Emily put a hand to her temple, JJ smiling widely as she saw for once Spencer be the one on the receiving end of an earful, chuckling to himself when she began dishing out name ideas for the sapling. 

“Holy shit, there’s two of them,” Morgan grumbled, nudging his shoulder into Emily who simply sighed, her migraine already starting as Reid began jumping in with his own thoughts, which didn’t take much effort.

“Don’t even,” 

+3. The one where you’re taken hostage

“Tell us about the 911 call,” Spencer requests, flicking through the file himself beside her in the back seat. She had her own set of paperwork in front of her, her pen attached to a clipboard the lanyard around her neck reading her real, honest credentials, unlike the fake ones Emily and Reid were given. She’d been to one of these sects before, invited kindly as part of her research on the effect isolation has on cultivation of crops, knew one of the mother’s well from her last research paper, and had managed to get the group a foot in the door to entering the Separtarian Sect with little fuss. 

Hotch, usually hesitant to allow outsiders in on the job, especially as young and spirited as Bugsy, had to admit it would calm any potential unsubs and make them see the team as unthreatening if they had a friendly face there. He’d signed the papers with a frown that morning, and they were on their way to the little apartment the girl occupied just outside Baltimore, sample tubes stuffed into her pack ready. 

“I believe the he that they refer to is the church’s leader, Benjamin Cyrus,” Nancy, a woman from child protective services, replied from the driver's seat, Emily thumbing through her papers as they neared the compound. 

“Benjamin Cyrus, no criminal record; no record of him at all actually,” Reid replied, watching Bugsy scribbling notes into her lab book, perfecting her report before she had even begun, “What else do you know about him?” 

“The sect I spoke to before, the one in Utah, said he was rumoured to be practising polygamy and forced marriages,” The younger woman said, looking back at him with a frown, “They were much more modern in their beliefs than these guys. Last time I spoke to Marina she was happy there, I can’t see why she would want to move here,” 

Spencer looked as if he were about to answer, perhaps to tell her he was sure her contact would be just fine, when Emily shrugged and turned to Nancy. 

“Do we know who the caller is?” She asked, sipping her now lukewarm coffee out of the disposable cup. 

Nancy’s head tilted in a so-so motion, “Uh, Jessica Evansen is the one who the age fits, but we can’t be sure.”

“Well given their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn’t identify us as FBI.” Emily instructed, handing Reid his new, fake credentials and his gun she’d kept in her bag through customs. “Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.” Nancy nodded, the compound coming into view, the dust flurrying under the car wheels as the road turned into nothing more than a sandy path. 

A guard seemed to be expecting their arrival as he stood, unarmed at the main gate, unlatching the bolt in the middle and opening it wide for their vehicle to pass through. She nodded in thanks, her eyes flicking out the dirty window to see a collection of mobile homes surrounding a large church, a few smaller outbuildings dotted around the compound. It was quiet, not full of laughter like the last group she had been to, the children nowhere to be seen, only a few of the handier members of the flock that were either fixing up walls, trimming trees besides a man sprawled too casually on the steps of the chapel, a bible in his hands he seemed to be catching up on. 

The car pulled to a stop in front of the man that barely batted an eye at their arrival, the safety locks flicking off each of the doors, Nancy collecting her briefcase and exiting the car first. 

She had all but reached for the handle when Emily stopped her, swivelling in her seat to look her dead in the eye. 

“Your job is mediator, you got that?” Her sister had never looked more serious, but then again she did know her almost too well, “You and your field research are a… buffer between our investigation and the unsub. Just try to take the focus off what we’re doing, but do not provoke anyone,”

She raised her hands in innocence, “Got it, jeez, what could I possibly do that could ruin this investigation?” 

Emily stared back at her blankly, unnamused, as if they both knew there was a lot she could, and would, do that would blow the whole thing. 

“You look like mom when you give me that look,” She bit back, leaving the car, as Nancy spoke to the man laying on the steps, “It’s terrible,” 

“I’m looking for Mr Benjamin Cyrus?” Nancy reported, her tight, knee length skirt and blouse entirely out of place amongst the dirt track. 

“You found him,” The man replied, still not so much as granting them a glance of interest as he flicked through his passages. 

“I’m Nancy Lunde, we spoke on the phone regarding the allegation,” She replied, which was the only thing that garnered his attention as he looked up at them behind slightly bent reading glasses. 

“Savages they call us; because our manners differ from theirs,” He said, though it was clear it wasn’t entirely his own words, more likely a segment of his preach he’d repeated a handful of times. Bugsy tried to hide her disgust behind her hand tightening around her lab books she kept tightly to her chest. 

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr Cyrus,” Nancy snipped as he approached the group, pocketing the glasses though he kept hold of the bible in hand as if it was part of his own arm. 

“Actually it’s Benjamin Franklin,” Spencer murmured to the woman, which had Cyrus’ cold brown eyes narrowing at the tall man, assessing for a motive.

“Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid. They’re child victim interview experts,” Nancy introduced them quickly, the two of them flashing their badges, the unofficial ones at least. Gesturing to the youngest woman, she introduced her with her real name, his gaze flicking to her as he seemed to recognise it.

“Marina’s friend? The plant lady?” He asked, face half amused as she fought her lip from twitching into a sneer. Instead she smiled, holding out her hand. 

“That’s what they call me,” She said, shaking his hand, ignoring the way he flashed her a cheshire cat smile, “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by, Marina said I could take some samples for my research,”

He laughed, shaking his head, looking at Spencer, “Women and their flowers, right?” Spencer swallowed back a retort, shrugging his shoulders, though Bugsy’s eye twitched. Benjamin patted her on her shoulder, “Of course you can honey, I’ll find Jared, our head gardner, and you can run along for your research,” 

He said it as if she were lying, that her degree and endless hours of work would only ever chalk up to a few doodles in a notebook, or a garden full of hydrangeas, or tulips, or roses, because she couldn’t possibly care about anything else but pretty flowers. 

Nodding her head graciously, choking back the hateful response she wished to spit in his face, she gave him a polite thankyou, feeling Spencer’s eyes burning into the side of her head. 

“The children are in the school as I indicated,” Cyrus said, turning back to the other three, Emily and Nancy taking off in the direction he pointed, the former knowing her sister was at risk of blowing a fuse if they were here for long. 

Spencer hung back, partially because he had a plan of distraction in mind to allow the women a chance to speak with the children whilst Cyrus wasn’t around, partially because he didn’t want to leave Bugsy anywhere on her own. Sure, Emily had said they were both trained in self defence when they were kids, but with no weapon of her own, he was reluctant. 

“You're using solar power?” He prompted, gesturing towards where the eight blue panels warmed under the Colorado sun.

“We’re completely self-sufficient,” Benjamin nodded along, catching the impressed look on both their faces, “Electricity, food, water. Ben Franklin said ‘God helps those that help themselves,’ you look surprised,” 

“No, impressed actually,” Spencer replied, and he wasn’t entirely lying. The system was incredibly complex, particularly if they received no help from outsiders, for as many people as there were in the compound. 

“Thankyou; for admitting that,” Cyrus said earnestly, flicking his gaze back to Bugsy who studied the solar panels, “I’ll go find Jared, he can take you to the greenhouses,”

Thanking him again, he led the way towards the school where Nancy and Emily had headed, as the two of them exchanged a look, Spencer smiling half piteously, wishing he could shake her and tell her just how smart she was and that Cyrus knew absolutely nothing. 

He didn’t miss the way she walked closer to him, or how she thumbed the corner of her notebook, or how she looked back at him, biting the inside of her cheek. He thinks he might get slapped if he pointed it out, but Emily had the exact same tell when she was nervous, which is why he bumps their shoulders together in means of reassuring her he was still there. 

It was only then she gave him any sort of smile back. 

-

Jared, as expected, had been just as condescending and patronising as Benjamin whilst she slipped on her latex gloves, scooping no more than a handful of homemade fertiliser into one of her test tubes. It had been a partial cover, their story, but she had been telling the truth when she’d contacted Marina and asked if she could drop by. She’d been meaning to expand her field research in hopes of stumbling on a job opportunity since she spent most of her postgraduate days reading while her cat pawed at her leg for more treats than he deserved, the odd phone call with her sister much more common than it had been before. 

She didn’t miss the way Jared’s hand fell into the small of her back as he led her back towards the school, after having noted down a few more readings, fussing over the state of the carrots that seemed to grow entirely naturally thanks to the systems they’d been smart enough to set up. He seemed rather bored by the whole thing, for a head gardener, more interested in staring at her legs as she leaned down to identify the fat black beetle that crawled along the rockery. 

It wasn’t until they were halfway to the school that the sound of tyres on a dirt path met her ears, and she saw five armoured SUVs out the corner of her eye. 

She hadn’t even the time to question what was going on, before Jared’s face dropped, the hand gently holding the soft of her back grabbing on her forearm hard enough to leave bruises, as he was dragging her to the chapel they had seen when they had pulled up.

 Emily had said the rest of the team stayed in Quantico, if it wasn’t them, who was it. 

“Whats going on- who is that?” She asked him lamely, her feet stumbling as she half fought his heavy hand off. 

That was when the shooting started. 

She thinks it came from the compound first, she’d seen two men stationed on top of one of the outbuildings, thinking nothing much of it, until she saw clearly now the assault rifles they bore, pointing it straight at the vehicles that drew closer. The whistle of bullets, bangs of the chambers emptying their artillery, and it wasn’t until she heard the doors to the SUVs start opening, more gunfire began hitting the wall ahead of them that she started running. Running fast, for the cover the church provided until she figured out just what the fuck was happening. 

Jared all but threw her past the chapel door, where Cyrus and four other men were waiting, a heavy barricade in their hands, her chest pounding with adrenaline, she couldn’t help the yelp that left her as Cyrus whirled on her, grabbing her shoulders firmly and looking her dead in the eye. 

“Did you know anything about this?” He asked, his calm demeanour cracking when she scrambled for a response, “ANSWER ME,”

“No-no not at all.” She shook her head, voice weaker than she’d like, but the sight of more guns in the men’s hands twisted any resolve she had, “Where are the others- the- the experts-”

“Take her into the tunnels,” Cyrus ignored her question, nodding at one of his men to grab her as Jared armed himself. She felt another callused hand yank on her upper arm, and part of her wondered if that was how men handled all women here, as if they were herding cattle, as she was dragged down into the catacombs below the church. 

They’d made plans for a day like this to come, she realised. 

Her heart constricted at the sound of bullets rattling above them, she hadn't been able to tell in that last moment whether Cyrus believed her or not as, nor whether she was being taken to the tunnels for her own safety or to be questioned harder about the gunmen. 

She could only hope Emily was safe. 

She felt her tongue too big for her mouth as the man all but shoved her into the bunker, the nervous chatter of women and children, some of the more elderly men, as they clung to one another for safety, the scathing remark she would have usually made about his heavy hands failing her as she scanned the room for her sister. 

Emily was faster however, and she nearly yelped again as two bony arms yanked her into a hug, a rare one, and she knew by the blazer and the sigh of relief in her ear it was Em.

Usually she would bat her off, tell her to stop fussing like a mother hen, but today she embraced her right back, trying to note if her sister had any bullet holes in her before she allowed herself the same relief. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Emily asked, the whole thing coming out in a slew of worry, and she nodded, pulling away as if she needed to see the proof in person. 

Bugsy’s eyes were wild, as if she were a doe in a meadow hearing a rifle cocking near. No scratch that, she was a doe being chased and shot at and hunted, narrowly escaping being mounted on a wall. 

“They were all shit shots,” Bugsy said, through a laugh she didn’t quite mean, “You would have done much better.” 

Patting her sister on the shoulder, Emily finally released her when she realised the humour meant she at least had her head on her shoulders. Spencer watched her with meticulous eyes, knowing the shock that registered on her face, knowing it was the same one he wore when he first had shots fired at him. He saw her own eyes quickly check him over, satisfied with a breath of relief when she saw they were both fine. 

“Where’s Lunde?” Emily asked, and she realised then Cyrus had followed her down into the shelter, two of his men grabbing handfuls of guns she had never seen before, likely imported out of country, and returning to the ground level, preparing for more shooting. 

“It wasn’t us,” Cyrus replied, as if that negated the fact their recklessness had gotten the agent killed. 

“What? You can’t shoot it out with the cops, you have children in here,” Emily seethed, her voice harsh and incredulous.

“I didn’t start this,” Cyrus bit back, looking towards his men as they grabbed boxes on boxes of ammunition, “I’ll take the front, you take the roof,” 

And with that they stormed their way back through the tunnels, leaving the three of them to look between each other, knowing this could only end badly. Knowing the only people that could figure out how to get them out of this mess was the BAU, all 1,700 miles away. 

–

They’d been in the bunker for fourteen hours when there was finally movement. The shooting seemed to have quietened down, in which Spencer whispered it was around 11pm and it was likely neither party had a clear shot. She’d managed to fall asleep leaning against the wall, Emily’s blazer draped over her legs. She’d regretted wearing cropped pants, despite how the shade of green complimented her eyes nicely, and she’d been shivering by the time she fell asleep, Emily’s hands stroking her hair gently as if she knew she was struggling to relax. 

She hadn’t realised she was staring at her little sister, frowning even as she slept, which made part of her want to laugh, until she caught Spencer’s tired eyes looking between them, something knowing and warm in his gaze. 

“You know, she’s always scowled in her sleep, ever since she was born,” Emily said, quiet enough it didn’t interrupt the hum of small snores, the odd baby cry that filled the bunker, but loud enough for him to smile at her, “She used to sleep walk terrible too. I’d find her in the kitchen trying to make pancakes with a cheese grater. It’s like that big brain of hers doesn’t know how to shut off,” Emily shook her head with a fatigue, rubbing her eyes. 

“Was it weird? Being fourteen years older?” Spencer asked, his own hands shoved into his sleeves to try defend from the draught. Emily thought for a moment, her hand slowing for a second on her sister's hair, before she answered. 

“I felt guilty leaving her in that house with my mom when I went to college,” Emily answered, Bugsy unconsciously tucking her face closer into the jacket, “I think part of her kind of hated me for it for a while.” She went quiet, the shame in her voice thick as the silence that encompassed them, “She’s never been very affectionate you know? Before her graduation I don’t think I’d hugged her in twelve years,”

Spencer held himself back from pointing out that she had been just as touchy with him since they’d met, and that maybe it was Emily’s own regret that seemed to shut the both of them down. He wasn’t one to rub salt in the wound, not since he’d gotten this job and learned to watch what he said. 

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to give her advice, knowing the whole subject of their slowly repairing relationship was a sore one. He had no siblings of his own, had a mother who loved him despite how much she grappled with her own mind, and he had only known the girl briefly enough to consider her a friend at a push. 

