#I held off about posting about it for reasons…

[verycoolusername1]

Maybe It Was Fate

Summary: During the 'hughesbowl' as fans may call it, you are caught in a trance that is Quinn Hughes... unaware that he is your coworkers' oldest brother.

Quinn Hughes x photographer!reader

A/N: I was debating whether to make this nico or quinn as the love interest and Quinn won in the end(nico does have a cameo however)- This was also supposed to be posted the day of the hughesbowl, but stuff came up so here it is now!!

AND I'M CHANGING THE SCORE IN THIS BECAUSE WHATEVER HAPPENED ON OCTOBER 30TH, 2024 DID NOT HAPPEN WHATSOEVER

It's a shock to you that you work with professional athletes, considering you hated sports as a kid. Even now, you still don't know what's going on in hockey. With the players too fast around you, it's hard to keep your eye on one player.

It was the 3rd period, the score being 5-3, the Canucks slowly but surely catching up.

You held your camera in hand, watching the big screen to keep focus... that was until someone catched your eye. You couldn't see his last name, only his face and man was he pretty.

He had green eyes flickered like sunlight within the leaves as he looked up. You could run your hand through his brown locks for days if given the chance.

You shook your head, he was most likely a player on and off the ice. You knew that without a doubt, knowing all about Jack's relationship with women(due to being best friends) but you couldn't help but wonder, would it be different with him?

The fans becoming louder as the game came to a close, the devils capturing the win. You snapped your camera a couple of times towards the devils and secretly took more of the mystery man.

You turned your camera off and it held loosely around your neck as you waited outside the locker room, waiting for Jack to take you home.

You had your back towards the door as you flickered through the photos that you took, your cheeks heating up when you saw the man again. He has a 43 just like Luke but you didn't think anything of it, players share the same numbers all the time. It was just a mere coincidence, right?

"You got all my good sides right?" Jack asked, you quickly turned the camera off.

"Jesus Jack, warn me next time gosh." You hit him on the shoulder.

He only shrugged in response. "Can't really text in the locker room."

You rolled your eyes. "You're actually an idiot."

"Only act like it to make you look smart." He muttered under his breath.

"And what are you two arguing about now?" Luke approached the two of you.

"They called me an idiot!" Jack exclaimed.

"They must have been reasonable to do so." Nico chuckled as he walked past you three. "Don't kill eachother please!"

"Make no promises cap!" You snapped a photo as he looked back at you with a smile.

"Oh Y/N! We want you to meet someone." Luke began to drag your arm in the other direction.

"And before you groan out a half assed reply, I think you'll really like him." Jack added.

You were now beginning to regret telling Jack that you wished you could put yourself out there again considering you haven't been on a date in two months due to your conflicting schedule.

"Do you two know him or-" You looked between the two of them.

"Oh yeah we do." Jack answered. "Very well."

"What does that even mean?" You narrowed your eyes at him, Jack chuckles in reply.

"Trust me, you'll like him." Luke eased your worries.

You finally stopped and Luke dropped your hand as you realized.

"He plays for the canucks? They just lost tonight. I'm sure the last thing he would want to do is go on a date with someone that works for the devils." You explained.

"Well he likes us and we play for the devils sooooooooo you'll brighten up his mood. Ha get it cause you're a photographer and the camera flashes." Jack stopped explaining the joke when he was met with your stern face.

Luke cleared his throat. "There he is now."

You snapped your eyes to the door and realized that was the man that took your breath away moments before just as he is doing now.

"Y/N this is Quinn, our brother. Quinn this is Y/N, the person we've been telling you about." Jack introduced the two of you.

"Brother? He's your brother?!? You guys never told me you had a brother!" You made a mental note to swear at Jack later, with no audience.

"Oops?" Luke giggled. "See Quinn, look they're a photographer. Show them some photos you took tonight." He encouraged.

You quickly shook your head. "No I couldn't possibly do that, I-I mean I still have to edit them and wait..." You looked down to your neck strap and saw that your camera was gone and in Jack's hands.

All three hughes brothers looking at the photos.

"Wait no!" You exclaimed but it was already too late you assumed, Jack was looking at you with a knowing look while Luke and Quinn were shocked.

"How come he gets all his good angles and I don't even one photo?" Luke asked you, in a mocking tone.

"I was distracted," You looked away, embarrassed.

"Yeah because you were too busy looking at our brother." Jack remarked, jokingly.

You rolled your eyes. "I didn't know he was your guys brother."

"I think these look nice, thank you." Quinn finally spoke, looking you in the eyes.

"Oh um you welcome. It's nothing really, it's just kind of my job." You shrugged.

"Then you most definitely picked the right career choice." He smiled softly at you.

Jack and Luke were nowhere to be seen, seemly left the two of you alone for a while.

Your face flushed at his words, he held the camera in his hands handing it out for you.

"You're gonna need this to edit all those photos of me." He joked.

"And I'm gonna need your number to send you all those photos." You held the camera and its neck strap, putting it in your bag.

"Well that was bold, Y/N." He chuckled not nonetheless gave you his phone so you can type out your number, he sent you a quick text.

"It was nice meeting you Quinn, it's getting late. I would head home but Jack seemed to have disappeared." You looked around.

"I can take you home." He offered. "He obviously went to the bar with the team."

You looked up at him and smiled. "I would like that."

[z0mbiezbite]

Modern Dedication (Draft)

Yandere Gotham x M!reader

Warning: these fanfic are gonna be for freaks by freaks. Also bad spelling and punctuation - this was posted for I can weed out anything unnecessary.

(Y/n) pulled a pack of Marlboros from inside his suit pocket. “Cigarette?”

A person was by his desk with a body of a battle axe and a cape that pools like a melted candle - Batman. chitty chitty bang bang, Batman. “The Joker, where is he?

(Y/n) struck the cigarette in his mouth, disinterested, “I’m not his keeper, babes.”

“A week before he escapes, the only outgoing mail he sends is addressed to you.” He said, and threw a stack of letters on (Y/n)’s desk - unintelligible and informal.

It was hardly evidence of anything. It only stressed that (Y/n) is one of the few who put up with the Joker’s insanity and Batman knew it. He had a sinking suspicion, Vengeance came for a different reason.

Quite foolishly, (Y/n) asked “Is a client not allowed to talk to their lawyer?” As his cigarette smoke blew over his shoulders like a locomotive.

"Your client is about to commit a crime. Legal confidentiality doesn’t protect you here.” Of course like all things that had to do with the Joker, the letters were incriminating.

Resigning himself, (Y/n) crossed his legs and pinched the bridge of his nose, “And you want me to...”

“Find him. He responds to you.” His voice held a slightly accusatory tone.

“Gross. Why’d you phrase it like that?”

“(Y/n).” Batman studied him with steal eyebrow only given to seasoned detectives. (Y/n) could practically feel Batman’s palpating anger.

Truthfully, (Y/n) didn’t find his particular reason a big deal, people die everyday whether from a stroke or strangulation from a clown. However, he knew Batman roughly cared and that was enough to throw a dog a bone.

“Alright, Alright.” (Y/n) held up a conciliatory palm. He reached for a pen in a cup on his desk and wrote laboriously on a note sheet; 50 W 33rd St. The ink was still wet and the hand writing, masculine.

He gave the note to Batman. “It’s a strip club” (Y/n) said “He goes there sometimes to blow off steam.”

(Y/n) unceremoniously tacked on, “You’ll like it there. They have big chested hard bodies that you can bury yourself in.”

Rather violently, Batman fisted his tuxedo in his hands. (Y/n) could hear his chair crackle underneath the weight. “You’re revolting. People are going to die.”

(Y/n) tried to animate his face in symphony. “Like that shit heel, Jason, did?”

That seemed to get him. Batman lunged his fist forward so hard and fast, (Y/n) felt his broad latex knuckles hit the back of his brain. His head dipped in a thunderbolt of pain with his broken nose and busted lip and a fury on his tongue,

“Fuck! You ass-“

(Y/n)’s frenzied sentence cut off jaggedly as Batman knuckled deep into his lapel once more and smashed their lips together in a ferocity that always seemed to always catch (Y/n) off guard.

Batman has always been restrained and aloof, a caution that comes with being vigilante. But now, from this close, (Y/n) could see the way Batman’s muscles worked, the flex of his shoulders - not out of shyness nor shame, but desire that only his skin could keep inside.

When they parted with hot and heavy breath, Batman, acutely missing (Y/n)’s cocaine tint tongue, said, “You owe it to me to find him.”

And, (Y/n), utterly dazed, licked his bloodied lip and said “You know how to keep a man wanting, bats.” then dipped his head in for another kiss.

The way Batman’s tongue lapped at the sliced skin of his bruised lip - (Y/n) knew he was a man possessed.

[newtkelly]

Not to word vomit on you but I can't stop thinking about Oliver wanting a love story like Tarlos and how it all accidentally lined up.

Knowing that Carlos and TK were about to move in, and then Carlos made that romantic gesture and TK got scared because it was, "too good to be true."

Carlos is left, confused, puzzled and nursing a broken-heart but still just as in love. What do you mean that TK and Carlos saw a future together, one got scared at that prospect and left before Carlos was the one to leave??

What do you mean that happened after Oliver said he wanted Bucktommy to have a love story like Tarlos; where it was always going to be them?

Then you consider Oliver saying that we might see Tommy and Buck interact during a call and it'll be awkward and who can't help but think of TK and Carlos running into the furniture store and seeing each other for the first time in weeks.

Anyways, sorry to be delusional in your ask box. I'm deep within the Tarlos trenches so this is all starting to look eerily familiar lmao (it could also be Tim is out of ideas, which is most likely the case)

Please feel free to word vomit on me always, I live for it.

Receiving this ask has actually prompted me to share some thoughts that I’ve held back from sharing, just because I wasn’t sure if it was worth it to throw more speculation into the void. But this message is so lovely, and I agree with it so much and so… okay I will share some of my mixed bag of thoughts about this whole situation.

Firstly, I adore Tarlos and LS (even if I don’t post about either much), TK is my baby, and the interesting thing about them for me is that I wound up caring for them more AFTER they broke up and got back together. If Buck and Tommy’s story is formatted as a rom-com, TK and Carlos are a tragicomedy. TK, the heartbroken recovering addict thrust into an entirely new city, a new career, who doesn’t want to let himself get too close to something good because he is misery incarnate. Carlos, the hopeful hopeless romantic who sees TK and doesn’t see something that needs fixing, but someone who his love could help heal. It’s such a gorgeous story, and the symmetry of both characters shockingly losing a parent in a tragic way is painfully beautiful. I LOVE their love story.

That brings me to Oliver and Tim’s comments. Throughout the Buck and Tommy relationship, my belief that this would be Buck’s final relationship only ever wavered twice. The first time was in the immediate aftermath of their first date (I spent the whole episode thinking that Tommy was actually reintroduced to kick off the bi awakening plotline and Buck was not acquiring a boyfriend) and the second time was towards the tail end of the summer hiatus when I legitimately began to doubt Lou would want to come back given everything that transpired. Other than that, I had full faith that this was it, this was Buck getting off the “hamster wheel”—Tim’s words, not mine.

I had confidence for a few reasons. 1 – the story was always handled with care onscreen and gave us no reason to think they weren’t going to work out. 2 – the chemistry was insane, and I knew it couldn’t just be me because an entire fandom was born. Tim and tptb must have seen what we saw. 3 – the supplementary information funneled to us through articles and Tim’s social media, literally up until post-8x06 never seemed to indicate that their relationship was headed in this direction. A big part of that was the comparison to Tarlos.