“I always thought the two of you were similar,” Emily chose to continue, offering him a small smile. He returned it, his face blushing at the fact that was a huge compliment to him, “Granted, you roll your eyes at me less and don’t act like I’m dumb, but you remind me of her,” 

“Thankyou, I wish that were true,” He replied, eyes flicking to her sleeping form, the way her eyebrows were indeed scrunched in a permanent frown. He wondered if she was actually angry, or if she was just thinking hard, perhaps her dreams were full of equations or labs she needed to sort through. Either way, he wanted to know. “She’s much cooler than I’ll ever be,” 

Emily snorted, shuffling against the wall to cosy herself, “That’s one way to put it,” She said, smiling over at him as he did the same, his head resting against the wall, Bugsy’s legs stretching out to knock against his feet, and he didn’t mind that she scuffed the bottom of his already dirty trousers. “Get some sleep,”

And so they did. 

–

Cyrus had corralled the whole flock into the church, where the shooting had stopped and the bodies had been removed, stating at the break of dawn that there was a hostage negotiator coming in to make sure everyone was safe before they made any deals. 

She sat next to Spencer, the three of them stiff from their sleeping arrangements, and her stomach churned with hunger. It had been over 24 hours since they’d gotten here, and besides the small bit of bread and water Cyrus gave everyone for breakfast, she was starving. 

“Remind me to never leave the house, ever again,” She grumbled, as everyone waited in the pews for the negotiator to arrive, “My cat is gonna be pissed I’ve not fed him,” 

“Since when did you get a cat?” Emily inputted from the other side of Reid, keeping one eye on the door in case any agents start shooting again. 

The girl shrugged, “I got lonely, there’s not much to do now I’m not studying anymore,” 

Reid watched how she clutched her stomach, feeling his own complaining at the lack of nutrition, “Morgan wasn’t lying when he said you should sign up for the academy. We could always use the help, we wouldn’t have solved that case in Baltimore without you,” 

She snickered, nudging his foot with her boot, “You’re being modest, you would have done it just fine,”

He was a little, wasn’t surprised she called his bluff either. “Okay, so probably yes- but it would have taken us a whole lot longer. Mr Chernus likely would have died,” 

She shook her head, glancing at Emily who watched her carefully, “That was all you guys. I just translated.”

Emily and Spencer exchanged a glance, leaning back in their uncomfortable seats calmly. 

“You’re probably right,” Spencer said, dusting the dirt off his trousers, “Probably couldn’t handle it, high intensity mind games and such,”

She blanched, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, not knowing him to be so brutally honest, realistic yes, but not bordering on rude. 

“And it’s a lot of work,” Emily jumped in, her mouth a straight line, “I don’t know if you’d be dedicated enough,”

Bugsy scoffed, indifferently. “I have a masters degree, I was offered a scholarship to do a PHD, asked to be an assistant professor at Yale, I can work hard, Emily,” She snipped, and perhaps she was particularly just hangry or they had struck a nerve with their doubt, “and I could do it if I wanted to, I’d have the best shot they’d ever seen, guaranteed- mom made me take lessons when you left- trust me I could do it-”

She shut up when she saw their small smile exchanged, as if she’d told them a joke, or moreso they’d had the same identical thought and that alone was hilarious. 

Scowling at them, she looked from where Spencer looked almost, almost, guilty at making her the butt of the joke, to where Emily had a ‘told you so’ smirk, and she kissed her teeth at their childishness. 

“Are you guys reverse psychology-ing me? Seriously, so original guys,” She snapped, crossing her arms and straightening herself in her seat, ignoring the snigger that passed between them. 

“You’re not wrong though,” Emily replied quietly as Cyrus walked past them, his eyes falling to them with a frown. Bugsy kept her head down, heeding Emily’s warning of not provoking anyone, and Spencer eyed the way she leaned closer to him.

If she was going to retaliate, whether agreeing or not, she stopped herself, the doors the church opening and an older gentleman walking through the doors, arms full of supplies she’d figured must have been part of the negotiation. He was patted down by an armed guard, searching for his own weapons do doubt, or a wire perhaps, as he handed the box over to another who took it without a thankyou. 

“Rossi,” She heard Reid whisper beside her, and from the look he shot Emily and Spencer she gathered he was from the BAU, just as they’d expected. His eyes fell on her, softening as alot of Emily’s team did when they saw the two of them, as if they were picking her face apart for the tiny ways in which she resembled their Prentiss, or maybe it was the way she curled up in her seat, tired, hungry, on the defence. He just looked sorry for her. 

 “The children,” Cyrus said with no greeting, the air between them particularly frosty. He gestured towards the three of them, though Rossi had already clocked their tired faces staring at him with worry, “And our guests,”

She saw him trying not to react, guessing they had not let it slip to Cyrus he worked with the two undercover FBI agents, looking away from them as if the sight of their forlorn figures was enough to turn him sick. 

Judging by the way Cyrus and he spoke quietly, tensely, Bugsy just hoped they had a plan to get them out of here soon as he soon left with a rigid handshake to the man keeping them hostage. 

–

The three of them had been moved to a backroom a few hours later. Her stomach ached, the little sustenance Rossi had brought being distributed to the community before they’d been offered anything, which hadn’t left much. Reid and Emily had tried to get her to take some of their sharing, and despite how her insides cried out for it, she declined, stating they would be more use than she would; that they needed their strength more than her if they were going to get out of here alive. 

The two of them hadn’t liked that answer judging by the frowns on their faces, but they sat in their seats with little fuss as they waited for things to quieten down after Cyrus’ staged “mass suicide” that had turned out to be nothign more than a test of loyalty and grape juice. 

They had been sat in silence, aside from her foot bouncing on the floor impatiently, as she picked at the threads on her pants, the material uncomfortable on her skin after a day of wearing it. The door slammed open, Cyrus entering the room with nasty scowl. She didn’t know what had changed in the man in a matter of hours as he stormed over to them, two of his men behind him, loaded rifles in their arms. 

This was not good. 

“Which one of you is it?” He asked almost too calm for his demeanour, his eyes flicking between the three of them, where Emily attempted to brush her hair using her fingers, Reid played with the hem of his cardigan, an she sat beside him, resting against the cold stone wall behind them, her eyes narrowing at his furious expression. 

The three of them remained silent, waiting for him to explain more, though clearly it was not the answer he was looking for as he threw his jacket open, revealing a loaded pistol tucked into his jeans. Drawing it into his dominant hand, her body tensed up, her back straightening like a rod as she looked up at him through fear. 

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?” He repeated in that same calm tone, and her heart fell through her stomach. 

She opened her mouth to say something in retaliation, though the way she saw his hand shaking with fury, she knew it was better to stay quiet in case her voice would be the final straw that made him trigger happy. 

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer replied softly, and if he was panicking even a fraction amount she was he held it back, though his eyes flicked to Emily. 

But it was a tell. The smallest movement alone was a tell he was lying, or perhaps it was the fact he’d answered a question with one of his own, distracting from the attention on them with the unsubs own answers. Maybe his quiet and calm showed how trained he was for a situation like this, showed he had gone up against bad guys before and won. 

Whatever it was about him, it had Cyrus cocking the barrel of the gun straight at Spencer’s temple. 

“God forgive me for what I must do,” The preacher murmured, his finger moments away from the trigger, when she lurched forward in her seat, hand shooting out to grab his wrist deathly tight. 

“It’s me,” 

She hadn’t realised she’d said it until the room went quiet. She thought for a moment it had come from Emily, Emily had always been the braver of the two of them, but it wasn’t until Cyrus’ unforgiving, dark gaze fell to her where she froze in her spot, that she understood her mouth had been the one moving. 

Emily looked as if she was about to vomit, Spencer looked dumbfounded, but all she could do was stare back at Cyrus as if to will herself not to back down, knowing all three of them could fall victim if she gave them reason to doubt her; he could kill all three of them just to be sure the mystery agent was dealt with.

“It’s me,” She repeated, voice stronger this time, and she felt her chest relax just the tiniest amount as he turned the gun away from Spencer’s head. 

He stared back at her for a moment, before the weapon smacked across her face in a sharp whip, her cheekbone crying out in a sting she knew was going to bruise. 

He grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her into a stand hard enough she yelped, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction of the torture. 

“Watch the other two,” Cyrus barked, dragging her out of the room as she squirmed under his hand, feeling it only tighten into an unforgiving pull. 

She barely caught Emily bolting out of her seat to yell at the other men, all but fighting in their heavy grasp to follow wherever it was he was taking her, only for the door to be slammed shut behind them. 

It was only then she realised how fucked she truly was. 

–

She struggled to breath through the blood clotting in her nose. She didn’t think it was broken, not that she could check where her hands had been tied to the bedpost, tape over her mouth to stop her calling for help, her feet bound. She’d done nothing but give him hell as he’d been laying into her, keeping her cries and groans of pain silent as he’d kicked her in the ribs hard enough to know he’d damaged something at least. 

She’d not made it easy for him to tie her down, worried about what they were planning next, she’d managed to headbutt him in the mouth, and the way he clutched at his jaw when he’d left gave her a sick satisfaction, though her temple now hurt more than she’d like to admit. But they’d only covered her mouth after she’d screamed obscenities at them for an hour or so, hoping to attract attention, hoping if the BAU were on their way, Emily and Reid would be able to find her fast before they could dispose of her. 

Bugsy didn’t want to go like this. Tied up like cattle, gagged and beaten, the spirit kicked out of her as the dehydration gnawed at her limbs, making her too weak to even try wriggling out of the binds. 

She felt herself dropping off to sleep, or maybe it was a concussion, he’d slammed her face into that mirror quite viciously, she wouldn’t be surprised if it had rattled her head around. Fighting with her eyelids to stay open, she jumped in her battered skin as the door unlatched, and she thrashed on the rickety bed to get away from the impending second beating. 

But it wasn’t Cyrus. A fawn haired woman entered, her eyes falling on the girl on the bed, where blood trickled down her cheek, pouring from her nose like a thick liquor. Frowning, she was on high alert as the woman approached, a small, damp cloth in her hand. 

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you honey,” She hushed, approaching the young girl. Bugsy didn’t believe her for one second, her head pulling away from her as far as it could, her eyes wild and distrustful as the woman kneeled down beside the bed. “I’m Kathy,”

Bugsy debated jabbing an elbow in her face then and there, telling her in few words to stay as far away from her as possible, that the moment she was free she didn’t care who she hurt; she was getting out of here even if she had to crawl. 

“That woman’s your sister right?” The blonde said, and the words stopped her heart for a moment, giving the woman the chance to run the cloth over the dribble of blood, “Emily,”

“Where is she?” She tried to ask, but the gag made it little more than a muffled cry, the woman’s eyes turning down in sadness. Pity. Bugsy hated every second of it.

“She’s okay, she’s worried about you though,” Kathy said, wiping under her nose, making her wince at the feeling, “Put up a hell of a fight after they took you away,” 

She must have rolled her eyes, or perhaps it was just telling on her face that that didn’t surprise her as the older woman wiped over the superficial cut on her forehead she hadn’t realised was deep until the cloth went over it and she yawped like a dog having it’s tail pulled. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Kathy cooed, and she seemed genuinely guilty as she did. She tutted, shaking her head, fighting the urge to smooth the girls hair down the way she did when her own daughter was upset, “Emily said they’ll be coming for us at 3am, Cyrus has a mass suicide planned but they think they can stop him, you just have to hold on a little longer honey,” 

“I want to see her,” Bugsy tried to talk again despite her mouth being covered, only for it to come out unintelligible once more. Huffing, she resigned herself to glaring at the ceiling, biting back frustrated tears. Kathy seemed to want to say something else, but thought better of it as the twenty something year old turned away from her to stare out the window, as if she were being dismissed. 

Sighing, she rose from the bed and headed for the door, praying the FBI would get them out in time, before Cyrus put his plan into action. 

–

Bugsy didn’t start panicking until it hit 2:50. She’d managed to kick the small analogue clock on the beside into working, the red numbers seeming to take a millenia to change over. 

Yet it wasn’t until 3am neared, and the hallways remained silent, did she start to wonder if Kathy had been telling the truth at all. What if they had found out Emily and Reid were FBI and not her? What if they’d already been caught?

She really had wanted to see Emily, wanted to scream at the woman, who had meant well, to bring her sister to her or she would make every damn bible basher in this compound regret the day they were born. She felt helpless. She despised feeling helpless. 

It was only when she heard shots rattling from outside did the cold fear set in. 2:52. Any minute now. 

It was then an even worse thought struck her. What if they didn’t bother to come for her? Reid and Emily were safe downstairs, at least that was how Kathy had made it seem. If they got the women and children, the agents out first, she wondered if they would leave her for last since she wasn’t their top priority. 

2:53 stared back at her. 

At least Emily would make it. She was more important, had more going for her. She was supposed to be an only child anyway, mom had said it herself. Bugsy was the product of a failing marriage and a shared bottle of 1896 Bourbon that had been a wedding gift they’d never opened. 

2:54.

She could have sworn she tore something the way her head snapped to the door as it swung open on its hinges, as if two large men had thrown their weight into it. But it wasn’t two men at all, just one frantic Derek Morgan with an FBI grade assault rifle. 

The relief in his eyes was immediate, and he pulled a pocket knife from his boot, rushing over to where she lay, almost in shock, wondering if he was real at all, her heart pounding as she heard shouting in the corridor. 

“I’m gonna get you out, kid,” The man promised, slinging his gun over his shoulder as he sliced through the rope on her ankles, her eyes trained on the 2:55 that watched them as if to laugh at them. 

She whimpered, cursing behind her gag when she heard footsteps pounding through the hallway, and she was sure they were going to get caught. She thought then it would have been better if they’d forgotten about her, that at least Derek would have been safe, and he could have made sure the children got out safely, could have gotten Spencer and Emily medical. 

Derek whirled on the doorway the same as she did as a tall figure all but skidded around the corner, his legs weak as hers felt, too long and not at all built for running. Clumsy almost. 

Spencer. She should have known from the way he looked white as a sheet the moment he saw her it was him, but maybe she really did have concussion, as it seemed within moments he was fussing over her face, tearing a little too sharply at the tape over her mouth. 

She thinks she groaned, or maybe cursed him out, as he started apologising immediately, his eyes a puppy kind of sad as she stared up at him, Derek handing him the knife to cut her arms free. 

He was talking, but she couldn’t make a lot of it out, just that he was really sorry, it was 2:56 now. It was like her brain switched itself back on when she realised she was free, and the two of them were trying to haul her to her feet. 

“Come on, princess, we gotta get out of here,” Derek said, as Spencer looped an arm around her waist, helping her limp across the room where her weak limbs did little to hold her upright, her ribs throbbing with every step, “We managed to stop Cyrus from detonating it manually, but the circuits are all still live,”

Morgan took the lead with the rifle, knowing some of Cyrus’ men had stayed to look for them, that they would go down with the building even though he’d already shot their leader the moment they’d breached the front door, because that was how loyal they were. They’d proven so already with the wine. 

She kept her groans behind tight lips as they made it down the stairs, knowing Spencer didn’t mean to hold her bruised bones so tight, that he was just worried and her legs were doing the bare minimum to keep them both moving very fast. It wasn’t until they made it within a few feet of the door that they seemed to pick up the pace.

And she saw why. 

Jesse, Cyrus’ child bride that had been the reason they’d come here in the first place was holding the detonator, her face tear streaked at the sight of her husband and prophet dead on the floor, the people responsible all but dragging a lame girl through the foyer and to the doors as if they hadn’t killed a handful of her flock tonight. 