In order to protect myself (should I name the list of shows, movies, couples that I’ve fixated on that wound up playing out in dissatisfying ways?), I am awfully pessimistic. The post-episode interviews, articles, + hearing a bit from LFJ and OS has me wondering if this was some mass hallucination. Did we truly cling to something good and blow it up, run with it? Was this always the plan? I’ve wondered if because S7 was so short and S8 required that other characters get the spotlight first/other stories needed to be told and wrapped, and if because of production and scheduling and whatever external reasons, did their relationship wind up having a longer life than was ever intended. Were they ever supposed to make it to six months? Were they ever supposed to make it past the fucking wedding? I have been asking myself this stuff a lot. Alternatively, did something happen that made them want to or have to part ways with LFJ? So many questions, and I’m not sure we’ll ever know.

But… then there’s the delusional side of me, and the reason I haven’t totally abandoned hope is because when I was watching 8x06 live, EVERYTHING in me told me that this is a necessary section of the rom-com formula. Even the call-backs throughout the episode made me feel like the writers are so painfully aware, and that the narrative wants these characters to be together (Miceli’s, Abby, basketball, going to the movies, calling an uber, the loft kitchen, “you’re not ready”)—the motifs were absolutely popping off. I did not think it was the end when the episode ended. I wondered when and how they would find their way back to each other to fulfill the rom-com genre, but what I did NOT expect was to open social media and see articles framing this as the end. I wasn’t surprised when I found out who wrote the articles, and listen—if they bait one side of the fandom, can’t they bait the other? I still have some hope, because at the end of the day, anything can happen with network television. Maybe this is all part of the plan, and the interviews should be taken with a grain of salt. I just don’t know.

Interviews with Tim and Oliver from day one positioned the Buck and Tommy relationship as a queer love story devoid of trauma. Okay, well… huh. From where I was sitting, there was A TON of explicitly queer trauma exposed in 8x06. Their “hurdle” is tied utterly and completely to queerness. Tommy runs because he is a gay man who doesn’t trust that his bisexual boyfriend should “settle” for him, and who would rather be alone than heartbroken, and if that truly is the last of Tommy, it has to be one of the coldest and cruelest exits we’ve ever seen on this show. Do they simply not realize how deeply traumatized both characters come off in that episode, or is it all part of the plan? If the interviews positioning this as the permanent end of bucktommy should be taken at face value, shouldn’t the other interviews that position them as a rom-com (with the formulaic third act breakup, boils and all) be taken as the truth as well? If there was some misinterpretation, why hasn’t Tim said anything—he clearly knows a lot of fans were hurt by what they watched. He must have seen the outrage—why radio silence? Did we truly blow this out of proportion? Are the wheels coming off behind the scenes? I need a tell-all at this point lol

Thank you for the lovely ask, I’ve been sitting with these thoughts all week so this was a good excuse to finally articulate them. <3

[jetii]

By Your Name

Pairing: Wrecker x fem!Reader / Wrecker x Jedi!Reader

Words: 11,228/18,183

Tags/Warnings: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, forbidden romance, unrequited feelings, love confessions, some kissing and heavy petting, smut in part 2

Summary: Ever since you were assigned to the squad, Wrecker has delighted in calling you pet names in Mando'a — an'edee, cyar'ika, mesh'la, the list goes on. Little does he know, you understand every single one of them, and it's starting to become a problem.

A/N: I wrote this months ago and got around to editing it recently and whoa, was not prepared for the sad. Sorry about that! This is mostly self-contained to part one, with part two being purely a smut add-on for my own amusement. I'll post that next week.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

You hit the ground hard, skidding to a stop face down in the dirt, your whole body aching. The ringing in your ears slowly subsides, and the sounds of battle come back in bits and pieces. The roar of blasterfire, the clatter of droids and metal feet, and crunch of tanks rolling over rubble. You groan and turn yourself over onto your back, coughing and trying to get the taste of dirt out of your mouth, just in time to see a droid bearing down on you, cannon aimed.

You try to move, but you’re completely winded. Your lightsaber was thrown from your grasp when you were sent flying, and it lay several feet away, taunting you with the idea of your own survival. You close your eyes and prepare for the worst, waiting for the searing pain of a laser bolt tearing through you

There’s the sound of metal tearing as a large hand grips the droid’s head and rips it clean off its neck, and your eyes fly open as the metal body falls to the ground in a clatter of lifeless metal, its head still in the hands of your savior.

You look up and meet Wrecker’s eyes, and he pushes his helmet up with the back of his hand to offer you a toothy grin, the droid head held aloft in the other. The relief at seeing him alive and well washes over you like a tide, and you can only manage a weak smile back, your ribs smarting from the impact of your fall.

"That was a close one!" he says, tossing the head away like a child throwing a ball for a dog. It pings off the chest of a droid advancing on the pair of you, sending the metal soldier careening backwards.

"A little too close for my liking," you wheeze, and you take his offered hand. Wrecker pulls you to your feet with ease, the motion tugging you close to his chest, and his arm wraps around you to steady you.

“You okay, cyar’ika?” he shouts over the sound of another tank exploding, a cloud of debris flying up and raining down around you in a shower of dust and smoke. You nod, the movement stiff and stilted, and you pray he doesn’t notice the flush on your cheeks at the use of that Mando'a word.

And that's the problem, isn't it? Cyar’ika, sarad, mesh’la, all the words he said to you in his native tongue, thinking you wouldn't know the difference. It made your heart race and your head spin, and the fact that you understood exactly what they meant only made it worse. It was like a secret between you two, one you weren't supposed to know.

The words made your heart do cartwheels, but the tone he said them in?

That was what was really going to kill you.

The soft way he said the words, the gentle, affectionate way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the way his hand seemed to linger on your shoulder after pulling you back up from a fall, the way his smile made your knees weak... It all came together to paint a picture of how Wrecker felt. It was a picture that made your face feel warm and your throat dry, and it was one that was starting to drive you crazy.

It also drove you to distraction, so much so that you hadn't even noticed the AAT firing at you until you were flying through the air.

And now you're here, in Wrecker's arms, your heart beating fast for more than one reason. You take a moment to gather yourself before stepping back, Wrecker's arm falling reluctantly from around your shoulders, and you give him a grin that's a little stronger this time.

"I'm alright, thank you!" you shout back. "We need to stop that tank!"

Wrecker nods, and the two of you turn to face the massive tank, which was slowly making its way through the city, demolishing everything in its path. The cannons swivel back and forth, destroying a building to your right, then to the left, then forward.

You call your lightsaber back into your hand, and it flies past Wrecker's head into your awaiting palm. You ignite the blade and glance at him, and he grins and cracks his knuckles before slamming his helmet back onto his head.

"Ready, cyare?"

Your breath catches in your throat. It wasn't the word you thought he'd use, but the endearment has the same effect. He doesn't seem to realize what he's said, and you decide not to bring it up.

You can think about it later. For now, you had a droid army to stop.

"Ready," you murmur.

Wrecker holds his hand out to the side, bowing his head in a courtly gesture. "After you."

You roll your eyes and step past him, and you feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your neck.

"Keep up, then."

It doesn’t get any easier.

You try your best not to let it affect your performance. You focus on the missions, on keeping your men safe, but Wrecker is always there, with a compliment or a gentle touch, and the feelings grow until they threaten to burst from your chest.

He does everything in his power to make you laugh, and every time he does, your stomach feels like it's doing backflips. He calls you pet names and winks at you, and your knees get weak. He smiles at you, and the world seems to get brighter.

He does everything he can to protect you, and you find yourself falling for him, hard.

And you can't let it show.

So you ignore the feeling, try to bury it deep inside, but you can feel it growing, day by day.

You have never wanted to tell someone how you feel so much, and yet you are absolutely terrified to do it. It's almost funny, really. You’ve stared down the barrel of a blaster a hundred times, fought dozens of battles, and yet this one man is the only one who can make your heart race.

But there's a difference. With the other things, you could always fight back, try to fix the situation. But how can you fight against feelings? How can you stop yourself from falling in love with the most wonderful person you've ever met?

You can't, and you know it.

Every night, you think about telling him, but every morning, the fear stops you. In the light of day, the idea of a Jedi and a clone being together is ridiculous. It's impossible, and you can't risk your career and his life for something so foolish. So, each time, you say nothing, and the words go unsaid, lingering between the two of you, a heavy weight that seems to follow wherever you go.

You try your hardest not to think about it, but it's like a constant buzzing, an annoying insect that's always in your ear, always nipping at your thoughts, always reminding you of something you don't want to deal with. It's dangerous, and distracting, and it makes you worry that someday, someone will find out.

And that's the most terrifying thing of all.

If the Council ever discovered what was going on between you, they would have no choice but to separate the two of you. The thought of never seeing him again fills you with a deep dread, and the knowledge that it could happen at any time drives you crazy.

Every time the thought comes to the forefront of your mind, you try to push it away, and the effort has become a daily struggle. The others have noticed your preoccupation, and have done their best to cheer you up, but even their good-natured attempts have become frustrating, the reminders of what you were trying not to think about grating on your nerves.

The only person who doesn't seem to notice is Wrecker.

It's ironic, really. It's Wrecker who causes all the trouble, and it's him who's oblivious to it. He doesn't know the effect his words have on you, and if he does, he doesn't acknowledge it.  Instead, he seems to be more affectionate, more playful, more himself than ever, and the more you try to push away your feelings, the harder they come crashing back.

It's like being caught in a riptide, unable to stop yourself from being pulled farther and farther out, no matter how much you struggle. You wish he would stop, wish he would just back off and let you think, but a part of you doesn't want him to. A part of you wants this, wants him, and it's slowly consuming the rest of you.

The only thing that keeps you sane is the knowledge that you will have to return to Coruscant soon, and that when you do, you can go back to the Order, and put the distance between you that you sorely need.

You can't hide anything from the Council. The Force is your ally and enemy, and it shows you exactly how they would react if they ever found out about you and Wrecker.

Dismissal. Disapproval. Disdain.

All things you're not ready to face, and the sooner you're separated, the better. That thought, the idea that you won't have to see Wrecker every day, helps to soothe your anxiety, and, despite the guilt and sadness it brings, you look forward to the mission ending.

The sooner you can distance yourself from him, the easier it will be.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

You have no idea how wrong you are.

The tunnel network on Akiva is a mess, a winding labyrinth of tunnels and dead ends. The six of you have been trying to navigate them for hours now, and it's starting to take its toll. You've lost the trail of the tactical droid you're hunting multiple times, only to pick it up again an hour later. Your patience is wearing thin, and the squad is getting restless. You're all tired and hungry, and the dim, flickering lights of the tunnels are giving you a headache.

"How many turns have we made?" Crosshair asks, his voice echoing in the narrow tunnel. He's leading the pack with Hunter, whose trying his best to keep up with the trail, though it's growing colder by the minute.

"I...have lost count," Tech admits bitterly, squinting at the holographic map of the tunnels displayed on his datapad. "Perhaps we should have split up, that would have made the task—"

"Not happening," Wrecker cuts in, his voice firm.

"I wasn't finished," Tech snaps.

"Yeah, but you were gonna suggest splitting up," Wrecker says, "and that ain't gonna happen. We're all staying together."