Bugsy saw the moment Jesse decided she wanted vengeance on them, but then, she guessed Spencer had already acted as he slung one of her arms over his shoulder, yanking her out the front door in a matter of seconds as Morgan pulled up the rear, and the two men shoved her down behind the small wall outside the church steps. 

Bugsy expected the bang to be louder as the rubble flew over their heads, the floor shaking with the impact of the bomb detonating, and it was then she realised one of Derek’s large warm hands held her head into his shoulder, protecting her already rattled skull as best as he could. Spencer had done the same, throwing half his body over her back as he covered his ears, the two men tucking into the wall tightly and waiting for the dust to settle. 

Spencer started coughing first, though his position over her never faltered, and she heard his chest wheezing, and knew they needed to move away from the thick smog that blew into their faces. Morgan released her ear, tipping her head back to check her over once more. 

“Kid! You okay?” He fretted, noticing the way her nose had started bleeding again from all the movement; the way the bruise had already started blotching her cheek from where Cyrus pistol whipped her. 

“I didn’t think you’d come for me,” Was all she could say, and Derek thought it was the saddest he’d ever heard her. 

Reid was pulling her to her feet then, where he was still hovering over her, despite the fact the blast had already cleared,  still sputtering and hocking up a lung, but it didn’t stop her from throwing herself at his middle, burying her face in his dusty sweater, not caring one bit if he jostled her aching ribs. 

He was trying to be gentle with her as he squeezed her back, but she knew by the way he pressed his face into her hair he needed it just as badly. 

“You saved my life,” He said, his long arms wrapping around her waist, hauling her whole body against his. 

She laughed through a cough, their cheeks brushing past one another as she pulled him in tighter, thankful, relieved. 

“You saved mine,” 

And then she heard Emily. Emily, who sounded frantic and heartbroken as she called for her, her voice breaking as if she was crying, or atleast on the verge of, and as comforting as Spencer’s long arms around her cracked ribs were, she needed to see her sister was okay. 

Ripping herself from his embrace immediately, she tore off after the sound, and there she was. Her older sister, who had always seemed immovable, like she wouldn’t so much as budge for a bucking horse, like water couldn’t drown her, or however many unsubs she’d faced could stop her from catching them. Her older sister, who looked like she’d taken a few punches of her own, judging by the blood on her blue blouse, that looked around the crowd of fleeing people with watery eyes and a shaking bottom lip.

“EMILY,” She yelled, her voice a bleat, a lamb calling for its mother, as she sprinted down the steps, whatever strength she had left carrying her to where Emily was rushing towards her, taking the stairs in threes, “EM-”

She crashed into her sister’s chest, and it was only then she started crying. 

“I swear I’ll never give you trouble again, I’ll never talk back, I’ll never be a bitch ever again-” It was all a slew of mumbles against her sisters shirt, that was beginning to wet through at the rate the tears were coming, “I thought he was going to shoot you-”

“I was so scared, Bug, oh my god,” Emily murmured into her hair, squeezing the life out of her baby sister that sniffled and sobbed, “You don’t ever, ever do that to me again,”

Bugsy shook her head, clawing at Emily’s back as she pulled her closer, feeling Emily stroking her hair softly to calm her even in the slightest. They stayed like that until she managed to wrangle her sobs into little sniffs, the fire burning her eyes where it burned the rest of the church to ashes. 

She stayed with Emily for a month after that. 

+4. The one where you leave the altar. 

She knew she was turning heads, walking down the street of a drizzly day in Virginia, hair wet and sticking to her face, makeup running down her cheeks, and the sodden, dove white wedding dress clasped in her hands as she paced towards the government building. 

Whether the guards recognised her as the Ambassador’s daughter, or whether they really didn’t want to get into it with a bride looking like that on her day, she didn’t know, but they opened the door for her nonetheless, exchanging raised brows as a trail of wet followed her gown over the marble floors. 

Heading up the desk, she flashed her driver's licence, which was enough to gain her a visitors pass she didn’t bother putting to use as she headed for the elevator, her ballet pumps squeaking under the body of the dress. Waiting for the doors to start closing when she finally let a few tears slip, burying her face into her cold, drenched palms, undoubtedly making the mess of mascara even worse. 

Her heart gave a leap when she heard someone stop the doors, hoping she could get to her sister with little delay, and she quickly wiped her face with whatever was left of her pretty, dobby cloth shawl she had yanked on before she’d ran. 

Whatever excuse she was about to give, whatever one liner she was about to drop to clear the awkwardness this agent was about to walk in on was sucked out of her when she saw Spencer staring at her, his briefcase in his hands he’d used to hold the doors, a wide eyed look plastered on his face as soon as he saw her state. 

“Bugsy,” It was somewhere between surprise and sadness, jumping into the elevator before the metal could shut again, the button for the sixth floor already lit up in a ring of red, “What are you- I didn’t even know…”

“Spencer!” As seemed to be a common occurrence between them now, she threw two very cold arms over his shoulders, tugging him for a hug he quickly reciprocated, feeling like she needed it in the moment, “It was so awful, I just couldn’t all those people staring at me, and he- I just feel so-”

“Hey slow down,” He soothed, slipping his favourite cardigan off his body to put over her shoulders, ignoring the way he cringed as it quickly got sodden, “Let’s get you to Emily, I’m sure we can fix this,”

She nodded, though he could tell she was still shaken up, the elevator dinging to a stop on the fifth floor where an agent looked ready to step in, his face dropping when he saw the sight. 

“Sorry, we’re full,” Spencer said, with little room for discussion, pressing the button to close the doors once more, and taking her by the elbow as she began shivering, “We’re gonna be just fine, you look beautiful,”

She laughed sadly with a roll of her eyes, the tears sticking to her cheeks. She knew she looked no better than a drowned rat, windswept and disgruntled, her dress full of muck from the street. 

“Thankyou, Spencer,” She mumbled, the door sliding open to the sixth floor, where Penelope and her everlasting smile greeted her favourite boy genius. 

She almost dropped her glitter pen when she saw the woman stood next to him looking like Dorothy dragged through the twister. 

“Oh you poor little lamb, what has happened to you honey!” She all but cried, the cute little pom poms in her hair bouncing as she brought Bugsy closer, taking her hands tightly. “Your hands are ice! You’ll catch cold with that wet hair, and your gorgeous dress-” 

“Garcia,” Spencer cut her off, though the woman didn’t seem to mind being manhandled into the kind grip, he guessed her state had her letting her guard down, “This is Bugsy, Emily’s little sister.”

Penelope gasped, her ponytails swishing around some more, the gems on her glasses as bright as the light in her eyes as she yanked the younger girl in for a tight hug. 

“It is so nice to meet you! Emily talks about you all the time,” She said, pulling away and fumbling through her pockets for her fresh pink handkerchief she always carried around, mopping up the girl's eyeliner. 

“She-she does?” Bugsy asked, sniffling, her body trembling as the AC beat down through the water ladened on her body. 

“Of course she does, come on, let’s go get you coffee, I have a new machine in my office that makes the best espresso-” Garcia grabbed her hand as if they were kids in the playground, as if she’d known the girl years, which she sort of had. She had, of course, stalked every single one of Emily’s known relatives, even a distant cousin that never left Europe, and that had thrown up the quiet corner of the internet that Bugsy took up.

“I needed to talk to my sister, if that’s okay,” Bugsy braved enough to say, the swishing of her dress on the carpet making her wince, practically hearing the gallon of rain that soaked the expensive fabric. 

“Ofcourse! How silly of me, I’ll bring it out right to you, little bug. You just go with Spencer,” Handing him the handkerchief, she set off towards her ‘bat cave’ in search of a hot beverage for the shivering woman, “Spencer, clean her makeup!” 

He did as he was told, dabbing the water off her face as he led her to the BAU, where Emily and Morgan sat on their desks, chatting as they finished off lunch, Emily flicking through photos on her phone of baby Henry that JJ had sent over to her that morning from maternity leave. 

“He’s just the sweetest little boy, he’s got the biggest blue eyes just like Jayj,” She said through a smile, “You know Will even said-”

“Holy shit-” Morgan cut her off, and she glanced at him, wondering about his use of a curse. Following his eyes over her shoulder, she swivelled in her position to see where Spencer led a very wet, shaken version of her little sister through the doors of the BAU, a snowy ball gown hanging off her, a veil clinging to her hair that had seen much better days. 

“Holy shit,” She agreed, immediately darting for the girl that tugged Spencer’s cardigan tighter to her body, “Bugsy,” 

“Emily, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t take up too much time- I just couldn’t do it- and I know mom’s always saying ‘Bring home a doctor, bring home a rich man,’ but I just couldn’t no matter how rich his daddy is, he wasn’t even too bad-” It all came out in a slur, not making too much sense, and she didn’t stop until Emily held up her hands, as if easing a wild dog. 

“Woah, take it easy, kiddo,” Morgan hushed, as Emily brought a hand over her sister’s cheek, wiping away the last of the mascara, “What happened?”

Bugsy took a deep breath, looking between Emily and Derek, feeling the rain drip down her back. 

“So a few weeks ago, Mom made me go to that stupid debutante ball,” She started, rolling her eyes already as Emily winced, knowing Elizabeth loved any excuse to dress her youngest up like a Barbie doll. 

“I hated those things,” She confessed, shaking her head, “I thought you’d agreed you didn’t have to go to them anymore,”

“That was while I was in college, she said at least I could focus on my studies,” The girl explained, as Garcia tottered back through the office, a steaming cup of coffee in her beloved Bratz mug. Taking it from the chirpy woman, she took a deep gulp, not caring if it burned her mouth as she wished for the damn chill to go away, “Thankyou- But she made me go to this one on the condition she would pay off some of my college loans, and I was dumb enough to fall for her bribe,” 

She huffed, taking another sip, her stomach warming with the hot liquid settling through her throat. 

“You know how she is at these things, she knows everyone, and everyone knows her. I had four guys asking for my dance card within minutes of arriving there, it was like trying to walk through a dog pound wearing a meat suit, all the hand holding, trying to touch my waist- one guy even called me Madam Prentiss,” She grimaced, shuddering at the thought of it, “Madam? No one even calls mom that-”

“Focus,” Emily reminded gently, and she seemed to nod to herself, setting back on track.

“Right. And then he was there. Byron Hastings.” Bugsy said, wrapping her hands around the mug some more. 

“Oh, isn’t he that super yummy bachelor that just inherited his fathers business?” Garcia jumped in, not noticing how it made her wince, “I hear his dad totally owns a bunch of shares in Facebook and as like just signed a deal with a new company that will change the future of computing-” 

“Not now, baby girl,” Morgan said calmly, patting Penelope on her shoulder when she saw the bride’s crestfallen face.

“Right, sorry. Your turn, little bug,” She said, shaking her head and fiddling with her dozen rings. 

“Yeah, that’s him.” She replied, running a slightly warmed finger over her eyelash where rain even collected there, “And you know, I wasn’t complaining, he was certainly easy on the eyes, and he smelled nice, like he just smelled rich, but man alive he was so boring,” She sighed, “I like computers as much as the next girl, no offence, but he didn’t once ask me what I was into or, and when I tried to bring up my degree he just patted me on the head and said ‘That’s nice’ like I was some child that had brought him a pretty colouring or something,”

“Ouch,” Emily grimaced, rubbing her arms over the cardigan to warm her up a little more, “And then?” 

“And eventually, his dad and my mom cut a deal that we’d make a good pair. He said we could be married within the season, and suddenly everyone seemed up for it, and it was like no matter how hard I tried to dig my heels in, no one would listen, and mom just seemed so pleased with me-” She spluttered, sipping her drink to catch her breath, “I just let it happen and just thought, you know, maybe we could learn to like each other, or we could just be like mom and dad and separate in everything but paper,” 

“It’s your life, who is she to tell you how you’re gonna live it,” Emily was outraged, the tip of her nose pink, her dark eyes stormy as her hands fell to her hips, huffing as if it had been her backed into a corner, “I can’t believe she would do this to you,” 

“I was fine with it, really. It's not like its the fifteenth century when I’d be forced to consummate- anyway,” Bugsy rubbed her face, “I just got there, and mom put on my veil and told me I’d make a lovely Mrs Hastings, and just the sound of it- I couldn’t-”

“What on earth is going on?” A new voice cut through the BAU, and the group disbanded like kids caught trading answers to the homework. Rossi and Hotch stood by the unit chief’s office, brows furrowed at the wet bride and his team that tended to her as if she were a princess. 

“Should we be expecting four wet bridesmaids too?” Rossi asked, the two of them making the steps down to the floor, approaching the guilty faced woman, noting Spencer’s cardigan wrapped over her shoulders. 

“Nope, just me,” Her joke fell flat as she met the stony face of Aaron Hotchner, who looked thoroughly unimpressed, “Nice to see you again, Mr Hotchner, sir,” 

His gaze slid to Emily, mouth opening to share whatever scathing remark bounced around his mouth, but the younger girl beat him to it, everyone’s eyebrows raising when she all but cut him off. 

“This wasn’t on Emily, sir, I just showed up out of the blue, I can go- I’ll go- I just need to figure out where I’m staying since I left my purse at the church- don’t you worry I’ll be out of your hair, Aaro- sir,” Bugsy stammered, plonking the mug onto Emily’s desk, backing away to the doors of the office, clutching her visitor pass tight in her fist. 

Maybe it was because she looked so hopeless, or maybe it was the way his team shot him the same look of horror he would be so regimental, or maybe even it was the fact part of her reminded him of Sean, only his brother wouldn’t have had the courtesy to apologise for his mess. 

Sighing, he gestured her to come back, “Wait,” He said her name, her government name because the other one didn’t fit right in his mouth, “Reid, get her some clothes out your go bag. Emily, tell your mother she’s safe and will be staying in Quantico until you can figure something out,” 

Heaving a sigh of relief, she launched her still sodden form at the chief, wrapping him in a stiff hug, bolder than anyone else on the team had ever dared to be. 

“I swear to god, Mr Hotchner, the next letter you're getting will be the best one yet,” She mumbled into his hard chest, and he fought off the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. Patting her on the back gently, he ignored the way his dress shirt wet through. 

–

let me know what you think! mAYBE A FEW MORE PARTS COMING UP ??

Edit: This is a part one of 3 or 4 I have planned, thankyou so much for all the love on this I did not expect the reaction 🥺🥺

SECOND EDIT: part two and three are out now!! Have a look at the top where it says ‘next chpt and it’s there bbys!!

THIRD EDIT: we are now balls deep into this universe here's th link for the masterlist

[simpurnatural]

“Our Little Secret” || Short-Fic

XO, Kitty - Min Ho Moon x Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "Okay, but me coming back to Tumblr after binging xo kitty wasn't on my 2025 bingo card. We are so back babe! Enjoy these crumbs whilst I dust off my keyboard ToT"

Warning(s): Spoilers for "XO, Kitty" seasons 1 & 2, Smut, Language, Not Proofread

"I swear, if you get caught one of these days then you're on your own!" Q warned, Dae chuckling lightly as they watched Min Ho slipped on a pair of shoes.