"Tech, if we split up, we might lose each other," Hunter adds, his voice strained as he concentrates. "This trail is difficult enough to follow as it is. I don't need the distraction of trying to find a missing man on top of it."

Tech opens his mouth to reply, but stops when he catches your eye, and you give him a subtle shake of your head. He sighs and nods, looking back down at his datapad. "As always, the logical course of action is the least popular," he mutters.

Hunter snorts, but says nothing, and you and the rest of the group continue down the tunnel. You trail behind the group, trying to keep your frustration in check, when you suddenly feel a presence behind you, and you glance back to see Wrecker fall into step next to you, a small smile on his face.

"Hey," he says softly, and you can't help but return the expression. You realize what you're doing and try to school your features, but the damage is already done, and Wrecker's smile widens.

"Hi," you murmur.

"You holding up okay?" he asks.

You nod, the movement stiff. "I'm fine."

"You sure? Cause you look like you're ready to kill someone."

You grimace and glance ahead, where the others were slowly disappearing from view, and you lower your voice. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day."

"Ain't that the truth," Wrecker mutters.

"This is a mess," you sigh, glancing around the cramped, dimly lit tunnel. "We're not gonna find anything at this rate."

He shrugs, and his elbow nudges yours gently. "It'll be alright, cyar'ika. We'll find him."

The affectionate word is like a bucket of cold water thrown over your head, and your heart skips a beat. You swallow hard, and nod, hoping he can't see the flush on your cheeks.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Cause we're the best there is," Wrecker says. His arm brushes yours as the pair of you walk, and his fingers bump yours. He pulls his hand back quickly, but not before his fingertips brush against the back of your hand, and you can't suppress the shiver that runs through you. "And we have the best General in the galaxy."

"Stop," you groan, the tips of your ears burning. "I'm not the best. I've gotten us lost three times today, Wrecker. Three. If I was a better General, I would have found this stupid droid by now."

"Hey," he murmurs. "It's not your fault."

You keep your eyes on the ground, but his hand comes up and his fingers brush the back of yours. Your hand twitches, but you don't move, and his thumb runs gently over the back of your hand. You're too distracted by his touch to notice that the group had stopped walking, and it's only when Hunter speaks that you snap back to reality.

"Guys, we've got a problem."

You and Wrecker stop short, and you pull your hand from his quickly, ignoring the way his face falls. You glance up and see the other clones gathered around the entrance to a large cavern, their backs turned to you.

"What's wrong?"

Crosshair steps aside to allow you to join the group, and his eyebrow arches as his eyes flicker between you and Wrecker, a smirk crossing his face. You pointedly ignore him, and he shakes his head before returning his attention to the task at hand.

"Dead end," Hunter says.

"I don't understand," Tech murmurs. He steps forward to scan the walls and floor of the cavern with his datapad, and Echo peers over his shoulder. "According to the map, this tunnel should continue on, not stop at a room."

"Well, clearly it does," Crosshair snarks as he moves past you into the cavern. "Or are we supposed to climb the wall?"

"The structural integrity of these walls is poor," Tech replies. "Climbing would only serve to bring the ceiling down upon us."

"Then how are we supposed to get through?" Echo asks, and you bite your lip, the wheels turning in your mind.

Crosshair's flashlight pans over the walls and floor, illuminating the room, and it's then that you see the marks in the dirt. Footprints, dozens of them, some large, some small. Hunter crouches down and brushes the prints, and he frowns and pulls his glove off, running his fingers along the floor.

"These are fresh," he murmurs.

"So are these," Echo says. He and Crosshair are crouched by the far wall, examining a patch of disturbed dirt. You move to take a step forward when a chill runs up your spine, and you freeze, the hairs on the back of your neck rising.

Something is wrong.

You feel it, the air becoming thick with danger. Your muscles tense, your hands clenching at your sides, and the others must sense it, too. They rise to their feet and turn to you, their weapons ready, and the only sound is the distant dripping of water and the soft whirring of Tech's datapad.

"What is it?" Hunter whispers, his voice barely audible, but you can't answer. Your eyes dart around the cavern, searching for the threat. There's no cover in the room, nowhere to hide, and it's making your skin crawl.

"I don't know," you whisper back.

Suddenly, the ground beneath your feet starts to sha, and the men shout in alarm as the shaking gets worse. Dust falls from the ceiling, and you scramble backwards, trying not to fall as the walls start to crumble.

"Go! Go!" Hunter shouts, and the group bolts for the tunnel. You trip on a stone, and the ground cracks and splits open, swallowing the rocks whole. Wrecker grabs you and pulls you to your feet, and the pair of you race after the others, the cavern falling apart around you.

"This isn't natural!" Tech shouts, and he ducks as a rock flies towards him, missing him by inches. "The droid must have set charges!"

"Doesn't matter! Just keep moving!" Hunter yells.

There's a loud roar, and the ceiling comes crashing down. You barely have time to throw up your hands before the weight of the cave-in hits you, and your arms tremble with the effort of holding it up. Ahead of you, the others shout, but the dust and rocks muffle the sound. Your knees buckle, and the rubble starts to push down on you, your back bowing.

No, no, no, no...

The rocks shift, and your hands slip, and the ceiling starts to come down again, and all you can think is that you're not ready, not ready, not ready—

There's a flash of black, and suddenly Wrecker is diving towards you, his arms wrapping around your waist, and the two of you are thrown to the side, out of the way of the falling rocks. He wraps himself around you, his broad shoulders protecting your head, and the pair of you hit the ground hard as the rest of the cavern collapses.

The impact knocks the wind from your lungs, and you're left gasping for breath, unable to move as the cave-in rages around you, the sounds of the others muffled by the rocks. After what feels like an eternity, the noise and movement ceases, and silence settles in, save for the soft tumble of stones.

Your eyes fly open, and you're greeted with darkness. It takes a moment for them to adjust, and you blink away the grit, a shudder running through you. Your limbs feel heavy, and it's only then that you notice the crushing weight on top of you. You can feel the hard edge of plastoid digging into your chest, something softer cradling your head, and Wrecker's heavy breathing fills your ears.

"Wrecker?" you rasp.

His body moves against yours, and his helmet buried in the crook of your neck, his chest rising and falling as he pants for air.

"Yeah?"

"Are...are you okay?"

He laughs, a soft, wheezy sound, and his grip around you loosens, his arms pulling back, allowing the air to return to your lungs.

"Am I okay? I should be askin' you that!"

You laugh, the sound coming out as a half-sob, and you feel his hand cup the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair. "What...what happened?"

"You almost got crushed," he replies, his voice hoarse. "Had to get you outta there."

You blink rapidly, trying to get the dust out of your eyes, and the dim light illuminates his form. He's curled around you, his body protecting yours, and his arms are still holding you tight, one wrapped around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head, his fingers gently stroking your hair.

"Oh," is all you can manage.

"Yeah," Wrecker chuckles, and his grip tightens. "'Oh' is right."

"How did you...?"

"I dunno," he mutters, and his chest rumbles with his words. "I just knew I had to get to you, no matter what."

"Well, thanks."

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. His hand is large enough to cradle your entire head, and his thumb gently strokes the skin of your neck. You're suddenly hyper-aware of the feeling of him pressed against you, the weight of him, the warmth, the smell of metal and dirt and sweat, and you can't help the way your face heats up.

Your hand pushes at his chest plate, and his grip on you loosens. "Uh, we should—"

"Right!" Wrecker exclaims as his arms unwrap from around you. "Sorry!"

"No, no, it's okay!"

"I shoulda let go sooner," he babbles, and you can hear the flush in his voice. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine," you assure him, and you sit up, wincing at the aches and pains in your body. You can hear him move beside you, his armor scraping the floor as he stands, and a moment later, a gloved hand appears in front of your face.

"Need a hand?"

"Thanks," you say, and Wrecker helps you up. The pair of you stand for a moment, listening to the silence around you. The room is dark, the only illumination coming from the narrow gaps in the stones above you, and the occasional shift sends dust falling from the ceiling.

“—al…Wrecker! Are you alright?" Hunter's voice crackles through the comms, the sound distorted by static.

"I'm okay," Wrecker replies, stepping back a little as he activates his comm. He pauses and glances down at you, and his head tilts slightly, like he's looking you over.

"What is it?" you ask, and Wrecker hesitates, his fingers brushing yours.

"You sure you're alright, cyar'ika?"

The endearment is like a slap to the face, and you blink rapidly, taken aback.

"I'm fine, thank you," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Wrecker doesn't seem convinced, and his fingers curl around yours. "You don't sound fine."

"I am."

"Really?"

"Yes, Wrecker," you snap. "I'm fine."

"Wrecker, report!" Hunter's voice demands, and Wrecker pulls his hand from yours and activates his comm again.

"We're okay," he says. "Me and the General."

"Thank the Maker," Hunter replies. "What happened?"

You let Wrecker answer while you try to calm yourself, your heart pounding against your ribs. It's just a word, you tell yourself, and yet the knowledge that he was willing to put himself in harm's way, risk being crushed by the rocks just to get to you...

You're not sure how much more of this you can take.

"Is anyone injured?" you ask, cutting off Wrecker mid-sentence.

"No," Hunter replies. "A few bumps and bruises, nothing serious."

"Good," you say. You walk toward the wall of rubble, reaching out with the Force and testing it, searching for a way out. There are gaps here and there, large enough for a person to fit through, but the amount of debris is daunting, and you know that without tools, the task would take hours.

"Well, this is a karking mess," Crosshair grumbles, speaking your thoughts aloud.

“You can say that again,” you say. “We’ll try to dig our way out, but it might take a while."

“Negative,” Tech’s voice cuts in immediately. “This tunnel system is too unstable. Any further attempts to excavate the debris could result in further cave-ins, which could cause catastrophic structural damage.”

You sigh, leaning your head against the rocks. "So we're stuck?"

"It would appear so," Tech replies, and you can practically hear him grimace.

“What are your orders, General?” Echo asks. You can tell by the sound of his voice that he knows what you’re about to say, but the question still makes your stomach twist. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but the feeling of the walls closing in is growing, and the anxiety is starting to become overwhelming.

"You're going to have to leave us," you say softly.

The words are met with a chorus of protests, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the noise. Behind you, Wrecker has fallen silent, and his eyes are burning into the back of your skull, his presence looming, waiting.

"You'll be walking blind," Hunter argues. "Without Tech, you could get lost."

"Or crushed," Crosshair snarks.

"It's dangerous," Echo adds.

"It is," you reply. "But we can't stay here. We need to find the tactical droid, and the longer we wait, the colder the trail gets. So get moving. That's an order."

There's a moment of silence, then: "Copy that."

“May the Force be with you,” you reply, and you turn off your comm and close your eyes.

The silence seems deafening after the sound of the voices, and you stand there for a moment, collecting yourself. You can still feel Wrecker behind you, and his presence is as comforting as it is suffocating. You take a deep breath and steel yourself before turning to face him, and you offer him a small smile.

"Ready to get outta here?"

He doesn't reply, and his gaze is so intense that it makes your skin crawl. You clear your throat and glance away, and when you look back, he's still staring.

"Wrecker?"

"You really think they're gonna leave us here?"

"They don't have a choice," you say gently. "And neither do we."