"I won't get caught," Min Ho replied as he turned his head to face them. "When have I ever gotten caught?" he scoffed as he examined himself in the mirror.

"Uhm literally last week when you sprinted around campus in the early morning and only wearing underwear and socks," Q retorted from the couch before realizing, "That was a bit more of a close call if I'm being real here,".

"Exactly, never got caught and never will," Min Ho said with a sly smirk, "Plus, Y/n is in the solo unit dorms," he reminds before walking out the door.

"It'll only be a matter of time," Dae sighed, shaking his head at his best friend's recklessness.

You heard the sound of a knocks on your dorm room door, instantly recognizing the specific pattern to inform you that it was Min Ho waiting to be let in.

Hurriedly yet excitedly, you made your way to the door and swiftly opened it. Min Ho was taken aback by the clothes or rather the lack thereof it on your small frame.

"Why are you here so early?" you whispered, yanking him into the room before shutting the door behind you. "I haven't gotten my nightly dorm inspection yet,".

"Well, I couldn't wait to see you and who said we couldn't have some fun til’ they get here?" Min Ho replied in a hushed yet seductive tone, his eyes taking in the sight before him. "You wouldn't mind a little inspection of our own, would you?" he smirked as his has slithered their way around your waist.

You suddenly felt as though any clever retort you had bubbling in your system faded away. Min Ho pulled you in closely, allowing for you both to be basically sharing the same breath of air. He leaned in, catching your lips against his while tightening his hold on you.

With every kiss, the difficulty to pull away became more intense. You brushed your tongue against Min Ho’s lip as he backed you into the wall adjacent to the front door. His hands began to hike up your silk night gown.

“I could just take you right here,” Min Ho muttered under his breath, his cold hands making contact with your warm, soft skin.

The palm of his hand gently gave your breast a squeeze. You let out a whine as his icy cold touch messaged your chest. This only made the tent in Minh’s trousers tighter.

“But someone might hear us,” you say, an aching feeling beginning between your legs. “They could be here any minute,” you remind as Min Ho effortlessly lifted you off the ground.

“Then you better stay quiet,” he said without a hint of worry in his tone.

With one hand on your ass to keep you in place, he utilized the other to undo his belt and trousers. By this point, you were sure a whole waterfall had made its descent down your leg. Min Ho chuckled as he kicked his pants away from him after they pooled around his ankles.

He felt your clothed cunt throb, with only your panties and his boxers in the way. The notorious playboy has slept with countless girls but you were just so different. He had never been with someone who looked just as good on the outside as she felt when he’s inside

Wasting no time, Min Ho removed all remaining articles of clothing. The tip of his cock teased the lips of your pussy. He loved how your wetness basically coated his manhood like a glazed donut.

“M-Min Ho-“ you whimpered impatiently, just wanting to feel his dick be buried deep inside already. “Fuck,” you gasped as half his length pushed inside your walls.

“So tight for me,” Min Ho groaned before pulling out, just to thrust right back in.

His hips rhythmically jutted up against yours. Your body was in compete ecstasy as Min Ho’s breaths grew heavy. He yanked the thin straps of your night gown down just to watch your tits bounce with no restraint.

Min Ho loved getting you like this, so lost in how good he could take care of you. He smirked as he listened to your minimum efforts to conceal your moans. Your tightly sealed lips didn’t stop any NSWF noises.

Just a not began to form inside of you, a knock at the door and an unaware voice greeted you, “Y/n L/n! It’s time for your nightly dorm room inspection,”.

“Shit!” You mumbled as Min Ho gently placed you on the ground before scurrying off into your bedroom to find a hiding spot. “One moment please!” You replied, kicking your’s and Min Ho’s clothes under your couch.

Hurriedly, you grabbed one of your appropriately sized coats to conceal your naked body. You quickly yanked the door open which startled the more senior student who stood at your door.

“Hello,” you nodded as you raked a hand through your potentially messy hair. “Please come in, sorry about the mess,” you say with an embarrassed smile.

Whenever Min Ho was over while inspections took place, you always held your breath for the worst outcomes. Min Ho usually hid in your closet, behind your suitcases and other articles of clothing that could easily conceal his frame.

As the inspector searched the unit half interestedly, you acted as calm as possible. Your attention slightly wavered as you reminisced how Minho was fucking you just mere moment ago.

What caught your attention was the creaking of your closet door being opened. Your eyes widened as the student stepped inside and left your gaze for a moment just before stepping back out.

“Y/n,” they said, to which your ears perked up anxiously, “Make sure to have the light bulb in your closet changed, it seems to almost be out,” they explained.

“Of course,” you nodded assuringly, the breath you were holding in dissipate as they made their way to the front door.

“Thank you for your time,” they said politely as you unlocked and opened the door for them.

“Anytime,” you waved before the shutting the door again.

You shedded your coat and made your way back into the bedroom, were a naked Min Ho laid. He wordlessly motioned for you to join him.

Right as you crawled onto the bed, Min Ho immediately had you under him. Both of you wearing a smug grin on your lips.

“Where were we?” He said before leaning down to kiss you.

You ran your hands through his perfectly cut hair while his kisses began to trace your jaw, your neck, and started to leave love bites alone your collarbone. He pulled away and watched as your chest rose and fell exaggeratedly. Your completely naked body yearned for his touch.

With your eyes focused heavily on Min Ho, you watched as he stroked his cock. The groans that erupted from his lips were like music to your ears. As he climbed back on top of you, he lifted and spread your legs farther apart. His length inching closer and closer to your pussy.

Your breathing hitched as you felt him slide into your walls with full force, a loud moan escaping your mouth. Min Ho placed his mouth on yours as an attempt to stifle your noises.

But it became harder to remain silent as he continuously rammed his cock into your cunt. The wet sound of you taking his dick so good only made Min Ho fuck you rougher.

“You better stay quiet,” Min Ho muttered, “Or else everyone will find out how damn good I am at fucking you,” he smirked, watching your eyes roll back. “Taking it so easy, huh?”

You could only muster a groan as the pit in your stomach returned. Min Ho loved the feeling of your walls tightening as you got close to climaxing.

“Gonna cum for me?” he asked, knowing full well that any further response from you would be at max volume. “Come on my dick Y/n,” he ordered.

Min Ho spared no space between the two of you began slamming his dick so deep inside your pussy. Your back arched, allowing his dick to repeatedly hit your sweet spot.

“That’s it,” he said, as your body began to quiver and your warm cum covered his length. He slowed down momentarily, allowing you to feel the high. “Was that good?” he asked as you caught your breath.

“Yeah but what about you?” you questioned unknowingly.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with your pussy yet,” Min Ho huffed before meeting a proper pace.

You tiredly watched as he used your cunt, telling you how good are for him. He loves showering his affections towards you after making you come, knowing that only he gets you like that.

As the rhythm of his thrusts began to stutter, you felt his cock twitch slightly. Min Ho hesitantly gave a few more thrusts before quickly pulling out.

“Fuck,” he groaned as his cum covered your lower abdomen.

Grabbing a couple tissues from your nightstand, Min Ho gave you a proper wipe down before laying down beside you.

“Our little secret?” You asked, raising your pinky.

JAN 2025

[absentlyabbie]

i'll tell you what converted me to being all-in on keeping cats indoors only:

living for a year and a half in a rural area with a sudden feral cat colony explosion on the property.

i moved in with my folks for a bit and at that time, one (1) stray cat mama had taken up residence on the property, but was too feral to let my mother anywhere near her. but especially after she brought three kittens around, mom fed her and the kittens in hopes they'd grow trusting enough she could catch for spay and neuter at the minimum. momcat stayed mean and hella wary, but the kittens would hang around a little nearer and play with my mom via long stick, but still wouldn't come close enough to touch or catch.

unfortunately, two of the three kittens were girls and started having kittens of their own before further progress was made, shortly after i moved in. and that was pretty much instant doom.

there were so many kittens. SO MANY. multiple litters. every time we turned around, more kittens.

we fed them. we hunted for and located the kittens every time anywhere on the property and would move them to a repurposed doghouse anytime a mama cat had them somewhere else, so that they could grow up human-socialized and we could spay/neuter them when they were old enough. (also it was a handy tactic to push the issue of the mamas getting more used to/trusting of us themselves. only really worked with one of them, though.)

and we watched them die.

we watched litter after litter of kittens never make it to the age they could be spayed or neutered. the moms stayed, for the longest time, too skittish to more than briefly touch, much less catch and crate for a vet visit.

it sounds like a silly joke to say i have kitten-related ptsd, but i absolutely do.

too many goddamn times i'd walk out of the garage and find the carport and gravel drive strewn with tiny bodies. others simply went missing, never to be found.

one in particular, i wish i hadn't found, and the visual literally haunts me still, almost a decade later.

i saw so many kittens die of snake bite, spider bite, wild dogs, birds of prey, hit by cars, respiratory illness, covered in fleas and eyes crusted with infection.

and we loved them all. scrimped for antibiotics if the vet could be convinced to give it to us despite our being unable to bring them in. bought flea collars and ointments. we cared for them and fed them and petted them and played with them, brushed their fur and cleaned up their little faces, put ice in their water in hot summer, rigged a heating lamp in their house in the winter.

and they died. horribly. that property is pocked with unmarked graves of kittens and cats.

all the best intentions, not enough resources, and it didn't matter anyways because the population went from three to almost twenty (at times, over thirty) in the blink of an eye.

they died and died and died. our hearts broke over and over again. the stress and anxiety wore us down like sandpaper. i think, by the end of it all, we managed to find less than 10 of them all homes, including batman the disabled kitten i found a home across the country through tumblr.

it was carnage and tragedy, frankly. and we were helpless.

it only ended because they started dying faster than they could be born, and because we finally caught the two remaining mom cats in traps and got them spayed.

the points about outdoor cats being invasive predators devastating to local wildlife populations is true and valid and important.

but i know cat people, and cat people who don't know better than to let cats outdoors. what matters to you is the cat itself, generally. the cat being happy and taken care of.

keeping cats outdoors, letting them outdoors, is not taking care of the cats. it's not protecting them. it's not giving them any happiness or invigoration that couldn't be provided to them as indoor-only pets with just a little research and effort.

they die. they get ill. they get hurt. they're at risk of predators, and cars, and disease, and carelessly cruel children and deliberately cruel adults. they're at risk of disappearing on you because someone else saw a cat outdoors and intervened to give it a better, safer life not in conflict with the local environment.

and if that offends and angers you that someone would just take a cat they saw roaming outdoors, even collared, and that it sounds like i'm endorsing that, i am, but not if you intervene and be that person yourself for your own cat.

if what matters to you is doing right by your cat because it's family and a living creature whose happiness and health and safety is important to you,

keep them indoors. not part time. always. exclusively.

edit: since apparently i need to clarify this, i'm saying cats should live inside, that they should not live outdoors, even part time. visiting the outdoors supervised on a leash or in an enclosed catio is not the same as even part-time living outside, and i am certainly not advocating against it.

[abswife]

best friend

you and your best friend ellie are spending the day goofing off like usual, but things take a turn when a tickle fight goes a little too far.

hello! i know it's been literal months since I've posted, and to that i have to say... woops! anyway, here's something i threw together in a moment of creative inspiration involving nerdy loser ellie! this might suck so let me know if it's not hot garbage and you want a part 2

cw// sesbian lex, top!ellie, bottom!reader, fingering, cunnilingus, so fluffy, like you might get a toothache this is so sweet, ellie being a big loser and sweetheart, reader is only described as having hair and is afab

word count- 3k

mdni i swear to god

“No, I’m telling you- a T-rex is nothing compared to a pterodactyl!” Ellie insisted, lightly nudging your leg with her sock-clad toes. You giggled at her, amused by her persistence to get her point across. But, despite her obvious knowledge in this particular field, you felt the need to be contrary. You shift back a little on her bed, leaning against the headboard.

“Mmm, I don’t know Els… a T-rex is pretty big.” You hummed, plastering a skeptical look on your face. She scoffed, offended by your audacity to doubt her.

“Well yeah, but they can’t fly! They have little nub arms, like, they couldn’t even grab you!” She curled her arms in front of her, making little swiping motions with them. “See?”

You couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter at her- frankly- spot-on impression. You shoved her, making her topple back, almost falling off of her side of the bed entirely. She let out a little yelp, catching herself just on the edge. She spun back around with a mock look of shock.

“What? You didn’t like my impression? I’ll have you know I’ve been told no one can do a T-rex like me!” She shouted, clambering up onto her knees. Using the height advantage, she reached down to your ribcage to begin an assault of tickles. You screeched and tried to make a grab at her hands but she scrambled them around your torso, making it hard to get a grip.

“Els! Quit it!” You managed to say through your uncontrollable laughter. You thrashed, but she trapped your legs between her knees. A shit-eating grin adorned her freckled face as she continued her attack. You could feel your face getting hot from exertion but you refused to give in.

Finally, you managed to grab her wrists well enough to pry them from your body, immediately gulping down air while you knew you still could. However, Ellie quickly twisted her wrists from your grasp and grabbed onto yours instead, pinning them against the pillows next to your head. Instantly, you felt a shift in energy. Ellie’s smile dropped slightly as she stilled, eyes locked on yours. You tried to catch your breath, but it was hard with the way she was 1. still on top of you, and 2. looking at you like that.

You and Ellie had been friends for as long as you could remember. You were next door neighbors and, being two girls the same age, you quickly became each other’s besties. Even when Ellie and her dad, Joel, moved across town in middle school you stayed close. You were constantly at her house, it was practically your second home. Ellie was your favorite person in the world. She also happened to be your longtime crush. Ever since the 7th grade, when she started getting taller and grew into her features. You both knew you each like girls, but Ellie always had a crush on some other girl at your school. You didn’t want to ruin the relationship you had with your best friend by telling her you liked her when she obviously didn’t like you back. So anytime your hug lingered a little too long, or you accidentally brushed her arm or leg, you’d get tense and nervous.

You felt your face heat up more, the feeling worsening when you felt her breath fan across your face. Oh shit, was she getting closer? Your gaze flicked down to her lips, now merely centimeters from yours. When you looked back up to her eyes, she was staring at your lips. You let out a stuttering exhale, clenching your bound hands into fists. 

“Els…” You breathed out, and her eyes snapped back up to yours. You pulled one of your hands free from her now slacked grip and rested it on her cheek. She whispered your name and once again briefly looked down to your lips. You slid your hand around to the back of her neck and pulled her down towards you. You watched her eyes slide shut, and then did the same right as your mouths met.

Her lips were slightly chapped, but her mouth was warm and soft against yours. You could feel her hand that still held your wrist tighten its grip, and you scraped your nails across her hairline. She pulled back for a moment to change her angle so she could kiss you deeper and you hummed, enjoying the way her mouth pressed fully against yours. She gave an experimental lick into the crease of your lips and your breath shuddered. You felt her finally release her hold on your other wrist to instead hold your waist, her pinky brushing just under your t-shirt. You reached your arm around her back, tugging her body closer to yours. You both let out a soft moan at the feeling of your bodies aligning as her hips slotted between your parted thighs.