He grunts, but says nothing, and he turns away to scan the rubble, the flashlight on his helmet casting eerie shadows on the walls. You watch him as he walks the perimeter of the cave, and it's not until he's made his third trip around the space that he speaks again.

"There's a gap over here," he calls, and you cross the cavern to join him.

He's right; the rocks have formed a tunnel, large enough for you to crawl through, and when you peek through the other side, the tunnel stretches on for several meters, the walls and floor clear of debris.

"Well, at least we have somewhere to start," you murmur.

"I'll go first," Wrecker offer, and he drops to his knees and crawls into the opening, his wide shoulders brushing the stone. You follow close behind, crawling over the jagged rocks, and when you reach the other side, Wrecker grabs your arm and helps you stand.

"Thanks," you murmur, and the pair of you turn and shine your lights down the tunnel. It stretches on ahead of you, twisting and turning, the path vanishing around a corner.

"When I get my hands on that droid..." Wrecker growls.

"If I don't get to it first," you mutter, and the two of you set off down the tunnel.

It's slow-going, with the two of you constantly checking for traps or pitfalls, and the longer you walk, the more nervous you become. It's too quiet, and the tension between you and Wrecker is thick, like an unspoken word lingering in the air.

You've been trying to think of something to say, but every time you open your mouth, your throat dries up, and the words die on your tongue. Every time, you convince yourself to tell him how you feel, and how you can't deal with his attention, his affection, but each time, your nerves get the better of you, and you lose the courage.

After a while, you turn and glance back at him, and his gaze is locked on you, his head tilted.

"What?" you ask, and the word is sharper than you intended, but the tension is starting to make your skin itch.

"Nothin'," he says. You can hear the smile in his voice, and you sigh and look ahead again, trying not to think about his eyes on you.

"Stop looking at me like that," you grumble.

"Like what?" he asks, his voice low.

"I don't know," you say, your frustration getting the better of you. "Just...just stop."

He falls silent, and you bite the inside of your cheek, the guilt starting to eat at you. It's not his fault, you remind yourself. You're the one who has the problem. He's doing what he always does, and it's driving you insane, and he has no idea, and it's not his fault, it's yours.

"I'm sorry," you murmur.

"No, no, it's okay," he replies. "I'll...I'll try not to stare."

You can hear the disappointment in his voice, and you swallow the lump in your throat. It's not his fault, it's yours.

"Thank you," is all you manage to say.

Silence settles in again, and the two of you continue on, your footsteps echoing off the walls. Wrecker keeps his promise and doesn't look at you, and it only makes the tension worse, the distance between you yawning wider.

It's hard to see anything in the dark, and the tunnel seems endless. The walls are crumbling, and the ceiling is low, and every time the stone shifts, you're afraid the tunnel will collapse on you, and that'll be the end of the Jedi and her trooper, crushed in the tunnels on Akiva. It's not the way you expected to go out, but you suppose it could be worse.

It's not a very Jedi-like thought, and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind. The exhaustion is starting to creep up on you, the long day finally catching up, and you're not sure how much longer you can stay focused.

"You okay, mesh'la?"

Wrecker's voice, soft and low, catches you by surprise, and you glance up to see him watching you, his head cocked. You're not sure what's worse, the fact that he can see right through you, or the fact that he's still calling you those names.

"Fine," you lie, turning away so he can't see your face. "Just tired." 

"We can stop if you want," he offers. "Rest for a bit."

"No," you say, forcing a laugh. "I'll be fine. We need to keep going." 

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay," he replies. "But tell me if you need to stop."

You nod and walk a little faster, leaving him behind. The sound of his footsteps behind you makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and it takes all your self-control not to turn around.

You need the distance.

The longer the two of you are together, the closer you feel to him, and the closer you feel to him, the harder it will be to say goodbye. And if the way he looks at you, the softness in his voice when he speaks, the gentle brush of his hand against yours is anything to go by, Wrecker isn't planning on leaving your side anytime soon.

The thought makes your heart swell, but you push it down, ignoring the longing it brings. You can't get attached. You can't let him get attached. It's not fair to either of you.

Wrecker's hand finds your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm, but not painful, and his fingers gently squeeze, pulling you back a step.

"Cyar'ika, slow down," he murmurs. "Don't go runnin' off."

"Sorry," you mutter, and his thumb runs over your shoulder.

"S'okay. Just be careful."

He doesn't release you, and his grip stays on your shoulder, his thumb running gently over the fabric of your robes. You should pull away, should shrug his hand off, but his touch is comforting, and you can't help but lean into it.

"I will."

You don't move, and his fingers stroke your shoulder, the motion slow and rhythmic.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that," he says. "There's something bothering you. I can tell."

"It's nothing, Wrecker," you say, and this time, your words are firm. His grip on your shoulder tightens, not painfully, just enough to make his presence known. "Everything's fine."

"You can talk to me, y'know," he says, and the gentleness in his voice makes your throat close up. "Whatever it is, I'm here for you."

You stare at him, torn between wanting to scream and wanting to cry. Instead, you take a deep breath and let it out slowly. You can't do this right now. You can't handle his concern, his kindness, his affection.

"I said I'm fine," you say, your voice tight. "Just drop it, Wrecker." 

He stares at you for a moment, then his hand slips from your shoulder and falls to his side. 

"Okay," he says flatly. "I'm sorry."

You want to reach out and grab him, pull him back and apologize, but you can't. You can't even bring yourself to say anything, to explain yourself. You just watch him as he walks away, and the distance between you feels like a chasm. He's only a few steps away, but it might as well be miles.

You stand there, frozen, for what feels like an eternity, before finally you turn and start walking again. The silence is unbearable, but there's nothing you can do. You're trapped, with nowhere to go, and the man you care about most is walking away from you. It's a helpless, hopeless feeling, and you can't shake it. But you have to keep moving, so you do.

At some point, Hunter checks in and lets you know they're close to finding the T-1, but the knowledge does little to ease the pain in your chest. You keep walking, pushing yourself as fast as you can, but it doesn't seem to make a difference. The darkness, the silence, and the weight of your emotions seem to swallow you whole.

Wrecker doesn't seem to be faring much better. He keeps casting glances your way, and his posture is tense, his steps heavy. You know he wants to talk to you, but the words won't come. So you both suffer in silence, each step feeling like a betrayal, and the air is thick with things left unsaid.

When the two of you finally reach the end of the tunnel, the sun has started to set, casting the world outside in shades of orange and gold. The entrance opens into a field, the long grass swaying in the wind, and the sky is a vibrant shade of purple. It's a welcome relief from the stifling confines of the tunnel, and the sight of the sky is enough to make your heart ache.

I never want to be underground again, you think, and you take a deep breath, relishing the taste of the air. Beside you, Wrecker does the same, ripping off his helmet and sucking in a deep lungful of air.

"Fresh air," he groans. "I love fresh air."

"Me too," you murmur.

His head turns, and he smiles. "Glad we're outta there, cyar'ika?"

The affectionate word is enough to ruin the mood, and you glance away. "Yes. Glad."

"Good," he replies. His voice is soft, and when you look up, he's staring at you, his eyes searching your face. You want to look away, to avoid his gaze, but his eyes are like a magnet, drawing you in.

"Wrecker—"

"There you are!"

The sound of Hunter's voice startles you, and you tear your gaze away from Wrecker's to find the rest of the squad running towards you. Tech has his datapad in his hand, and his eyes are bright with triumph.

"I have good news," he says. "The tactical droid is—"

"Dead," Crosshair interrupts, and he tosses something at you. You reach up and catch the object, and the metal is still warm from Crosshair's grip. It's the head of a tactical droid, its expression fixed in a permanent nonplussed grimace, the red light behind its eyes extinguished.

"How...?"

"Hunter ripped it apart," Echo explains.

"I didn't like the way it was talking," Hunter mutters, and his shoulders shift uncomfortably.

"So, that's it, then?" Wrecker asks.

"Yep," Echo says. "Mission's done."

"Then let's go home," you sigh.

The men cheer, and the squad gathers around, jostling each other playfully. You smile at the display, and the weight on your chest starts to lift. You're free, the mission's over, and everything is going to go back to normal. It's a relief, and yet...

Your gaze wanders, and your eyes find Wrecker, and your chest aches. His expression is bright, a grin splitting his face, but his eyes are dark, and his smile doesn't reach them. Your hand tightens around the droid's head, and the guilt is almost unbearable.

It's better this way. You remind yourself. Safer. For both of us.

You can't risk the Council discovering what's been going on. If they ever found out, the repercussions would be disastrous. The thought of the men being punished for something that's your fault makes your stomach turn, and the idea of losing them, of never seeing Wrecker again...it's too much.

So you put on a smile and try not to think about the future, try not to think about what's waiting for you, the distance that will grow between you, the way you'll feel when the time comes to say goodbye.

The six of you pile into the ship, and Tech takes the controls, lifting the ship off the ground and flying into the evening sky. The takeoff is bumpy, and the ship groans under the strain, but eventually, you're in the air.

All you want to do is hide in your bunk, but there's a debrief to be done. Hunter is giving his report, and you're trying to pay attention, but all you can think about is the look on Wrecker's face.

You can't get it out of your head, and it's starting to drive you crazy. He was so happy when you got out of the tunnel, and now he looks like he's in pain, and you're the cause. You hate yourself for it, but the fear is still there, lingering, a constant reminder of the dangers that await you, and it's enough to make you stay away.

"We made it out with a few scrapes, but nothing too bad," Hunter finishes. He turns his head, looking between you and Wrecker. "What about the two of you?"

You open your mouth to answer, but the words die on your tongue, and the silence grows. All eyes are on you, and the longer you wait, the more concerned the men become. You look at Wrecker, hoping he'll say something, but he doesn't. He's staring at the floor, his shoulders tense.

"Uh, we're fine," you reply, and the words feel like glass. "No injuries. We're...we're good."

Wrecker scoffs and pushes himself out of his seat, stalking out of the cockpit. You watch him leave, a knot forming in your throat.

"That's odd," Tech murmurs, his eyes following Wrecker.

"Yeah," Hunter mutters. He shakes his head and sighs, then follows Wrecker, leaving you alone with the others

Crosshair raises an eyebrow and turns to look at you, his sharp eyes scanning your face. "Well?"

"What?"

"You really expect us to believe that?" he asks, his tone mocking. "You're a terrible liar, General."

You glance between him and Echo, and both of them are staring at you, their expressions unreadable. You swallow hard and force a laugh, shaking your head.

"There's nothing to tell."

"If there was nothing to tell, Wrecker wouldn't be sulking," Echo points out.

"And you wouldn't be sitting here looking like you're about to throw up," Crosshair adds.

"I am not," you argue.

"Oh, please," Crosshair snorts. "It's written all over your face."

"It's pretty obvious," Echo says, his voice gentler than Crosshair's. "What's wrong?"

You shake your head and rise to your feet. "Nothing."

"We're not gonna leave this alone," Crosshair calls after you.

"We're worried about you," Echo adds.

"Fine," you say, trying not to sound as defeated as you feel. "Worry. It doesn't matter. We'll be on Coruscant soon, and then I won't be your problem anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Echo asks, his voice sharp, but you ignore him and keep walking. You can hear them arguing, their voices rising, and the words they're throwing at each other make your stomach churn. You keep your head down and keep walking, but before you can reach the bunks, you see Hunter and Wrecker. They're standing in the middle of the hallway, their backs to you, and Hunter's hand is on Wrecker's shoulder.

"—just give her some space," Hunter is saying.

"But she's—"

"She's fine," Hunter cuts in. "She just needs some time to herself. You've been a little clingy, and she needs a break."

Wrecker's shoulders stiffen, and the hurt in his voice is palpable. "Is that what she told you?"

"Well, no," Hunter says slowly. "But—"

"Then how do you know?" Wrecker demands, pulling away. "How do you know that's what she wants? How do you know she doesn't..." He trails off, his voice thick, and he turns, and his eyes land on you. The two of you stare at each other, the space between you charged with emotion, and when he speaks again, his words are quiet, and heartbreaking. "...want me?"

"She's a Jedi," Hunter says softly. "They don't...feel those kinds of things."

Wrecker stares at you, his expression open, the longing on his face so plain, so obvious, that your knees feel weak. You can't take it anymore. You turn away, ducking into the refresher and locking the door behind you

The room is silent, the air still. There's no sound but the pounding of your heart, the blood roaring in your ears. You lean against the door and slide to the floor, wrapping your arms around your knees.

You know what you have to do, but the idea is terrifying, the thought of saying goodbye to Wrecker too painful to bear. But he's hurting, and it's because of you. You can't put him through that, not any longer. He deserves better. He deserves someone who can be with him, can give him the affection he deserves, not a cowardly Jedi who can't handle the consequences of her actions.

The realization hurts more than you thought it would, but there's nothing you can do. You've known all along that this would have to end someday, and that someday has come.

The only thing you can do is let him go.

The next day passes in a blur, and the tension is thick in the air. Wrecker doesn't say a word, doesn't look at you, doesn't acknowledge your presence, and you're grateful for it. You can't bring yourself to look at him, and the others are quick to pick up on the change. They cast furtive glances at each other, their concern growing, and their efforts to cheer you up only make the situation worse. You'd much rather they focus their attentions on Wrecker, so you avoid all of them as best you can. 

It's easier this way. Safer. Less painful. 

And maybe, if you keep telling yourself that, you'll start to believe it.

Once you land on Kashyyyk to refuel, the five of them disappear into the village, leaving you alone to meditate. It's the one thing that can help you clear your mind, and you welcome the chance to relax.

The ship is silent, the hum of the engine the only noise, and the quiet helps soothe the ache in your chest. You close your eyes and settle onto the floor, clearing your mind and reaching out with the Force.

When you were a youngling, you were told that the Force was your ally, and you believed it. Now, you know better. The Force doesn't take sides. It simply is. It exists in everything, every living thing, and sometimes, when you meditate, you can feel it. It's a gentle brush against your senses, like a soft caress, and you let yourself sink into the feeling, allowing it to envelop you, and for a moment, everything seems to fade away.

That's why, when you hear the sound of someone approaching, you're startled, and your eyes fly open. You frown, remembering Hunter saying he'd comm you when the others were headed back. It's more than likely Tech sneaking away from the group to tinker with the ship, and so you stand, turning towards the sound.

What you see instead, however, makes your blood run cold. 

Wrecker is standing at the top of the ramp, his form silhouetted by the light outside, his eyes burning into you. You're frozen in place, unable to move, unable to think. All you can do is stare at him, trying to make sense of the expression on his face, but all you can see is anger, and your heart sinks.

"What's going on?" he asks. His voice is low, but there's an edge to it, and his shoulders are stiff.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about the way you've been acting," he says, stepping further into the ship. "Ever since we left Akiva, you've been avoiding me. Why?"

"I haven't been avoiding you," you lie, turning away from him.

"Like kriff, you haven't!" he exclaims, and you flinch, the anger in his voice catching you off guard. "I've tried to talk to you, and you walk away! You won't even look at me!"

"That's not true," you argue. "I'm always—"

"Yeah, it is," he snaps. "You think I don't notice, but I do. You're always running away, avoiding me. Why? Just tell me why. Talk to me. Please."

"Wrecker..."

"Don't say my name like that," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Don't push me away. Please, cyar'ika, I need to know what's going on."

The endearment sends a jolt through your system, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to cry. You've spent the past twenty-four hours doing nothing but thinking about this, trying to steel yourself for what's to come, and yet here he is, begging for answers, and you're not ready. You can't bring yourself to say the words, can't bring yourself to push him away, but if you don't, it will only get harder.

"Please," he whispers. "What did I do? How did I hurt you?"

You can't look at him, but you can't ignore him, either. The last thing you want is for him to think any of this is his fault, and so you force yourself to turn, your eyes meeting his, and your resolve breaks.

"You didn't," you murmur. "It's not your fault, I promise."

"Then tell me what's wrong," he pleads, and his voice is soft, and the desperation in it is enough to break your heart. "Tell me what I can do to fix this."

Wrecker reaches out and takes a step towards you, his hand outstretched, but the gesture is hesitant, almost as if he's afraid to touch you. When you don't move away, he steps closer, his fingers brushing the hem of your sleeve. His gaze is intense, his eyes searching yours, and the ache in his voice is enough to make you want to scream.

"I'm not good at this," he admits. "This...talking stuff. I never know what to say, and I'm sorry. If I made you uncomfortable, or did somethin' wrong, I'm sorry."

"Wrecker..."

"I just want to make things right," he whispers, and his fingers curl around your sleeve. "Just tell me how, and I'll do it. I'll fix it."

He's so earnest, so sincere, and the guilt is crushing. You can't lie to him, not anymore. Not when he's looking at you like this.

"It's not that simple," you say, and the words feel like lead in your mouth.

"Why not?" he asks, his voice raw.

"Because," you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "Because I can't do this anymore, Wrecker. I can't..." You trail off, the words dying on your tongue. You can't bring yourself to say them, can't bring yourself to end things like this. But it's too late. He knows.

He drops his hand, and the look of pain on his face is almost enough to break your heart.

"Do what?" he asks, his voice shaking.

"This," you say, gesturing between the two of you. "Whatever this is. I can't keep pretending that I don't know what you mean when you call me those names. I can't keep acting like it's nothing, because it's not." 

Wrecker stumbles back a step, eyes wide.

"You knew?" he asks, and his voice is barely audible. "This whole time...?"

"Of course I knew," you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. "You think I could have missed it?" You try to laugh, but it comes out as a choked sob. "You're not exactly subtle, Wrecker."

"Oh," he says, and the single word holds a world of hurt. He turns away from you, his hands curling into fists at his sides, and the tension in the air is palpable. A heavy silence settles in, and when he speaks again, his voice is a hoarse whisper.

"Why didn't you say something?" he asks. "Why didn't you tell me to stop?"

"I couldn't," you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I...I liked it too much."

"What?" Wrecker turns, his head snapping around to face you, and his expression is torn between hope and horror.

"You heard me," you say, fighting to keep your voice steady. You turn away, but his hand finds your chin, gently tilting your face back to his. The heat of his palm burns into your skin, his touch so gentle, and your heart leaps into your throat.

"Then why are you doing this?" he asks, and the words are barely audible. "If you like it, why are you trying to push me away?"

You close your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts. It's a good question, and one you're not sure you can answer.

"Because," you start, and then trail off. When you open your eyes, his face is inches from yours, and the pain in his eyes is overwhelming. "Because I'm not meant for this. For us." You motion between the two of you. "I have a duty. A responsibility. I can't...I can't give you what you want. What you deserve."

"But I don't want anyone else,” Wrecker says softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. "I just want you."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you close your eyes, trying not to cry. You can feel the warmth of his body, the weight of his hand, the scent of him surrounding you. You want to pull away, to run and hide, but the way his hands cradle your face, the gentleness in his touch, makes it impossible.

"You don't mean that," you whisper, the words like poison. "You can't. I'm a Jedi. You know what that means. You know what my life is. I can't give you anything, Wrecker. I can't even be there for you. I can't..."

"Stop," he whispers. 

His hands drop, moving to your shoulders, and he turns you, pulling you closer. You let him, and his arms wrap around you, his forehead resting against yours. The touch is warm and gentle, and his eyes are soft, full of pain and love. 

He's never been anything but gentle with you, even when he didn't have to be. Even when the mission demanded he take risks, put his life on the line, he was always careful with you. Always protective. Always gentle. And now, here, when the mission is over, the danger gone, he's still treating you like something precious, something to be treasured.

It's too much.

"Don't say that," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "You don't get to tell me how I feel. You can't decide for me, cyar'ika. I'm not gonna change my mind. I'm not gonna stop caring about you. So just...just stop. Okay?"

Your hands find his, curling around his wrists. His pulse is pounding under your fingertips, and his chest is rising and falling with each breath, the beat of his heart matching the rhythm of yours. It would be so easy, so tempting, to let yourself give in. To give him the answer he wants. To give him the one thing you've wanted to give him for so long.

But you can't. You can't let him sacrifice his future, his happiness, for you. It's too much. Too selfish.

"Wrecker, please," you say, squeezing his wrists. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"Then don't do this," he whispers. "Don't walk away from me. Please." His voice breaks, and his fingers dig into your shoulders. "Just...just give me a chance."

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to hit him, to shove him away, but you can't. All you can do is stare up at him, his face inches from yours, his eyes begging. It would be so easy, and yet, impossibly difficult. If you do this, if you give in, it's not just your life on the line, but his. If you give him what he wants, if you allow him to care for you, it will only lead to more heartbreak. More pain.

And yet...

You can't bring yourself to pull away, can't bring yourself to deny him. And, if you're honest with yourself, you don't want to. You've wanted this for so long, wanted him, and now that the moment has finally come, the opportunity has presented itself, you can't let it go.

"I can't," you whisper, your voice shaking.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm scared," you confess. You reach out and cup his cheek, running your thumb over the scarred tissue beneath his eye, and his expression softens. "I'm not supposed to feel like this. I'm not supposed to...to love you." The words come out choked, and the tears in your eyes blur your vision. "It's wrong. It's forbidden. It's...it's..."

"It's what?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion. "It's amazing? It's the best feeling in the galaxy?"

"Yes," you whisper, and the tears spill over. "But I can't do this. I can't...I can't let you sacrifice yourself for me."

"You think that's what I'm doing?" Wrecker asks. His hand slips from your shoulder, his fingers stroking your cheek, catching a tear as it falls. "Cyar'ika, I'd sacrifice myself for you a hundred times over. You think I care about what they'd say? They can go kriff themselves. I'd fight every single member of the Council for you, if I had to. But I don't need to. 'Cause they can't tell me what to do, and neither can you."

"You say that now," you mutter. "But—"

"I'll say it every day," he cuts in. "Every single day until you believe me. I don't care about them. I don't care about the rules. I just want you."

"Wrecker, stop," you whisper, but he shakes his head, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

"I know you're scared. I know you're worried about what's going to happen. But we don't have to think about that. We can just be together. Just us. Nobody has to know. We can figure this out. Together. But you gotta let me in."

You stare at him, stunned by the strength and certainty in his words. He's right. You are scared. You're terrified. And not just of what the Council will do, or what the consequences might be. 

You're afraid of him, of the power he holds over you, the way you feel about him. But standing here, with his hands on your face, his eyes searching yours, it's enough to make you reconsider. Enough to make you question everything. And so you swallow your fears, and you say the words.

"I love you, Wrecker."

His lips part, and his eyes widen, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is halfway between a laugh and a sob.

"You mean that?" he asks, his voice tight with emotion.