She drew her face back and you opened your eyes. She looked down at you and lightly brushed stray hair on your temple away. She leaned back down to kiss the corner of your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw, and onward along the expanse of your neck. You tipped your chin back, encouraging her to keep going. Her plush lips left wet kisses across your throat, occasionally nipping at the skin and soothing the sting with her tongue. She sucked at a patch of skin below your ear and you bucked your hips up involuntarily. The hand that held your waist slid lower to push your shirt up slightly.

  She paused her ministrations to ask, “Is this okay?” You quickly nodded and tugged her back down into a kiss, needing to feel her lips on you. You felt her hand under your shirt slowly creep up higher until it rested on your ribs, just under your breast. You slid your hand up to fully palm the back of her head and took hold of her hair. A groan slipped out of her and you squeezed her hips between your thighs at the sound.

Ellie muttered out a curse as she once again parted from you. “Can I take this off? Please?” She asked, fumbling with the hem of your shirt, desperation leaking into her tone. You nodded again, but she shook her head and leaned an inch closer. “No, need you to say it.”

You furrowed your brows and pouted, but quickly gave in. “Yes, take it off. Yours too.” You said, bunching the fabric of her own shirt in your fist. The corner of her lips turned up at your request and she leaned back down to give you a peck before sitting back on her haunches. She pulled your shirt up and you leaned forward, putting your arms above your head to make it easier for her. 

As soon as your head and arms were freed from the fabric, you leaned back down and expected her to immediately remove hers. However, she sat with the shirt still in her grip, staring at your bare chest. You blushed, but you weren’t embarrassed. You could tell from the look on her face she liked what she saw. You grabbed her shirt and tugged on it. “C’mon…” You muttered, eager to get your own view. Without taking her eyes away from where they were fixated, Ellie swiftly pulled the garment up and over her head, exposing her small breasts. You mimicked her actions, staring unabashedly at her pink nipples.

Finally, she leaned back down to slide a calloused hand up your waist until she palmed your tit. She bit her lip and couldn’t seem to decide on whether to watch her own hands play with your tits, or watch your expressions. She pinched a nipple between her fingers and rolled, and your breath hitched at the feeling, biting your own lip. “God…” She muttered. She couldn’t hold herself back from kissing you again, and you held her face to keep her there. You whimpered into her mouth as she continued to toy with your nipples, and slid your hands down to do the same. You felt her breath catch when you pressed your thumbs down flat against them and flicked down. You both continued like that for a while, kissing and moaning into each other’s mouths as you played with the other’s breasts. 

A particularly harsh pinch had you tossing your head back and bucking your hips up. This spurred her to reattach herself to your neck and grind down against you, earning her a high pitched noise from you. Ellie began her descent down your body, trailing her lips along your chest and the valley between your breasts. She made a quick detour to flick a nipple with her tongue, then suck it into her hot mouth. You arched your back, chasing the feeling as she continued her journey. Her hands gripped your hips as she sucked marks into your stomach. Your hands made their way into her hair, pushing it back from her face to see her better. Her fingers curled into the waistband of your sweats, just barely inching them down to plant kisses closer to your navel. You squirmed at the sensation, tightening your grip on her auburn locks.

Her fern green eyes looked up into yours, lips hovering no more than a couple inches from the skin of your hips. “You want these off?” She asked, voice raspy and dripping with lust. You whispered a soft ‘yes’, not trusting your voice enough to try for anything more. Seemingly satisfied, she nipped at your hips once more before sliding down farther to give herself room to fully remove your pants. She slowly tugged your sweatpants and underwear down at once before becoming impatient halfway through and practically ripping them the rest of the way off, slinging them off to the side. 

You suddenly felt a wave of self consciousness and clamped your knees together before she could turn back to you. When she did, she frowned slightly. She planted her hands on your ankles and looked up to your face. “Baby,” She started, making your heart jump at the pet name, “lemme see.” You felt blood rush both up to your face and downward, and you wiped your sweaty palms onto the sheets below you. Her hands skated up your calves, coming to rest just below your kneecaps as she sat up higher. She pressed messy kisses to your knees, pushing her thumbs into the insides, trying to encourage you to open up. Despite your- admittedly misplaced- sudden insecurity, you slowly parted your legs, displaying your whole body for her eyes to feast on. And feast they did.

Another curse slipped from her peachy lips, gaze locked on your wet pussy. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Ellie said, her eyes briefly flicking up to your face. She seemed to take herself by surprise, and a deep blush spread up from her pale chest. Her reaction was oddly adorable, and you breathed out a small giggle. That must have reassured her, as a shy smile appeared back on her face. 

You reached your hand out towards her and curled your fingers in. “C’mere.” You said. Obediently, she crawled her way back up your naked body and let herself be pulled into a passionate kiss. Your fingers brushed her jaw, feeling the ends of her hair tickle your knuckles. She broke the kiss, but couldn’t stop herself from giving you one more peck, and then one to your cheek. “Will you take your pants off too? I don’t want to be the only one naked.” You requested, thumbs circling the apples of her cheeks. Her smile turned impish, and she twisted her head to press her lips to your palm. 

“I can’t believe it. The past ten minutes you’ve been trying to get into my pants?” She jokingly questioned, making you laugh loudly. 

“Believe it or not I have.” You answered, sliding a hand down to give her hard nipple a pinch. She gasped, holding a hand to her chest.

“Well, you could have told me!” Ellie exclaimed, then leaned her head down to litter your chest with kisses. Still softly laughing, you glided your hands up and down her back until she sat back. She twisted her body around to hook her thumbs into her pants and slide them down her legs, her underwear going along with them. As she stood back on her knees to face you again, you caught a glimpse of the patch of red hair covering her mound before she leaned back over you to continue worshipping your body with her mouth. 

Ellie quickly made her way back to her previous stopping point, the stretch of skin right above your navel. She leaned back slightly and brought a hand up, gently pushing your thigh further out to give herself more room. She admired your glistening folds, and slid a single finger right down the middle, collecting your essence. You bit your lip, the anticipation driving you crazy. She finally pressed her thumb against the underside of your clit, rubbing up and down gently. The stimulation made your thigh twitch and your breath catch. Taking notice of this reaction, Ellie pressed down harder, making firm circles. This made your breathing pick up, and you reached a hand up to palm at your breast, needing something to focus on other than her unintentional teasing. 

She used her index and middle finger to part your lips, spreading you out for her. Reaching her head down, she licked a fat stripe from your entrance to your clit. You breathed out her name, sweat beginning to form on your hairline. She shushed you gently in consolation just before diving back into you, tongue exploring. She suctioned your clit into her mouth while flicking it with her wet muscle, and you cried out. You were beginning to wonder if she had actually done this before and just never told you.

Your wondering was cut off when she used the two fingers she had been using to open you up to swirl broad circles over your bud and locked her gaze on you. “Can I finger you?” She asked almost too casually, too caught up in her excitement to be nervous. The eager look on her face almost made you want to deny her, but you were too needy yourself.

“Go ‘head Els.” You said. She grinned and messily smacked a kiss on your aching clit, running her fingers through more of your wetness. Slowly, she inserted her middle finger up to the knuckle, then pulled back until just the pad remained inside. The foreign feeling made you furrow your brows, both out of frustration and pleasure. She found a rhythm quickly and her eyes locked onto the sight of her lazily pumping in and out. Experimentally, she curled her finger upwards towards your front. This action had you clenching down, a whimper being pulled from your throat. Her emerald irises snapped up to your face, noticing how her actions affected you. 

As she pressed a second finger in alongside the first, she bent down to keep licking you. The sensation was immediately overwhelming, and one of your hands shot down to grab onto her short hair. Once again, she curled her fingers up just as they bottomed out inside you and your hips jumped from the bed. Your brain told you the feeling was too much, but your body craved more. She found her rhythm again, slightly faster now. Her tongue laved over your bud, spreading your slick as it leaked from your hole. She hummed, and the vibrations caused your moans to increase in pitch. “Fuck! Like that- ah!” You cried out, encouraging her to continue exactly as she was. Thankfully, Ellie listened, pace never faltering as she fucked her fingers deep inside of you.

You could feel the warmth building up in your belly and knew you would cum soon. Fearing she would suddenly pull away or slow down, your grip on her hair tightened and you pulled her mouth flush to your pussy. Ellie moaned and let herself be shoved into you, opting to suck on your clit rather than lick. Your breath caught in your throat, back arching in a harsh curve as you felt your orgasm rapidly approach. Ellie dug her nails into the thigh she held as they began to shake around her head.

You let out one last pitchy whine as your high crashed over you. Your thighs squished her cheeks as they attempted to close, but she used both of her hands to push them back open, holding your hips down at the same time. Her mouth continued its assault, head moving side to side as she worked you through your orgasm. The feeling quickly became overwhelming, and your palm pushed against her forehead. “Els… too much…” You croaked out. She finally broke contact with your glossy pussy, opting instead to stare at the way your hole clenched around nothing. 

“Fuck baby…” Ellie muttered, reaching up to run a thumb through your wetness, accidentally brushing your sensitive bud and making you jump. Panting, you grabbed her hand and pulled it up, wanting her to come up and kiss you. She seemed to understand this and made a slow journey back to you, leaving searing kisses across your body on the way. Once you were finally face to face you pulled her down for a proper smooch, hands cradling each side of her face. She brushed your hair back from your sweaty face as you tried to peck her on each of her freckles. She hummed a laugh and captured your lips in another soft kiss before pulling back and resting her head beside yours, nose nuzzling into your pulse point. You let out a heavy sigh, letting the aftershocks wrack through you as you rubbed her back.

“I love you.” She said, pressing her lips to your earlobe. 

You smiled and tugged her hair to look her in the eyes. “I love you too.” You responded, thumbing her pouty bottom lip. She kissed your thumb, and held your face in one of her hands. 

Her breath shuddered as your hand slithered down her torso, fingertips playing with the curly hair just above her pussy. “Your turn?”

[laiiaaa]

CINNAMON SUGAR — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen comes home to you late at night. Luckily, you manage to stay awake.

length 2k

contents absolutely zero plot, literally just a sweet n cute n sappy moment existing in a vacuum, holy shit so much fluff i might die (got the idea for this while listening to margaret & let the light in by lana del rey n it's realllll obvious), too many kisses to count, this is what he'd be like after intensive therapy i reckon, not proofread so be nice

Carmen opens the door to the bedroom carefully, minding the creaky hinge in the middle of the night. Moonlight peeks through the window, caught at the right time when the city doesn’t block its path into the apartment, giving just enough glow to the room to see you fast asleep in bed. It’s late, he realizes, even later than usual. He needs to work on that.

He makes his way to the bed, stopping at your side to kneel beside you and simply adore you: the curve of your nose, the plush of your lips in that pout you wear only when you’re asleep, the eyelashes laid against your cheeks.

You stir when he presses his lips to your temple, a soft groan pulled from your lips. “…Bear?”

“Yeah, ‘s me, baby.” Even at a whisper, he thinks he’s too loud, and with his rough and tired hand he brushes over the top of your head just light enough to keep you sleepy.

A drowsy hand reaches out from under the covers to smooth over the contours of his face, tracing along shadows made hazy by a few hours’ rest. “You coming to bed soon?”

“Almost,” he murmurs, smoothing a palm up your exposed arm to hold your hand steady. He pulls ever so slightly away from your palm, only to turn to land gentle kisses against its soft skin, worshiping the pieces of you that treat him with more care than he thinks he’s worthy of. “Needa take a shower first, alright? But I’ll be right back.” 

He could’ve done that much by now—could’ve cleaned himself, rid himself of a day's work before seeing you—but truthfully, waiting any longer would’ve driven him mad. He would’ve been itchy in the shower, skin aflame knowing he could’ve felt your touch by then, arms and hands jittering to have your curves beneath them. His lips trail down to your wrist before he turns over your hand to kiss the backs of your fingers.

“Okay,” you answer, muffled by the blankets and pillow and the squeak of the floorboard as Carmen stands back up.

He makes his trip quick and quiet. He brushes his teeth and swipes up a towel while the water heats up, leaving just enough time to hang it on the hook and strip before hopping in. There’s a beat where he closes his eyes and just breathes, clears his mind of the day’s stress, lets warm water saturate his hair and cascade down his back. He lathers his hair with shampoo—the one you bought for him once to free him from the chains of 3-in-1 and that he’s been purchasing ever since to keep you happy—before cleaning the rest of his body, all while thinking about how much better it’d feel, how much more relief he’d get if it were you beside him under the stream instead of just his thoughts. But with the shampoo and soap down the drain goes that idea, much like the fleeting thought of using conditioner. You’ve yet to get to him on that one, especially at a moment like this, when time is of the essence and you’re waiting on him. Maybe another night, when you take your own product and swirl it around his curls; if it gives him an excuse to stay with you just a few minutes more, he’ll do it.

He hops out of the water like it’s acid and wraps the towel around his waist after drying himself to avoid trouble in the morning (you hate when the floor gets wet, and even if it wastes time, he’ll be sure to prevent that). Out goes the light again as he walks into the hall, sneaking back into the bedroom to get dressed into briefs and nothing more—you’ll keep him warm enough under the blankets.

It’s only then—when he peels back those final layers—that he realizes he’s been smiling the whole time.

Once he’s settled into the grooves of the mattress, chest to your back, you’re turning around to curl into his torso, like a magnetic field brought you there. 

“Hey,” he coos, “Y’don’t have to move f’me, yeah? Just sleep, baby.” Moved by your eagerness, his arms curl around you, one along your waist as the other nicely fits comfortably into the space between your neck and shoulder. 

And yet you shift a little more to cast an arm against his chest, his heart beating beneath your palm, head on his shoulder with a leg hooked onto his hip, split halfway between mattress and his body. “ ‘S more comfy this way, Carm.” You sigh and breathe deep into his skin. “You smell good, too.”

He can’t even lie well enough to convince himself his heart doesn’t run a million miles faster when you cozy up to him like this, caught in a space part fatigue and part love, with your hums ringing in his ear. “ ‘S that shampoo you got me a while ago…Sometime this week—” he yawns, and if he weren’t dying to hear your voice a few more times, he’d be a little more thankful for sleep coming so easily— “Sometime this week we can go t’the store, you can pick out another body wash f’me to try, too.”

“Mm, I’d like that.” You smooth your hand from his chest to his neck and shoulder, massaging there gently where he gets sore as a barely-there kiss lands to the skin beneath you. “How was it today?” The restaurant. His headaches. Richie’s mood lately. The flow of the kitchen. The strain in his back.

“Was alright,” he answers, as honestly as he can, soothing himself by brushing a hand up along your spine. “Real busy, so I didn’t get to leave ‘till late, ‘m sorry.”

“ ‘S alright, I stayed in and just relaxed for the night.” You snuggle into him a little deeper, and he thinks he could melt. “I was gonna ask you to bring something home, but it’s a weekend, so I didn’t wanna bother you in a rush.”

“What’d you want?”

From your lips comes a light and airy giggle, milliseconds of the best sounds he’s ever heard. “I just wanted some fries, honestly…didn’t feel like going out.”

“Heh,” he laughs, smiling while his eyes stay glued to the ceiling—as if looking at you would make the moment disappear. “I would’ve picked ‘em up for you, ‘r at least had Fak get ‘em to you.”