"Yes," you say, and the word is like a weight lifting off your shoulders. "I do. I love you."

His arms slip around your waist, and he pulls you into him, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your face. He doesn't say anything, just stares down at you, his gaze burning, and the silence stretches on, charged with anticipation. And then, finally, he speaks.

"I love you too, cyar'ika," he says, his voice trembling. "More than you know."

Your heart feels like it's going to burst. You pull him close, burying your face in his chest, and his arms wrap around you, holding you tight. It's an overwhelming feeling, this affection, this love, but you can't deny it. Not anymore. And as you stand there, his body wrapped around yours, his hands running through your hair, you know that he's right.

"Don't let go," you whisper, your voice muffled by his armor. "Please, don't ever let me go."

"I won't," he says, his voice a rumble in his chest. "I got you, an'edee. Always."

The words send a jolt of warmth through your body, and you melt into him, allowing yourself to be swept away by the feeling. It's like coming home, the warmth and comfort washing over you, and the tension melts away, leaving only relief in its wake. 

You're not sure how long you stay there, wrapped up in each other, but when he finally pulls away, you're stunned by the look in his eyes. No one has ever looked at you like that. No one has ever seen you like he does.

"Better?" he asks, his voice gentle.

"Yes," you say, smiling up at him. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he says. "You don't gotta thank me. Just keep lookin' at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you love me," he murmurs.

"Oh," you reply, blushing. "Well, then, I suppose I should do my best. It wouldn't do for me to fail in that regard."

He chuckles, his hands sliding up your sides. "No, it wouldn't."

You shiver at his touch, the heat of his hands sinking into your skin. His palms are rough and calloused, and his fingers are gentle, tracing the curve of your waist. Your eyes meet, and his smile is so wide, so warm, that you can't help but return it.

"So," he says, his hands drifting lower. "Where does this leave us?"

"Us?"

"Yeah. You know, our relationship," he says. "Are we...together? Or do I still gotta keep pretendin' that you're just a friend?"

You sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. "Together, Wrecker. We're together."

"Good," he grins, his eyes bright. "'Cause I wasn't sure how much longer I could take it. Having you around, knowing how I felt, not being able to do anything about it."

"That's why I was avoiding you," you admit. "I knew if I had to spend much more time with you, I was going to break. I was already having trouble controlling my feelings. If we'd had another mission, I don't think I would have made it. I was so close to telling you how I felt."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Kriff, cyar'ika," he groans, his grip on your waist tightening. "I wish you would've said something sooner. Woulda made things a lot easier."

"I'm sorry," you murmur.

"Don't apologize," he says, his voice husky. "You're worth the wait."

Your breath catches in your throat, and his eyes flick to yours, and his grin turns mischievous.

"What is it, mesh'la?" he asks, his fingers digging into your hips. "Tell me."

"I, um..." You clear your throat, trying to ignore the way his voice makes your insides turn to mush. "It's just that...when you call me those names, it, uh, does things to me."

"Good things?" he asks, leaning in.

"Yes."

"You want me to keep saying them, then?"

"Yes."

"Well, I can do that," he murmurs. His breath is warm on your skin, his voice low and teasing. "And I can do a lot more, too. If you want me to."

You stare up at him, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, trying not to let your desire show on your face. You've never done anything like this, never even considered doing something like this. And yet, the idea of him touching you, kissing you, fills you with anticipation.

"I'd like that," you manage, your voice hoarse.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

He nods, and he leans down, his lips ghosting over yours. His eyes search your face, and he waits, and when you nod, he presses his lips to yours.

It's a slow, soft kiss, the barest brush of skin on skin. But the contact sends a thrill through your body, and you can't help but press closer, wanting more. Your hands move to the back of his neck, pushing yourself onto the tips of your toes, and he obliges, pulling you in.

His lips are warm, his tongue slick and hot as it traces the seam of your mouth. You open for him, letting him deepen the kiss, and his palm slides up your back, cradling your head. His thumb strokes your cheek, and the gentleness of the gesture sends a rush of warmth through your veins.

When the two of you finally break apart, your lungs are aching, and his breath is ragged. He leans his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of your neck.

"Kriff, cyar'ika," he whispers, and the name sends a thrill through you. You can hear the longing, the need, in his voice, and it's enough to make your knees weak. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this?"

"Tell me," you say, your voice shaking.

"Too long," he murmurs. "Far too long."

You lean back, looking up at him. The adoration in his eyes takes your breath away, and you pull him down, kissing him again. This time, the kiss is deeper, more intense, and you can't hold back a moan as his tongue slips past your lips.

The noise seems to ignite something in him, because the next thing you know, his arms are around you, lifting you up with ease. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in, and his hands roam over your back, sliding down to cup your ass. He breaks the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, and the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, makes you gasp.

Wrecker sets you down on the edge of your bunk, and the height difference is suddenly very apparent. You're not used to being on eye level with him, but now, with your legs spread, his body between them, it's impossible not to notice. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every detail, and the hunger in his eyes sends a jolt of excitement through your body.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. He sounds awed, like he can't believe his luck, and the compliment makes your heart flutter. "So kriffing beautiful, cyar'ika." 

You lean into his touch, and his fingers brush against your lips, the callouses of his hands rough against your skin. You kiss his fingertips, and the heat in his gaze makes you blush.

"Not as beautiful as you," you murmur. He shakes his head with a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"No one's as beautiful as you," Wrecker says, his hand finding yours. His fingers lace with yours, and he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles. His touch is gentle, and the tenderness of the gesture makes your heart clench. "I could look at you forever. Never get tired of it."

The heat on your cheeks is unbearable, and you're not sure how to respond. Words can't capture the emotions coursing through you, and so you lean in, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss. He groans against your mouth, his hand finding the small of your back and pulling you flush against him.

You wrap your legs around him, the need to be closer, to feel his body pressed against yours, overwhelming. He seems to understand, his fingers tangling in your hair, his teeth nipping at your lip.

"I'm gonna take such good care of you, cyar'ika," he promises, his voice rough with emotion. "Promise."

"You already have," you whisper. "Just having you here is more than I deserve."

"Don't talk like that," he mutters. His hand slides up, cupping the back of your head, and he kisses the corner of your mouth. He tilts your face up to meet his, and the intensity of his gaze is almost overwhelming. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. I'm not gonna give that up. You're mine, and I'm not lettin' go."

The words are a jolt to your system, the possessiveness of his tone making you tremble. He's always been protective of you, but this is different. This is more than just a desire to keep you safe. This is something else entirely. You can't find the words to respond, and so you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat and praying the tears in your eyes don't spill over.

"Wrecker," you whisper. "I..."

"I love you," he murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. "So much."

The words are a balm on your aching heart, and the tears finally fall. Wrecker leans in and kisses them away, his lips soft and gentle against your cheeks. The tenderness, the closeness, it's too much to bear, and the emotions welling up inside you are overwhelming. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, and he holds you tight, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"I got you," he whispers. "It's okay. You're okay."

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I don't know why I'm crying."

"I do," he replies. He cups your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes are soft, and his lips curl into a gentle smile. "You've been through a lot, and you're tired. You're allowed to cry."

You nod, wiping the tears from your face. He's right. The past few days have been exhausting, emotionally and physically. Between the mission, the tension between the two of you, the anxiety and uncertainty, it's a miracle you're not falling apart.

"Hey," he murmurs. "Stop thinking so hard. It's okay."

"I'm not supposed to let my emotions get the best of me," you murmur.

"That's some banthashit, an'edee," he says, and his voice is teasing, but there's a hint of steel in it. "You're human. You're allowed to have emotions."

"I suppose," you reply, unable to keep the smile off your face.

"Good," he says, and his thumb strokes your cheek. "We'll make this work. We'll find a way."

"Wrecker," you sigh.

"Shh," he cuts in. "None of that. We're together, right?"

"Right."

"Then trust me. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," he promises. "I'll keep you safe."

"I know," you whisper, closing your eyes.

"We'll figure it out," Wrecker says. "It might be hard, but we'll find a way. We always do."

He leans in and kisses you again, his lips soft and warm. You kiss him back, allowing yourself to give in, to let go of the fear and worry, to let yourself be swept away by the feeling. He's right. It will be difficult, but it's worth it.

This is where you belong, in his arms, and no matter what the future holds, no matter what the Order says, no matter the consequences, you know you'll always have him. And that's more than you could have ever hoped for.

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[babymetaldoll]

Are you mine? - Chapter twelve: "People need to know they are important."

Summary: Let's add more trauma to the Reid's life. How will they deal with Mr. Scratch and Hotch leaving the team? Plus! Diana's health is getting worse and Spencer has to deal with the guilt of not having a clue how to help her. Word count: 14.210 Warning: Hurt and angst, Criminal Minds spoilers. Sad Spencer, sad reader, sad chapter.   A/N: Yes, this whole fanfiction has been hard to write because to give my babies a happy ending, I have to put them through so much, it's sad and angsty even for me.

Series' Masterlist - Author's masterlist

Previous chapter | Next chapter (post date: November 20th)

(Y/N)’s point of view

In the following months after Morgan’s departure, Spencer kept trying his best to cope with the loss of his best friend. We would often stare at his empty chair in the jet and get lost in his head. Morgan wasn’t far, just a phone call away, and we would try to see him as often as possible. Well, as often as work and our lives let us. Morgan and Savannah were dealing with a newborn, after all. And we kept catching serial killers all over the country.

Meanwhile, I felt the void between JJ and me growing every day. Without Em, it felt like we didn’t share much in common during cases, but work. She would always talk to Spencer. But for some reason or another, we seemed to be falling apart.

The one thing that made me happy those days was planning our trip: Spencer and I were taking Diana and the kids to France for ten days. We needed to get away from work and create some good memories with our family. Spencer told me his mom had always dreamed about making a trip there, and considering she was doing great with her medication, it was the right time to plan a getaway and take a few days off.

Traveling with two kids was as challenging as we imagined. But we made it work. Diana still hated flying, but she hated boats even more. So the thought (most likely the threat) of taking a cruise was enough to help her deal with the nearly eight-hour trip from Washington to the Charles de Gaulle Airport, in Paris.

I lost count of all the museums we visited, and of all the macarons, opera cakes, and pan au chocolate we ate. Spencer had the entire trip scheduled and nearly timed, which didn’t really work with two babies. After only two hours after landing, my dear husband realized all his plans were going down the drain. And yet, he kept his spirits up.

- “The babies are jetlagged, you are jetlagged. Just nap a little!”

- “Ma cherie, we are finally in the right place to call you cherie, I don’t think I can close an eye.”

Spencer was incredibly excited to be in France. We had traveled through Europe for our honeymoon, but we didn’t include France in our itinerary because one day my husband wanted to take his mother.

- “Relax.”- I whispered and kissed his lips sweetly as Raven and Vinny napped on our bed.

On our first day, we visited Le Louvre and between Spencer and Diana, I got a basically private and very exclusive tour of the place, with the history of most pieces. My husband carried Raven most of the time on his shoulders, while Vinny was in his stroller, napping most of the time.

- “I mean, you read about it your entire life, and then suddenly, you are standing right in front of it.”- Diana whispered as we stood in front of The Venus de Milo.

- “Where are her arms?”- Raven asked and turned to me with the most concerned look on her face.

- “Well Birdy, this statue is very old.”- I started explaining- “And when they found her, she had lost her arms already.”