You yawn in tandem with the tailend of his thought, so your answer’s a bit softer. “Uh-uh, I like them better when you make ‘em.”

“Yeah? ‘ve I been pampering you too much?” He teases you, adds on a kiss to the top of your head as he squeezes you a bit tighter, but it’s all a ruse to cover up how much faster his pulse is when you say those words, like all the work he’s put in—all the love he has for you—makes its way to the table for not just anyone, but for you, the one person he’s sure matters more than the rest. More than those fucking stars, more than Chef of the Year, more than any critic’s review, more than he can wrap his head around; he feels it in his chest and that’s enough.

“Of course you have,” you agree, peeking up at him and craning your neck to plant your lips to his jaw, savoring it long enough to leave a smirk against his skin. “You’re always so sweet to me, Bear—” one more quick peck just beneath his ear— “love when you cook for me.”

He thinks he could pass out like this, with the last thing he hears being those words, but his fatigue seems to serve as an anesthetic that lets him soak it in for a bit longer, running his free hand through damp curls while a heavy, giddy sigh leaving his lips that lets you know he hears you, that he loves telling you he loves you through his art, that he lives for the smile on your face when he stays home for a few hours longer to make you breakfast. Yet with all the time spent having his shell soften for you, he can’t always find the right words, so he settles for the next best thing: “Y’know, uh…Marcus’s been playing around with recipes…”

He feels you smile against his chest, knowing what’s to come. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, an’ I’d never let ‘im serve ‘em, ‘cause, y’know…” He loses himself for a moment in the lull of your fingertips tracing mindless shapes into his chest. “They don’t fit the menu…but uh, he made these…these rolls today…”

“Mhm? ‘M listening…”

Carmen knew that, of course, from the faint kisses you peppered between breaths. He lets the fan whir through the gaps in his thoughts. “I think you’d like ‘em, he had some classic cinnamon, ‘n…a blueberry lemon goin’…”

“That sounds really good,” you whisper, the syllables lengthened from a shared lack of sleep.

“I know,” he drawls, and he’s a little too proud of himself for once when he adds, “Which is why I said I’d let ‘im fix up the lemon recipe a few more times if he made a batch for you.”

“Did you really?” The dazed smile comes through in your voice, a bubbliness to it that tells him he made the right call. 

He figures that’s why he’s so drawn to you—all the right calls come easy to him, the effort feels natural and unpracticed, unlike the tar that builds in his throat when it comes to so many other people. With you, being good is anything but demanding. “ ‘F course, baby…” 

It turns him to a puddle, the sweetness that drips from your fingertips, so he cradles your wrist carefully in his hand and lifts it to his lips to show it the love it deserves before urging the hand to busy itself with the tufts of hair behind his hear, to which you happily oblige. You twirl a lock around your finger, performing a methodical spiral, and even though he knows by the time it dries it’ll stick out from the mess like a sore thumb, he’d stop breathing before pulling your hand away. It’s soothing, that pattern. It stokes the fire in his gut that makes him feel a little less lonely when you’re not around.

“I brought…” He yawns again, his eyelids growing heavy. “I brought you some of the cinnamon rolls…Sugar liked ‘em…they’re on the counter for you tomorrow mornin'…” He’s not sure whether it’s your doing or the hours of stress endured throughout the day, but he knows this is the most relaxed he’s ever been, laying with you and doing little else other than indulging in your tender touches and shy kisses.

“Thank you, my love,” slips away with breath, sotto voce, as Carmen leaves brief kisses to your hairline. 

And he thanks God for being able to do it even with such an intense fatigue washing over him—at least part of him does, the part that’s still awake—because the movement lets you tilt your head and graze your fingertips by his jaw, bringing his lips kindly to yours for the first and last time tonight. Somewhere in that beautiful tangle there’s a mutual agreement: an unspoken Goodnight, I love you, in the mix, a finality in his offering and your gracious thanks that doesn’t warrant anything more than your head tucked neatly into his neck, left to bask in the comfort of his arms wrapped around you.

Just like any other night with you, he can sleep peacefully with the unconscious push and pull of your bodies intertwined. He knows that by morning, you’ll still be in his arms, in the bed you share, waiting on your good morning kiss from under the covers.

And he’ll still be beneath your warmth, his mind fuzzy and full of tenderness, every part of him dying to marry you.

[elikajinnie]

Steal Your Way To My Heart - N.R (Part 2)

P: Bankrobber! Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Teasing, Pursuing, Obsession, Jealousy, Mentioned Murder, Possessiveness, Flirting, A tiny bit of manipulation, Ni-ki just wanna spoil you.

Synopsis: Your life was boring—until a visit to the bank changes everything. Now you find yourself under the attention of one of the criminals. Now what do you do when the criminal's attention isn't just on the job but on you?

a/n: part 2 was HIGHLY requested... soooo here it is!! :D i wrote this instead of studying..

part 1 here

--

After meeting Ni-ki at the club, there had been nothing from him. No texts, no calls, no slyly delivered gifts. Just silence.

Radio silence from him for days.

At first, you told yourself it was a relief, finally some peace from his attention. But eventually that relief began to feel less like freedom and more like… emptiness.

Every time you grabbed your phone, your thumb hovered over the screen, the urge to text him stronger than you wanted to admit. But then you’d stop, heart sinking with a mixture of shame and stubbornness. What would it even say about you if you were the one to reach out first? Ni-ki had always been the one to text first, always the one pushing, teasing, pulling.

And now, without him doing that, everything just felt weird. Off.

You sighed, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you. The silence was eating you up in ways you hadn’t expected. It was ridiculous. Stupid. He was a criminal. You shouldn’t even be thinking about him, let alone missing him. But here you were, feeling that strange, hollow ache in your chest every time your phone didn’t buzz with a message.

And you hated how much it mattered to you.

The hours stretched on, the silence suffocating. No matter how much you tried to distract yourself, Ni-ki lingered in your thoughts. His smirk, his voice, the way he looked at you—it was all on an endless loop in your mind.

You’d find yourself overanalyzing every interaction you’d had with him. Did you say something wrong? Did your rejection at the club finally push him away? Was this… it?

You rolled over on the couch, staring blankly at the TV that played some mindless show you weren’t even paying attention to. Your phone sat on the coffee table, and you glared at it like it had personally betrayed you.

Why was this bothering you so much?

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the phone, your fingers hesitating over the screen. Maybe just a casual message? Something simple? But no matter how many times you typed something, it all sounded wrong.

Why haven’t you texted me? Is this some game to you? Are you okay?

You groaned, deleting every draft. Nothing felt right. Besides, if you texted him first, it would be admitting you cared. And wasn’t that the one thing you swore you wouldn’t do?

But as the days passed, the emptiness only grew. Even your friends noticed your distracted state, asking if you were okay. You lied, of course, brushing it off as stress or lack of sleep. How could you explain that you were hung up on a guy who was a literal criminal?

On the eleventh day of silence, you finally caved.

Just as you were about to type out a message, your phone buzzed in your hand. Your heart jumped, hope flaring so quickly it scared you. And when you saw his name, or rather the cryptic alias he used in your phone, pop up on the screen, you felt a wave of relief wash over you.

"Miss me yet?"

Your lips parted, a mix of annoyance and something dangerously close to joy bubbling up. Of course, he’d break the silence with something like that.

You stared at the message for a moment before typing back, fingers flying across the screen.

"What happened to you? Finally get bored?"

His response came almost immediately.

"Bored? Never. Just wanted to see how long it’d take for you to crack."

Your jaw dropped, a wave of irritation hitting you.

"You’re insufferable" you shot back.

"And you’re cute when you’re annoyed" he replied, followed by a winking emoji.

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips, no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

"Don’t disappear like that again" you typed before you could stop yourself, your heart pounding as you hit send.

The pause between his messages felt like forever, but when his reply came, it made your chest tighten.

"Don’t worry, doll. I’m not going anywhere."

You leaned back against the couch, phone clutched in your hand, staring at his last message before you typed out a reply.

"Good. Because it was getting kind of quiet without you annoying me."

The typing bubble popped up instantly, and somehow, that made you feel lighter.

"Admit it. You missed me."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Don’t flatter yourself."

His reply came quick, like he was waiting on your response.

"Too late. Flattering myself is kind of my thing."

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head as you typed back.

"That’s obvious. But seriously… what have you been doing?"

There was a slight pause this time, and when his message came through, you could almost hear his voice in your head.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

You sighed, fighting the urge to play into his games.

"Yes, actually. That’s why I’m asking."

"Touché."

A few seconds passed, and then another message came through.

"Let’s just say I had some… work to take care of. But I’m all yours now."

Your heart skipped at his words, and you hated the way your stomach flipped at such a simple line.

"All mine, huh? That’s bold for someone who disappeared for almost a week."

"Bold is my middle name, sweetheart."

You snorted at that, trying not to imagine his cocky grin.

"Sure it is. Anyway, why’d you text me tonight?"

His response was instant again.

"Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you."

Your breath hitched, and you blinked at the screen, unsure how to respond. Before you could type anything, another message came through.

"Don’t look so shocked. You’re pretty unforgettable."

"You can’t even see me right now."

"I don’t need to. I know exactly how you’re reacting."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the blush spreading across your face.

"You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are, still talking to me."

You didn’t have a comeback for that. The conversation kept flowing, his words teasing yet always laced with something that felt too genuine to be ignored. Every time you thought it would end, he sent another message.

"Still awake?"

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"What’s your favorite place to get coffee?"

The questions weren’t just idle small talk. They felt intentional, like he wanted to learn every little thing about you.

And you let him.

You answered every question, sometimes throwing one back at him, and the hours ticked by faster than you realized. By the time you glanced at the clock, it was well past midnight.

"You’re keeping me up" you finally typed, even though you weren’t really upset.

"Not my fault I`m fun to talk to" he replied.

"You’re ridiculous."

"Ridiculously charming, I know."

You laughed softly, shaking your head as your fingers hovered over the screen.

"Goodnight, Ni-ki."

The reply came almost instantly.

"Goodnight, doll. Dream about me."

You set your phone down with a sigh, but with a smile on your face.

--

It had been a slow day at work, the kind where you counted down the hours and prayed for something to happen. But you weren’t exactly expecting him to walk through the doors.

Ni-ki strolled in casually, hands stuffed into his pockets, but it was impossible to miss the dark bruise across his cheekbone or the small cut at the corner of his lip. His usual cocky demeanor was still intact, though—shoulders back, head high, like he hadn’t been in some sort of fight.

Your eyes widened as you instinctively took a step toward him. “What the hell happened to you?”

He shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You gave him an incredulous look, quickly closing the distance between you. Your hands moved on their own as you gently touched the side of his face, your fingers brushing against the bruised skin. He winced slightly but didn’t pull back, his gaze steady on yours.

“Ni-ki, this isn’t nothing. Who did this to you?”

He tilted his head, clearly enjoying your concern. “You worried about me, doll?”

You huffed, pulling your hands back. “Of course, I’m worried! You look like you got hit by a truck.”

His smirk widened. “Not a truck. Just some idiots who thought they could take us down. We had a little… disagreement.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “A disagreement?”

“Yeah, you know, some guys in another town thought they could muscle in on our business.” He leaned closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “Let’s just say they won’t be trying that again.”

Your stomach twisted at the implication, but the relief that he was standing here in one piece outweighed everything else. “Are you okay?” you asked softly.

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the sincerity in your voice. Then, that smug grin of his returned. “You’re really worried about me, huh? I knew you liked me.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping back, but before you could retreat any further, his hands shot out and grabbed yours. His grip was firm but gentle as he pulled you close, so close you could see the faint stubble on his jaw and the glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Don’t pull away,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I kinda like it when you fuss over me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you tried to look anywhere but at him. “I’m not fussing. I just—”

“You just care,” he finished for you, his lips turning into a softer smile. “It’s okay, you can admit it.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, you wanted to pull back, to regain some semblance of control over the situation, but something about the way he was looking at you made it impossible to move.

“Thanks for worrying about me,” he said quietly, his usual teasing tone replaced by something almost… genuine.

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly. “Just… be careful, okay?”

He grinned again, the playful Ni-ki back in full force. “Careful’s not really my thing, doll. But for you, I’ll try.”

You sighed, trying to focus on getting your work done, but you could feel his eyes on you. Ni-ki hadn’t left, of course. He leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, like he had all the time in the world to loiter around and watch you. Every now and then, you’d glance up, only to find him smiling at you with that infuriatingly smug expression.

You huffed, brushing past him with a stack of folded clothes, determined to ignore him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you asked, not bothering to look at him as you placed the clothes neatly on a display table.

“Not really,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, recovering or something? You’re walking around like you didn’t just get into a fight.”

Ni-ki chuckled, his voice low. “I’m tougher than I look, doll. Besides…” He trailed off, and when you turned to glare at him, you caught him staring again, his gaze lingering in a way that made your stomach flip. “You make a great distraction.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as you moved to another rack. But even as you tried to focus on reorganizing the clothes, you couldn’t help but feel the heat of his presence. He was so close, always just within arm’s reach, and the empty store wasn’t doing you any favors.

“Do you just follow me everywhere now?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

“Not everywhere,” he replied, his voice dipping into something playful. “Just the places I know you’ll be.”

“Creepy much?”

He laughed at that, the sound rich and unbothered. “C’mon, admit it—you liked that I showed up.”

You turned to retort, but the look in his eyes stopped you. They were looking at you so fondly.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being with you,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

The sincerity in his tone threw you off, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.

Eunseo suddenly stepped out from the storage room, a bright smile plastered on her face as she noticed Ni-ki leaning casually against the counter. “Oh, hello there! Welcome to our store! Do you need any help?” she said, her voice taking on a tone that was just a bit too cheerful, her steps purposeful as she approached him.

Ni-ki, to his credit, barely acknowledged her, his dark eyes still lingering on you as if Eunseo didn’t exist. “I’m good, thanks,” he replied flatly.

But Eunseo didn’t seem to pick up on his disinterest—or maybe she just didn’t care. “Are you sure? We’ve got some great new items in stock. Maybe I can help you find something?” She gave a little laugh, leaning on the counter and tilting her head in a way that screamed flirting.

You stiffened, pretending to busy yourself with a rack of folded shirts, but your hands were a little too rough as you refolded them. The way she was looking at him, the way her voice dripped with sugary sweetness—it was irritating. And Ni-ki wasn’t exactly pushing her away, which only made it worse.

“Really, I’m fine,” Ni-ki said, his tone remaining neutral, though you noticed the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh, come on,” Eunseo pressed, stepping even closer to him. “You’re just standing here all alone. Why not let me show you around? We’ve got some accessories that would look amazing on you.” Her hand brushed against his arm, and that was the final straw.

You slammed the shirts you were holding onto the rack a little louder than necessary, making both of them glance your way. “Eunseo,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm, though you could feel the heat of irritation bubbling beneath the surface, “don’t you have something to do in the back?”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by your tone. “Oh, um… I just thought I’d help out here. He looks like he could use—”

“I said,” you interrupted, your eyes locking with hers, “don’t you have something to do in the back?”