- “So it’s broken.”- she summed up simply.

- “She hasn’t been well preserved, darling.”- Diana added and held her hand as Raven frowned and looked at her grandma.

- “Some of my toys are not well preserved too.”

I had to bite my lips not to start laughing right there.

We visited the Eiffel towel with Diana and the babies, took a million pictures, and had a picnic in a park right in front, with the most amazing view. But by far, one of the most romantic things we did during our trip was having a date there just the two of us. We left the kids with Diana at the hotel and Spencer took me for dinner at a very exclusive restaurant in the Eiffel Towel, called Julio Verne. It felt very appropriate considering how much my husband loves his books.

- “Wow.”- that was the best I could do at the moment, ‘cos I was speechless. It was by far the most expensive place we had ever been at. I felt guilty for even thinking about eating there, I don’t know why. Like I wasn’t worth it or something.

- “Our first time in a Michelin winner restaurant.”- Spencer whispered as we both looked around the room. We sat by the window, with an incredible view of Paris lightened outside.

- “I’m wearing the best dress I’ve got and I still feel underdressed for the occasion.”- my words made my husband chuckle as he shook his head and stared into my eyes.

- “You look lovely, ma cherie.”- Spencer held my hand and kissed my fingers as he kept looking at me. I know I blushed. He could still make me feel nervous when he did those things.

- “Thank you.”- I had to look away because I was feeling like a teenager on her first date. - “So… did you look at the menu?”

- “Yes. Very French.”- he chuckled as I grabbed one menu and stared at it. - “I already booked us the five courses menu for tonight.”- I remember how I stopped breathing when Spencer announced that and the only thing I could ask was:

- “So our kids are not going to college then.”- and he just laughed.

- “Maybe one. I’m rooting for Raven.”

- “Spencer, why are we spending so much money over dinner? I would have been happy with some saint honoré sitting on the grass down there.”

- “Ma cherie, I’ve waited for this date for years. I’ve dreamed of giving you exactly what you deserve. And this is what you deserve, and if I can give you more, I would!”- I opened my mouth to argue, but I couldn’t. Not because I felt like I deserved all that, but because Spencer’s eyes were so honest, so enamored, and so sweet, I just couldn’t argue with him.

- “You deserve the word.”- I managed to answer, feeling tears coming to my eyes as I stared at my husband.

- “You’ve given me the world. You made me a husband. A father. You gave me our babies.”

- “I could give you a hundred more.”- I confessed underneath and he just raised an eyebrow, raising an eyebrow charmingly.

- “Don’t put ideas in my head.”

- “I’m just saying…-” I chuckled and shook my head.- “I just want to make you happy, honey.”

- “Trust me, ma cherie. You are very good at that.”

I wish I could frame that memory and stare at it whenever I feel sad or doubtful of everything. Sometimes I feel I need an anchor to keep me from drifting to dark places. Which I often did. I blame the nature of our jobs, which could show us daily how mean people could be. How much we can hurt each other.

When we came back after our vacations, things at the BAU kept changing nonstop. Luke Alvez joined the team, which was a great addition. We needed help, and he was good at his job. Besides, it added some drama to the team ‘cos, of course, Luke didn’t want to replace Morgan, he had no idea what had happened with our friend, why he had left, and how important he was to us. And yet, Garcia hated him. No. That’s not enough: Garcia loathed the poor guy before he did anything.

Let’s be honest, it was fun. They had a growing sexual tension that entertained us all the way I can only imagine our own slow burn with Spencer entertained the team in the past. And for once, it was fun staring at the whole show from a safe distance.

But. Of course, there was a “but.”

Hotch wasn’t there. They told us he had been called for a special investigation and from one day to the other, he was gone.

The last time we had a case with him was messy. In the worst way possible. It’s always hard for the team when kids are involved, and when one of them dies… let’s say none of us left that case unharmed. We were coming back home from Seattle. It hadn’t been a long case, a spree killer with an assault rifle. We caught him in less than 16 hours. But when we were on our way back home, the plane turned and took us to Los Angeles.

Hoch had been consulting on cases related to missing kids in the area, and the bodies of two children had just appeared in an empty building. There was still no proof, but Hotch had a hunch. And if he trusted it was related, we were not gonna a argue.

I wish I had known that was our last case together. It feels so much personal now that I know what I know. It also makes everything look more clear: life kept throwing us left curves so we could move and leave our work. But we were too blind to see.

Spencer’s point of view

I don’t think I will ever forget the last case we shared with Hotch. God, just thinking about it makes me mad. I am so tired of not getting to say goodbye to people who mean something to me. Of people who changed my life. I could forget about my own father abandoning me and my mother when I was a kid. But not about Gideon turning his back on the team, Alex leaving without even saying goodbye, or Morgan quitting the team. And I don’t think I could ever deal healthily with the whole idea of Hotch leaving the BAU. I could understand why he did it, but at the same time, it hurt me professionally and personally.

It came to a point where I was in deep paranoia everyone I cared for was going to turn their backs on me. My own wife included.

When we reached Los Angeles, me, Alvez, and JJ went straight to the crime scene. We had a suspect, there had been a similar case two years earlier in San Diego. Two kids, same M.O. but their bodies were found months apart. It fitted the profile. At the crime scene, we found the same chains and locks he had used in the previous crime. Same cots, same woods. It was clearly him.

But other than that, we didn’t really have much. (Y/N), Tara, and JJ talked with the family of the victims, trying to gather more info, something that could help us find a path, a pattern, anything. But we were in the dark. Hotch talked with the press, ‘cos we were getting desperate, the fire in the crime scene had destroyed any print or clue we could have gotten. We needed something, and I hate when all the hope we have is based on the unsub committing a crime again. Which he did: after 46 hours, he had caught 16-year-old girl Francesca Morales.

- “We are referring to him as a sadistic pyromaniac, which is a rare and dangerous combination because there's a strong compulsive element to his psychopathy.”- I said as we delivered the profile in front of the police department.

- “It's not just about watching the fires he sets. It's also the mental pain and anguish he inflicts.”- (Y/N) added and turned to Hotch.

- “We believe that he's driving a truck, van, or an RV. He needs space to abduct and transport his victims. We know that he's extremely mobile. We've notified law enforcement in surrounding counties. We just want to make sure he doesn't leave the city limits.”- our unit chief described.

And that was the last time we delivered a profile with Hotch.

Sometimes I hate how good my memory is. It can turn into a curse when I can recall so many details of moments I wish I could forget. But like my wife said on April 16th, 2008: I remember everything.

My wife wasn’t taking the case well at all. As I’ve said several times, whenever there are kids involved, you can’t help but think of your own. Considering this unsub was taking a girl and a boy, it was easy to project our babies in every crime scene and victim we saw. She called her mom at least four times during the afternoon we talked with Mrs. Morales, the kidnapped girl’s mother. JJ was very afflicted as well and came over to talk to me while I made my wife a cup of fresh coffee.

- “How are you holding up?”- she asked and stood next to me as I filled two mugs with coffee.

- “Just tired. You?”

- “Talking with Mrs. Morales gave us some more information about her daughter. Apparently, they were very close, and Francesca was aware she had to take care while alone on the streets. That means if he tried to use a ruse on her, it wouldn't work on her.”

- “So he probably resorted to some kind of blitz attack to get her.”- I thought out loud as I added sugar to my cup. JJ nodded and sighed.

- “It’s the part of our job I hate the most.”

- “It’s always hard when there are kids involved.”- I whispered stirring my coffee.- “Makes you wonder if you are doing enough, or if anything you do is even helping at all.”

Those last words were meant to stay in my mind, but I couldn’t control myself. I was tired, and though we had some clues, I still felt we were going nowhere.

- “What we do makes a difference, Spence.”- JJ placed a hand on mine and smiled.

- “It’s hard to feel that way when your friends keep leaving, and you spend a week away from your kids.”- I just spat the words and my friend stared at me, astonished.

- “Spence, Morgan left for a reason.”

- “I know, and I understand his reasons.”- I shouldn't have said that in front of JJ, I understood that second, she wasn’t going to let my comment go. - “I’m gonna get this to my wife.”

- “Wait, Spence. I know we haven’t talked much lately, things have been crazy at home with Henry and Michael, but… we could have coffee sometime, get to talk.”- JJ stood in front of me with pleading eyes, like she felt sorry for not talking to me. Did she feel I had no one to tell my feelings to? I still wonder if I did right when I shook my head and simply cut her a short smile.

- “Thanks. I know we can talk. I just… things have been crazy back home too, with Raven and Vincent.”

- “You know you can count on me whenever you need anything.”- JJ’s hand caressed my arms and for once, I didn’t really like her touching me. Still, I didn’t say anything. I just nodded and smiled.

- “Thank you. You can count on me too.”

I made my way back to the conference room, where my wife was sitting next to Tara and Hotch. They were going through everything we knew about the case over and over again, in case we had missed anything. I gave her her cup of coffee and watched her smile at me, making me feel things were right for a second.

- “Thank you hon.”- (Y/N) whispered and sipped her mug.

- “Sorry guys, I didn’t know if you had coffee.”- I apologized but Tara just shook her head and smiled.

- “Rossi is getting us some caffeine, he should be on his way back. Thank you, Spencer.”

I nodded and turned to the board in silence. It was hard to focus, but if I wanted to go home soon, I had to find something that could help us catch that killer and bring those kids back home safely as soon as possible.

- “He won't leave the city”- I mumbled staring at the map in front of me

- “You say something?”- Lewis asked me from the table. I kept my eyes on the image in front of me for a second or two, trying to rearrange my thoughts, and then I turned to look at her the second Rossi walked into the room with coffee.

- “I don't think he'll leave the city.”- I explained. - “Look, if you track his activity from the start, his first two victims were found near the Mexican border. But they were discovered 6 months apart and in locations 52 miles apart. Unfortunately, because they were runaways, it's impossible to track when or where they were taken, but his next two victims, Hannah Robertson and Max Wasserman, only lived 14 miles apart, and they were taken within days of each other.”

- “Ok.”- Tara stared at me, waiting for a big revelation, ‘cos so far I was just spitting facts we knew.

- “But he took them both 39 miles all the way here to Los Angeles to finish the job.”- I simply added.

- “We profiled that that could be about availability.”- Rossi commented from the other side of the table.- “A lot of abandoned space here.”

- “And don’t forget about the high police presence around the abduction sites.”- my wife mumbled before taking a long sip of the coffee I made for her.

- “Exactly, it makes sense he'd keep moving to avoid being caught.”- Tara commented as he turned to me and shrugged.

- “But he didn't keep moving, and he didn't go dormant. He stayed right here and accelerated.”- I analyzed and stared at (Y/N), who raised an eyebrow reading my mind.

- “So Los Angeles is where he wants to be.”- she suggested and I nodded, drawing lines on the map.

- “Yes, I think he's been converging on the city.”

- “If that's true, his next victim probably lives in Los Angeles, too.”- Hotch stared at the map, doing his analysis as he dialed the phone and Garcia’s voice filled the whole room.

- “Sir, yes, sir.”

- “Garcia, how many boys live within a 15-mile radius of Francesca Morales?”- Aaron asked her. The answer was impossible.

- “Uh, thousands, Sir, like literally.”

- “All right, narrow your search by hair color. We're only interested in boys with brown hair.”- and we all heard her typing as fast as possible as she hyperventilated.