Eunseo hesitated for a moment before giving you a slightly puzzled look. “Alright, alright, I’m going,” she said and glanced back at Ni-ki as she retreated. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

When she was gone, you turned back to Ni-ki, who was now watching you with an amused expression.

“What?” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

He raised his hands in mock defense, his smirk widening. “Nothing. Just didn’t expect you to get all territorial over me, doll.”

“I wasn’t being territorial,” you shot back, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

“Sure you weren’t,” he teased, stepping closer to you, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly low tone. “But for the record, I’m not interested in anyone else. You’ve got my full attention, whether you like it or not.”

You huffed, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his words.

“Now, will you finally admit you like having me here?” he said with a grin, leaning in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

You groaned, shoving him lightly toward the door. “Get out before I regret not letting her deal with you.”

Ni-ki laughed, his voice rich and unbothered, but he allowed you to guide him toward the exit. Before he left, though, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. “See you later, doll.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you to deal with the lingering embarrassment—and the undeniable fact that you did like having him around, no matter how much you tried to deny it.

--

The evening air was cold when you stepped out of the store, bag slung over your shoulder as you headed toward the bus stop.

You were halfway there when the low rumble of a car engine made you glance over your shoulder. A sleek black car slowing down to match your pace. The window rolled down, and you weren’t even surprised when you saw him—Ni-ki. His lazy smirk greeted you as he tilted his head.

“Need a ride?” he asked casually, his voice smooth and teasing.

You hesitated, clutching your bag tighter. “I’m fine. The bus is just up ahead.”

“Come on, doll,” he coaxed, resting one arm over the edge of the open window. “You really gonna make me watch you freeze out here? Just get in.”

You sighed, glancing around the empty street before finally relenting. “Fine,” you muttered, walking to the passenger side.

As you climbed in, the smell of leather and cologne hit you, mingled with the faint scent of mint. The interior was just as sleek as the exterior, glowing faintly from the purple neon underlighting. Ni-ki barely glanced at you as he started driving again, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at him, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the city lights. The way he gripped the wheel with one hand, the relaxed confidence —it was unfair how good he looked.

“See something you like?” he drawled, his tone playful.

You snapped your gaze forward, your cheeks heating. “No.”

“Liar,” he teased, and before you could respond, his hand slid from his thigh to yours, resting lightly. His thumb brushed against the fabric of your jeans, and the bubbling feeling in your stomach intensified.

“Ni-ki—” you started, your voice faltering.

He glanced at you briefly, his smirk deepening. “Relax, doll. Just making sure you’re comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” you echoed, your voice tinged with disbelief.

“Very,” he said, squeezing your thigh gently before returning his focus to the road.

You stared at him, speechless, as his fingers stayed on your leg, warm and steady. The fluttering in your chest wouldn’t stop, no matter how much you tried to will it away.

“So,” he said after a beat, his tone casual but still carrying that flirtatious edge, “how was your day? Other than me stealing all your attention at work, of course.”

You rolled your eyes, thankful for the change in subject. “It was fine. Slow, boring—until you showed up and made it worse.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You wound me, doll. But don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.”

You gave him a side-eye but said nothing, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

The car eventually pulled into the parking lot of a cozy yet elegant Japanese restaurant, the warm glow of lanterns hanging outside casting a soft light across the entrance. You furrowed your brow as Ni-ki parked and turned off the engine.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, your tone skeptical.

He leaned back in his seat and gave you a charming grin. “Dinner.”

You blinked at him. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you and me,” he said nonchalantly, already unbuckling his seatbelt.

Before you could protest, he was out of the car and walking around to your side. He opened the door, holding it like a perfect gentleman, one hand resting casually on the top of the car as he peered down at you.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Ni-ki, I didn’t agree to this.”

His face didn’t falter. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You didn’t say no, either.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the way he was looking at you—smug yet so effortlessly charming—made you groan. “Fine,” you muttered, grabbing your bag and stepping out of the car.

He stepped back to give you space, closing the door behind you. “There’s my girl,” he said teasingly, earning a sharp glare from you.

He only chuckled as he led the way into the restaurant, holding the door open for you.

The interior was warm and inviting, the scent of freshly cooked dishes wafting through the air. The restaurant wasn’t overly extravagant, but it wasn’t casual either. It struck a balance between elegant and cozy.

Ni-ki guided you to a table in the corner, away from the more crowded areas. The staff seemed to know him, greeting him with familiarity as he nodded in return. You followed reluctantly, sitting down across from him.

“Seriously, Ni-ki, what’s all this about?” you asked, frowning at him as you placed your bag on the seat beside you.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with that easygoing confidence of his. “Figured you deserved something nice.”

You gave him a look, not buying it. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Exactly.” He smirked, leaning forward this time, resting his forearms on the table. “That, and I like spending time with you.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You looked away, pretending to study the menu placed in front of you.

Ni-ki chuckled softly, clearly amused by your flustered state. “Relax, doll. It’s just dinner.”

You bit back a retort, choosing instead to focus on the menu and your heart sank at the prices. Everything looked so luxurious—and expensive. You frowned, setting the menu down.

“Ni-ki,” you began hesitantly, “this place is... a bit much. I don’t think—”

He raised a hand, cutting you off. “Don’t even start.” His tone was firm yet playful. “You’re here because I brought you here. So, the meal’s on me. Order whatever you want.”

You still hesitated, feeling a pang of guilt. “I don’t know. Maybe I should just go for something simple—”

Ni-ki’s expression shifted, his lips pressing into a thin line as he gave you a mockingly disappointed look. “Really? After I go through all this trouble, you’re going to pick the cheapest thing on the menu?”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled, betraying you. You blushed deeply, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Ni-ki’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“See?” he said, his tone gentle but teasing. “Your stomach agrees with me.”

Reluctantly, you turned your attention back to the menu, deciding to pick something that looked good rather than the cheapest option. After a few moments, you made your choice, pointing to a dish that caught your eye.

“I’ll have this,” you said, hoping it wasn’t too extravagant.

Ni-ki leaned over to see what you had chosen, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “Good choice. I approve.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Well, I’m glad it meets your standards.”

He chuckled, signaling the waiter to take your orders.

Once the waiter left, you looked at him. “You really didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

He tilted his head, his gaze softening just a fraction. “Yeah, I did.”

You looked away and quickly busied yourself with adjusting the utensils in front of you, unsure how to respond. Ni-ki didn’t press, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he leaned back in his seat.

“Just sit back and enjoy, doll. You deserve it.”

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, but he was already leaning back in his chair, a relaxed, almost casual expression on his face.

After a few moments, the food arrived. The waiter placed the beautifully plated dishes in front of both of you. The smell was enough to make your stomach rumble again.

You hesitated for a moment before picking up your chopsticks, trying not to seem too eager. When you finally took a bite of the food, your eyes widened in surprise. It was incredible—perfectly seasoned.

Ni-ki watched you intently, a soft smile tugging at his lips as you took another bite. "Good?" he asked, leaning in slightly.

You nodded, your mouth full but your eyes sparkling. "It’s amazing," you said, before taking another bite.

He chuckled lightly, clearly pleased. "I told you. You deserve the best."

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you continued eating. The meal went on like this, with easy conversation between you two. It felt... normal, in a way. He asked about your work, and you told him a little about how things had been going.

Ni-ki, on the other hand, kept his answers short, more focused on making you feel comfortable than discussing anything serious. Every time he glanced at you, there was something in his gaze, like you were the most important thing in the room.

It was strange. Sitting here with him, eating this expensive meal, having casual conversation—it didn’t feel like you were sitting across from a criminal who had held you hostage twice. For a moment, it almost felt like you were on a normal date, one where you could let your guard down.

You paused, lifting your glass of water to your lips, trying to gather your thoughts. Could this really be the same guy? The one who had dragged you around and threatened your life?

Ni-ki’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “You’re quiet. What’s on your mind?”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just... this feels weird, that’s all.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Weird good or weird bad?”

You thought for a moment before responding. “Weird good,” you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed but also relieved to say it aloud. “It’s hard to reconcile... you know, everything that’s happened with... well, this.”

Ni-ki’s smile softened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “I get it. I get it more than you think.”

"You’ll get used to it," he added softly, before taking another bite of his meal.

After finishing the last bite of your meal, you leaned back in your chair, feeling pleasantly full and a little more at ease than you had all night. Ni-ki caught your eye as he signaled the waiter for the check. The moment the receipt was handed to him, your gaze instinctively fell to the amount, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head.

The total was outrageous.

You tried to keep your reaction in check, but your lips parted in disbelief, the number far higher than anything you’d ever imagined spending on a meal. It wasn’t just expensive—it was excessive.

Ni-ki noticed your expression and let out a low chuckle, his voice teasing. “You’ve got a look on your face, sweetheart. You okay?”

You quickly straightened up, trying to play it cool, but you could feel your cheeks turning slightly pink. “That’s... that’s a lot,” you muttered, trying to make it sound light, though you were still trying to process the shock of it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied easily, waving a hand as if it was nothing. “It’s all taken care of.”

You couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty. “I didn’t mean to... I didn’t expect—”

“Relax,” he interrupted smoothly, smiling that smug little smile of his.

Before you could say anything else, he stood up, paying the bill and handing the waiter a generous tip. You watched him, still trying to wrap your mind around the amount he had just spent.

You weren’t used to this kind of attention, this kind of treatment.

As you got up from the table, Ni-ki took your hand, his fingers brushing against yours with an ease that almost felt possessive. You didn’t resist as he led you out of the restaurant, his other hand holding the door open for you.

The moment you reached the car, he opened the passenger door for you and gestured for you to get in. His hand lightly pressed against your back as you slid into the seat, and he closed the door after you, before going around and sliding in smoothly beside you.

“Relax, doll,” he said softly, as he started the car, the engine purring to life. “Let’s get you home.”

As the car sped down the quiet streets, you tried to focus but your thoughts kept spiraling. The money. It was stolen. Ni-ki was a criminal. Everything that had happened—the meal, the expensive gifts, the constant attention—came with a price. And that price was his life, his world. His actions were all tainted by theft, violence, and chaos.

You tried to remind yourself of that, to convince yourself that you should be repulsed. You should feel anger or disgust. But none of it bubbled inside of you.

It didn’t make sense. The pieces didn’t fit. You told yourself over and over again that you should hate Ni-ki, that you should despise the life he led, but each time you tried to convince yourself, you found your resolve crumbling.

Why didn’t that feel like a bigger deal?

His actions were a blatant disregard for everything you stood for, for the world you’d grown up in. He was a criminal. A dangerous one. And yet, as you glanced over at him in the driver's seat, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel disgusted or scared.

Why didn’t I feel any different?

He was using stolen money. He’d manipulated you into situations. And yet, somehow, here you were. And you were no longer asking why it felt wrong—you were too busy asking why it felt right.

When the car came to a stop in front of your building, Ni-ki didn’t waste a second. He stepped out, walking around to open the door for you, his expression unreadable as he gave you a soft nod. You hesitated for a moment, still trying to collect your scattered thoughts, but then you got out of the car, following him up to your place in silence.

When you reached your apartment door, Ni-ki made a soft sound—almost like a chuckle. You turned to look at him, expecting some joke or comment, but he was holding something in his hand.

A ring.

You blinked, confused, your eyes darting between his face and the small, shimmering band he was holding. It looked so familiar. A glint of gold, with a small diamond set in the center.

"What is this?" you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

He eyes darkened slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's the same ring you were eyeing before the robbery. Thought you’d like it."

You stared at him, a mix of emotions bubbling inside you. The same ring? You weren’t sure whether to be shocked or frustrated. But before you could voice any of those feelings, he nudged the ring toward you.

You didn’t move immediately, still processing what was happening. But Ni-ki wasn’t waiting for you to decide. His fingers gently closed around your hand, and before you could protest or pull away, he slipped the ring onto your finger.

You didn’t pull your hand back, though every part of you screamed to. For some reason, it felt... right.

"There," Ni-ki said softly, his voice low and purposeful. "It’s yours now."

You didn’t know what to say. How to respond. All you could do was stare at the ring on your finger. You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Ni-ki watched you, his eyes dark and intent, as you stood frozen, staring at the ring on your finger. He could see your inner turmoil, the hesitation in your eyes. "You know," he began, leaning in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against your ear, "you're really quiet all of a sudden. That’s not like you, doll."

Before you could respond, he tilted your head up by your jaw, his fingers gently but firmly pressing against your skin, forcing your gaze to meet his. You felt your heart race in your chest as he held you there, steady and unyielding, making sure you couldn’t look away.

His other hand slid down, intertwining your fingers with his, his hold tight. You could feel the warmth of his palm against yours, the pressure of his fingers against yours. There was no room to pull away.

He leaned in so close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered softly, "You’re not going to run, are you? Not after all this. Not after everything we've been through."

You felt his other hand slide from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, if that was possible.

Ni-ki's voice softened, his words nearly a purr as they slipped from his lips. "You wouldn’t leave me, would you?" he asked, his fingers trailing down the back of your neck, sending jolts of warmth through your body. His eyes, intense and piercing, never left yours. "After everything we've been through... after all the time I've spent making sure you’re safe, looking after you..."

You couldn’t speak, your chest tight, your mind a blur of confusion and emotions. You were caught—stuck between wanting to run, wanting to get away, and something else... something that made it hard to think, to move.

Ni-ki seemed to sense your hesitation, and he pressed in closer, his lips hovering near yours. "I’ve been patient with you," he murmured, each word carefully measured. "I’ve waited for you to see it, to see that I’m good for you." His voice purred as if coaxing you. "I want to be good to you. You deserve it. I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted."

His other hand gently cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him, and only him. "You’re the biggest treasure in the world, doll," he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And I want you."

Your heart hammered in your chest, and for a moment, you could only stare at him, the shock evident in your eyes. His words felt heavy—almost too heavy to bear.

Could you even run now? Could you really?

You couldn't resist and your gaze landed on his lips.

He caught your gaze, and a smile tugged at his lips, slow and knowing. "Do you want it?" he asked, his voice rough.

You blinked, confusion flickering in your eyes. "What?" you whispered, unsure of what he meant.

Ni-ki didn't answer right away. Instead, he hummed softly, a sound that vibrated deep in his chest, before his hand cupped your face. In one smooth motion, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss so sudden, it stole your breath. His lips were warm, demanding, as he pushed you backward into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

You gasped into the kiss, the suddenness of it sending a wave of heat through you, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you melted into him, your hands reaching up to grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands slid to your waist, holding you firmly, as if he was anchoring you to him.

You didn’t pull away, not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t. You were drawn to him in a way that felt too strong to fight.

Ni-ki’s hands slid to your back, holding you close. You could feel the way his body moved with yours, the way he wanted you, the way he craved your every touch. It was impossible to resist, even though a small part of you tried to.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, his hands roaming over you, pulling you closer as he murmured into the kiss, his voice low.

“You’re the only one for me,” he whispered between kisses, his breath hot against your skin. “Only you. Always you.” His hands slid from your back to your hips, gently guiding you toward the couch. You didn’t resist; instead, you let him pull you down, your body sinking into the soft cushions as he hovered over you.

His lips never left yours, his hands tracing the curves of your body. “I’ll give you anything you want,” he murmured, his words coming in short bursts as his lips moved to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Anything, baby. Just say it.”

You could barely focus on anything but the way his body pressed against yours, his lips were everywhere—your neck, your jawline, your ear. He whispered more sweet words, each one making your heart flutter despite the uncertainty you still felt in the back of your mind.

“I wanted you from the moment I saw you,” Ni-ki confessed, his voice rough, as if he couldn’t control the emotions spilling out of him. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I need.” His lips found yours again, hot and demanding, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process everything that was happening. His words, his touch—they were consuming you, and it felt so good. It felt like nothing mattered but this moment, and it was so easy to get lost in him.

You pulled him back gently, your hands cupping his cheeks, holding him still as you locked eyes with him. His gaze was intense, searching yours.

With a small, teasing smile, you leaned in closer, your voice soft. “Show me how much you want me.”

A slow, pleased grin spread across his face as he closed the space between you. “I’ll show you that, and more,” he whispered, his voice husky with promise.

He slid close, his body pressed against yours as his lips found yours again.

As he kissed you, his words were a low murmur, barely audible against your skin. “I’m yours, doll. And I’ll make sure you see that.”

part 3

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Taglist: @ilyunjina @nshmrarki @laylasbunbunny @kiripimaspillow

@wensurr @immelissaaa @simj4k3 @vegahrid @03sunoos

@hollxe1 @moonpri @cherriesfine @badtzsan @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia

@heeseungbabydoll @wondash

Wanna be in the perm taglist? Lmk <3

[piinksdoll]

→ [Bed Chem | Spencer Reid]

Pairing~ Spencer Reid x Singer!Reader

Genre~ fluff, very suggestive

Word Count~ 2.2k

Warnings~ sexual innuendos, spencer being an awkward cutie

a/n~ very fluffy and cute but also VERY suggestive, and I know some of the lyrics down match up with spence so pls dont hate me also I just used a photo of sab so dont hate me it was just to visualize!!! also NOT PROOFREAD!!!! also I added links to visualize for me people who are visual-izers lol k have fun!

part 1!! part 2!!

(Narrator POV)

Penelope had gathered everyone in her apartment for her usual get-together, but this time, she seemed particularly excited about something. She wouldn’t stop grinning, and none of the team could get a straight answer about what they were about to listen to. Spencer would rather be at home with you, since days that you're in Virginia are scarce, but you insisted he hang out with his friends. He sat in Penelope’s apartment excited for the night to be over so he could return home to you.

“Come on, Babygirl, spill it,” Derek said, giving her an exasperated look. “What’s this surprise? Is it a podcast? Audiobook? Something crime-related?”

“Oh, it's so much better than that!” Penelope said with a mischievous look in her eye. “It’s music! A new artist I’m obsessed with. Her name is Y/n Y/l/n and she's so amazing you’re going to love her! We’re listening to her new album Short n’ Sweet, she only has a performance out for Bed Chem so we’re going to start off with that!”

The fact that she had chosen your album had made Spencer uncharacteristically nervous, and now that Penelope was about to press play on a song about him, his unease was starting to become visible. Spencer stiffened beside Derek, his fingers nervously twitching at his sides. He knew this album very well. Penelope pressed play, and the first beats of ‘Bed Chem’ by you started filling the room. The sultry intro immediately set the tone, and Spencer swallowed hard. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. Of all the songs.

I was in a sheer dress the day that we met

We were both in a rush, we talked for a sec

Your friend hit me up so we could connect

And what are the odds? You sent me a text…

Emily raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ooh, this sounds fun.” JJ nodded along, smiling. “It’s catchy.” But it wasn’t long before the lyrics kicked in, and as Spencer listened to the opening lyrics he recalled how you two met:

Flashback

(Y/n POV)

“Listen, I know I have all these things to do but I just need time ok? The album needs something, I am not at all ready for it to come out. It's literally all just sad, and there needs to be something else apart from it. Nat, please just a few more months and you can release it no matter what- oh my, i'm so sorry that was totally my fault!” I exclaimed seeing coffee spill all over the coat of the stranger in front of me. My phone fell on the ground  between us landing under the books that had slipped from his hand. I look up and am met with big brown eyes that look like chocolate I can just melt in.

The stranger in front of me gasped slightly, looking down at his now coffee-stained coat. "No, no, it's okay!" he reassured me, his voice soft but flustered as he knelt down to gather his fallen books. I crouched quickly, reaching for my phone that had landed just beneath one of his thick textbooks.

“I’m really sorry,” I said again, glancing up at him once again as our hands brushed while reaching for the same book. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I was struck by how gentle his expression was, despite the mess I had made.

He smiled softly, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that made my heart skip a beat. "Really, it's fine," he said, handing me the phone. "Accidents happen." I let out a small, relieved laugh, grateful he wasn’t upset. “I’ll buy you a new coat or at least pay for the dry cleaning. Seriously, I’m-”

“You don’t have to do that,” he interrupted, standing up and shaking his head. “It’s just coffee. I can clean it up.” I straightened, still feeling embarrassed. “At least let me buy you a coffee. You know, to replace the one I spilled.” I offered, hoping to make up for my clumsiness. He looked at me for a moment, considering it, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Alright. But only if you’ll let me grab a seat and hear why you’re so stressed out.” He motioned towards the phone I had been mid-conversation with when we collided. I blinked, surprised by his easy going nature. "Deal," I said, smiling cheekily up at him “But, uh... I didn’t catch your name.” He extended a hand. "Spencer. Spencer Reid."

I shook his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch as I introduced myself. “Nice to meet you, Spencer. I'm Y/n.”

Flashback Over

And now the next thing I know, I'm like

Manifest that you're oversized

I digress, got me scrollin' like 

Out of breath, got me goin' like

Who's the cute boy with the white jacket and the thick accent? Like

Ooh, maybe it's all in my head

But I bet we'd have really good bed chem

Spencer’s stomach dropped as the next set of lyrics filled the room. Penelope was still humming along, enjoying the vibe of the song, completely oblivious to the growing nervousness inside of him.“‘Manifest that you're oversized... Out of breath, got me goin' like...’” Penelope sang along under her breath. She glanced over at Spencer and caught him staring at the floor, his body stiff. 

“Oh, this one’s so good! It’s got that flirty energy.” Derek laughed. “It’s catchy, for sure. I wonder who the song is about though?” He grinned, “Bet the dude is feelin’ pretty lucky.” Spencer's breath hitched as the chorus started

How you pick me up, pull me down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense

How you talk so sweet when you're doin' bad things, that's bed (bed) chem (chem) 

How you're lookin' at me, yeah, I know what that means and I'm obsessed 

Are you free next week? I'd bet we'd have really good

Spencer’s mind was racing as the sound of your voice fills the room. He knew everyone was at ease and him being stiff and sweating was putting a spotlight on him. Emily let out a low chuckle as the suggestive lyrics played. “This girl is something else. I don’t know who she’s singing about, but they must be good.” She raised an eyebrow, half-joking, but Spencer could feel his heart racing.

Come right on me I mean, camaraderie 

Said you're not in my timezone, but you wanna be 

Where art thou? Why not uponeth me? 

See it in my mind, let's fulfil the prophecy Ooh (ah) 

He takes in a sharp breath at the racy lyrics. His pulse quickened, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The team continued to listen, oblivious to the internal panic flooding his body. Each line felt more like a spotlight aimed directly at him. Derek let out a low whistle, eyebrows raising at the suggestive turn in the song. “Damn. This song is getting real interesting.” He laughed at Spencer’s uncomfortable state, completely unaware of the significance behind it.

JJ chuckled, swaying her head to the beat. “I love how bold she is! Whoever this song is about… they are very lucky.” Spencer’s hands gripped the edge of his seat, his face heating up. He could feel Emily’s eyes subtly watching him from across the room. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure this.

Who's the cute guy with the wide, brown eyes and the big bad, mmm, like? 

Ooh (ah) I know it sound a bit redundant 

But I bet we'd have really good bed chem

As the song ended Spencer let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding in, thankful that the song was over. “What's up, pretty boy? Couldn't handle a pretty girl singing bout bad things?” Derek teased him, throwing an arm around his shoulders, his grin wide. As he was about to respond his phone rang, Spencer’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest when his phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with your name and contact photo, one of you smiling brightly. The entire team froze, their eyes slowly shifting from the phone to Spencer, then back to the phone.

Derek’s grin widened even more, his teasing now taking on a new level. “Well, well, well… Look who it is.” he said, still keeping his arm draped over Spencer’s shoulder. “Is this the mystery girl you've been so secretive about these past few months?” Penelope's eyes widened in excitement. “Oh my gosh, Spencer! Are you going to answer? You have to answer.” JJ leaned in closer, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “This explains a lot, actually,” she said, glancing from Spencer to the phone, Emily finished her sentence. “Especially that song.” Spencer shook his head trying to hide his blush as he answered the phone.

“Hey Y/n”

‘Hey lover, you havin fun?’

“Yeah, uh, the night took an interesting turn…”

‘Oh? How so?’

“Yeah, uh so Penelope invited us over and turns out it was a listening party… for your album…”

‘Oh- that hilarious oh my’

“Yeah and they just heard Bed Chem and they saw you called me…”

‘Oh my- HAHA thats so funny whattt’

“Yeah, they wanna meet you now.”

‘Well good because I've been wanting to meet them! Can you finally introduce us?’

“Alright well I guess it’s time. You're my person, I want you to meet my family.”

‘Well I can't wait. What about you invite them to my concert next weekend in DC and we can go to dinner afterwards?’

“Sounds perfect, like you, I'll see you at home I love you.”

‘Love you too. See ya lover’

Spencer returned to the group after hanging up, slipping his phone into his pocket. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but the warmth from your call still lingered on his face. As he sat down, the team was waiting for him, grins plastered across their faces, eyes twinkling with mischief. Derek was the first to break the silence, leaning in with a smirk. “So, pretty boy, you and Y/n Y/l/n, huh? Sounds like she’s got you all wrapped up in that album.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the others, who were clearly holding back their laughter. “I didn’t know we were having a listening party,” he mumbled, trying to divert the attention. “Didn’t know? Or didn’t plan on being exposed?” Emily teased, raising an eyebrow. Penelope gasped dramatically, clutching her heart. “I mean, Spencer Reid as a muse for a song about that? Honestly, I’m living for this.” Spencer’s face flushed deep red. “It’s not exactly like that-”

“Oh, come on, Spence!” JJ finally chimed in, laughing. “Even you have to admit it’s a little funny.” Spencer looked down at his hands, a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Okay... maybe it’s a little funny.” The team erupted into laughter, the tension in the air easing as they continued to tease him, but in a much lighter, more affectionate way. “You really had us going there, man,” Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Didn’t expect you two.”

Spencer sighed, still smiling despite the embarrassment. “I didn’t expect it either... but, you know, I’m really lucky to have her.”

“And clearly, she’s lucky to have you, too,” Emily added, her teasing softening into something more sincere. “You two make a great pair.” Spencer looked up at her, grateful for her words. “Thanks, Emily.”

“She uh, invited all of you to her concert next week and dinner afterwards so you guys can finally meet.” A mix of excitement and nervousness in his voice. “She's been asking for a while but I've been nervous but she's really important to me. I really love her, you guys, and youre my family. It's time for you guys to meet.” He nodded sincerely. 

Penelope was the first to speak, “Oh my god, yes please I wasn’t able to get tickets that amazing! And I cannot wait to meet her!” Her voice was laced with excitement. JJ smiled brightly, nudging Spencer’s shoulder playfully. “Look at you! Having a secret girlfriend. I love it. I’m so happy for you, Spencer!” Emily beamed, her gaze softening. “You two sound like a perfect match. I can’t wait to meet her. It’s about time you brought someone special around.” Derek raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin forming on his lips. “So, what are you saying, Reid? Are you going to introduce us to your girlfriend or what? Does she have any friends for me?” Spencer rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “I am not setting you up, but I know you’ll love her. She’s the sweetest person ever. Just be nice, okay?” 

“I can’t make any promises,” Derek joked, chuckling. “Seriously, though,” Emily said, her tone turning more sincere. “We��re really happy for you, Spence. It’s great to see you so happy.” He nodded, his heart swelling with affection for you and gratitude for his friends. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it.”

The conversation continued, filled with excitement and anticipation for the upcoming concert. As the banter resumed, Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling of joy bubbling within him. He knew that sharing this part of his life with his team was important, and he couldn’t wait for you to meet the people who meant so much to him. Later that evening, as he headed home, he found himself smiling at the thought of seeing you. He couldn't wait to show you how much he cared about you and how much he wanted you to be a part of his world.

[aceof-stars]

One thing I love about Miles Edgeworth is how realistic and practical he is, more than he is moralistic. As much as Miles cares about justice and doing what he thinks is right, he’s not fueled by belief the same way, for example, Phoenix is. And this is one of the things I feel like gets ignored or brushed aside when Miles's character is softened too much.

Both pre and post redemption, Miles puts a lot of emphasis on reality and the bottom line of what people can do in a situation.

In Turnabout Goodbyes, the first thing Edgeworth says in response to Phoenix asking him why he became a prosecutor instead of a defense attorney is: "… I couldn't let myself deny reality like you."

He also doesn't truly believe that every defendant he prosecutes is guilty, contrary to popular belief. In Turnabout Sisters, he says this: ""Innocent"…? How can we know that? The guilty will always lie, to avoid being found out. There's no way to tell who is guilty and who is innocent! All that I can hope to do is get every defendant declared "guilty"! So I make that my policy." Miles is disillusioned with finding the truth and trusting people that he settles for doing all he can hope to do.

And when you think about it, his motivation of finding the truth is an extension of his realism. After all, the truth is quite literally the most objective, realistic thing ever. In 1-3, after helping Phoenix convict Dee Vasquez, he says: "Will Powers was innocent. That he should be found so is only natural… not a miracle." The truth as a motivation is probably a grounding force for him.

When Miles comes back in Farewell My Turnabout, he calls out Phoenix's flawed motivations for becoming a defense attorney by offering realism: "We aren't some sort of heroes. We're only human, you and I. You want to "save someone"? That's something easier said than done, wouldn't you say? You are a defense lawyer. You can't run away from that. You can only fight. That's all you can do." Miles isn't saying Phoenix can't "save someone". Miles is saying that Phoenix shouldn't be so focused on saving someone that he forgets that his job as a defense attorney is only to fight for them.

Side note, I love the way Miles comforts people, he isn't exactly "nice" but he's incredibly kind. His blunt honesty digs at the heart of the matter, and he gives them an extra push because he respects them enough.

And then there's, possibly, my favorite Miles Edgeworth line: "It doesn't matter how many underhanded tricks a person uses… The truth will always find a way to make itself known. The only thing we can do is to fight with the knowledge we hold and everything we have. Erasing the paradoxes one by one… It's never easy… We claw and scratch for every inch. But we will always eventually reach that one single truth. This I promise you." This directly parallels the line he says in 1-2, and it makes me emotional every time I think about it.

The fact that Miles Edgeworth never lost his unwavering realism, in both quotes he acknowledges how untrustworthy people can be, but gained a new purpose.