- “Right. Uh, this is gonna take me a while because kids that age don't usually have photo IDs. They have passports, maybe, but it's all about the parents' social media. I'm gonna handle this. I'll hit you back when I have something.”

- “All right, thanks.”- Hotch hung up and (Y/N) looked at him shaking her head.

- “You love pushing her to the limits, don’t you?”

- “I never ask something unless I know you all can answer.”- Hotch replied and my wife just nodded. And suddenly, something hit her ‘cos she wide opened her eyes and turned to me.

- “Ok, call me crazy ‘cos I might be projecting our babies in this whole case, but Francesca Morales has a brother that age. If the unsub is converging, he could be a target.”

- “Yeah, but Hannah Robertson had an 11-year-old brother and a 9-year-old brother, and Max Wasserman has a 15-year-old sister.”- Tara argued but my wife insisted.

- “I mean he is not just after an older girl and a younger boy…”

- “It’s older sister, younger brother.”- I finished my wife’s sentence and she nodded. Now I was projecting our babies in the case as well. And it made it a thousand times worse.

- “We should bring in this Morales kid just to be safe.”- Rossi suggested. But we were too late. The unsub already had that poor kid. When JJ and Alvez got there, Berto had been taken and Mrs. Morales was unconscious. They called an ambulance and then drove back to the station.

An hour late, we had a suspect: John David Bates. He was from Nevada, currently living in Los Angeles. He had tried to burn the family house with his sister in it twice before his parents relinquished his custody and he ended up in a foster home.

This kill was his endgame. He wanted to kill an older sister with her little brother. Hotch didn’t let me or my wife on the field that night. I think he knew it had gotten too personal for us. But he failed to notice how personal it had turned for JJ as well. She ended up hurt that night, and Francesca sadly died. Only her brother Berto was saved from the fire the unsub had created.

It felt wrong. Like nothing we did was ever enough. We tried our best and yet failed. I refused to even talk about it. I just wanted to be home, at peace, with my babies and my wife, in our own bubble.

On the plane back, I made (Y/N) a cup of tea and covered her with a blanket. She cut me a short smile and rested her head on my shoulder, snuggling closer. A few minutes later, not even half into her cup of tea, she was sound asleep. Hotch looked at us from his seat and the ghost of a smile hunted his face for a fragment of a second. I caught him staring at us when I looked at him from my book and felt my lips twitch into a shy grin.

- “Years might pass, but I will always feel happy to watch you two so in love.”- he murmured from his chair and sipped his whiskey.

- “We would have never gotten here if it wasn’t for you.”

- “I would disagree, but at your pace, you would still be considering confessing your feelings to her.”- Hotch grinned and I nodded.

- “You are right about that. So thank you for pushing us to deal with our feelings.”

- “I regret many decisions from the last ten years. That will never be on that list.”-Aaron assured me and I knew he meant it.

That will always be the last conversation we shared. After that day, I never saw him again.

How can you not resent your work when people you consider your own family disappear from your life like that? At first, they told us he was on a special mission, but after a month or so, the truth was out: he was in the witness protection program after he discovered Mr. Scratch was stalking his son Jack.

Of course, I understand the deep anger and desperation you feel when you even just imagine something - anything bad - happening to your kids. That means I can’t really blame Hotch for leaving. I don’t. I could never. But if you ask me, I blame our work. The nature of what we do. Serial killer, the constant danger.

There was a time when the mere thought of leaving the BAU seemed impossible. But at that time, it started looking real.

But before we could even start thinking about leaving, we had to catch Mr. Scratch.

Right. We haven’t talked in deep of Mr. Scratch just yet. Let me give you the facts: I hate that mother fucker. He has been one of the few unsubs that has gotten under my skin. One of the few I would have killed before even trying to question. Before we knew Hotch was gone for real, Prentiss came back for a few weeks, to cover for him. That was great, and fun and a nice change from missing Emily. Having her around made the transition a little more bearable, I think.

We first met Mr. Scratch back when Kate was still in the BAU over a year earlier. He was drugging people and turning them into murderers. Why? ‘Cos back in the days, one of them had pointed out his father as a pedophile while he was a kid and his parents ran a foster home in Florida, which led to the death of his father in the hands of other prisoners while he was doing his time.

We managed to catch the guy that one time. He tried to get into Hotch’s head, drugged him, and even persuaded him to kill us. I guess that’s why he got obsessed with Aaron. He couldn’t crack his head and make a puppet out of him. So he plotted his revenge.

Right before we went to Paris, Hotch was ambushed and accused of plotting an attack against the BAU. Crazy? Yes. The fact the Department of Justice actually believed the accusations were true made it even worse. And considering Jack, his son, had to witness the moment a SWAT team stormed into their apartment to get him… honestly, why were we still with the FBI?

Scratch’s revenge was a long shot. He helped an anarchist plan a prison break and used an unsub autistic son to frame our Unit Chief. The result was multiple serial killers on the loose. Including Mr. Scratch himself.

Eventually, National Security realized they were being played and released Hotch. I will never forget that case ‘cos - a side from the eidetic memory issue - it all happened less than two months after Vincent was born, and it was one of the first cases I was back for. It was local, and for a split of a second, while I was in that prison, in the middle of a shooting, I thought that was it. That my kids would have to grow up without their father. That I was never gonna leave that place alive. It wasn’t any better when a helicopter exploded right in front of us.

Sure, Rossi planned a nice dinner afterward, and we all got to share a beautiful evening together with the kids, and our loved ones. But… we weren’t even done eating when Hotch’s cell phone rang. Thirteen serial killers, along with Mr. Scratch were on the loose. Years of work, wasted.

- “Why do we even bother?”- (Y/N) asked crossing her arms on her chest as we all stood in Rossi’s library, trying to understand what was happening. - “We fight serial killers, we hunt them down, and mother fuckers get on the loose again! No one will ever actually be safe.”

Back then I told her it was our work to make sure those killers wouldn’t hurt anyone else. But now, I know it was our job. Now we have a bigger task. We have to find our own happiness.

(Y/N)’s point of view

The first few weeks after Prentiss came back were fun. Well, as fun as our job can be. She brought donuts for breakfast and tried to make Luke feel more welcome (making it awkward in the process, as it should be, considering he was, as Garcia liked to call him: the newbie). She also organized a few ladies' nights out to catch up. Maybe she realized JJ and I were not as close as we used to be. Or maybe she was just trying to make up for all the time she had spent away.

Meanwhile, at home, Spencer had been obsessing with getting his mother into a groundbreaking study that, according to all the investigation and papers he had read, could in fact reverse the effects of Alzheimer's.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was too good to be true, and I knew it was something Spencer needed to do for his mother. Diana had been ok, she was incredibly present and healthy during our trip. If we didn’t know she had schizophrenia and Alzheimer's, she would have passed by a very volatile and fun grandmother. She had fully embraced her new title of grandma, or Memaw, as she likes to be called. Memaw read to Raven for hours, all of their favorite stories. And she held baby Vincet and hummed sweet lullabies for him, filling our hearts with love every time we were together.

But Spencer was afraid. He didn’t want to lose his mother and with every passing day, a little piece of her disappeared. So of course I supported him through the entire application process and hoped for the best.

- “It’s been three weeks, they should know by now.”- Spencer whispered in the middle of the dark. We were cuddled on our bed, our kids sound asleep on the very same bed, after feeding Vincent and calming Raven from a bad dream.

- “These things take time, hun. You know it. They told you it could take from three to five weeks.”- I replied and caressed his arm slowly, feeling him roll on the bed, Raven sleeping in between us. I looked at him and cut him a short smile in the dark.

- “I know. It’s just… I’m anxious, I need this to work.”

- “It will work. No matter what, we are never going to stop trying to help your mom feel better. You know that, right?”- I heard him sigh and then, Spencer got quiet. I didn’t want to continue talking, afraid I could push him too hard. I knew Diana was a sensitive subject for Spencer, and no matter how long we had been together, I still felt around eggshells when it came to her health.

- “Thank you, chipmunk.”- that was all Spencer whispered after a few seconds, and held my hand in the dark.

That’s why I understood exactly why he was so excited when he finally got the call from the director of the assisted care home Diana lived at back in Las Vegas. She was in. I was at my desk in the bullpen, trying to finish some of the paperwork I had behind when I saw him spinning on his chair. That could only mean something good had happened.

- “She’s in! She is in!”- Spencer ran to me and lifted me from my chair, nearly jumping.

- “Wh…”- but before I could even ask, Rossi stood next to us, raising an eyebrow.

- “Am I interrupting a private moment?”- and after a short pause, David wide opened his eyes. - “You are not pregnant again, are you?”

- “Wh.. no!”- I chuckled as I replied, thinking it was fun that was the very first thing that came to Rossi’s mind.

- “I was just talking with the director of the assisted care home where my mother lives.”- Spencer explained, still smiling- “We kept quiet because we didn't want to jinx it, but there's a groundbreaking clinical study on Alzheimer's at Johns Hopkins next month, and I just found out that my mom's gonna be one of the participants. She got in.”

Rossi smiled and hugged my husband, tapping his back a few times.

- “That's great news, Spencer.”

- “It's huge. The program's called metabolic enhancement for neuro-degeneration, and results from earlier tests are hopeful, not just to slow the disease but to actually reverse it!”- after that sentence, Spencer actually started jumping, making me and Rossi chuckle at the sight. The last time I saw Spencer that happy had been the day we discovered we were having Vinny.

- “Ok, it's customary that the lottery winner shares that mega-payout with the rest of the office.”- Garcia said, walking toward us, surprised by my husband’s excitement.

- “Well, Reid's news is even better than that.”- Rossi explained, but we didn’t have time to tell her the whole story: we had a case.

- “Told you things were gonna work out”- I whispered as I kissed my husband’s hand, walking hand in hand to the briefing room. And the way he smiled at me, so full of excitement and hope, I can’t believe all the shit that came next.

As far as we knew, Hotch was still on TDY, but available for consultation in case we needed him. Which sadly we didn’t. Maybe that was the sign he needed to simply let go: the team was going to be ok without him. Work would get done, even if he wasn’t there to supervise it. I need to write that down and repeat it as a mantra.

My husband’s excitement lasted exactly six and a half hours. That very same afternoon, while we were in the middle of the investigation on the Appalachian trail, not really far from Quantico. We were outside the abduction site of the latest victim of our unsub. Spencer had commented last case we had there was the time I had gotten lost in the woods, six years ago, and that had been the reason behind my nickname: “Chipmunk.” He was happy, you could tell, even when we were trying to catch a serial killer, my husband was excited.

That, until he got a phone call.

- “The victim's name is Howard Walker.”- JJ announced as she walked from the convenience store the victim had seen last. - “He was picking up pizza and beer for the family dinner.”

- “We're a half mile or more from where Lewis and Alvez apprehended the unsub.”- Spencer commented as I took a look around, trying to picture the whole scene happening in front of me. What weren’t we seeing?

- “The guy must have needed a car or a truck if he was moving the victim away from here. I don’t think Todd has the skills to drive.”- I said and Spencer nodded. But he didn’t say anything ‘cos he got a call and without saying another word, he walked away from us to pick up.

I stared at him and noticed his face changing as Rossi and JJ kept talking about the case. They had lost my entire concentration, I knew there was something wrong by the way Spencer started pacing as he talked.

- “Lab results.”- Rossi announced as he took a look at his phone. He touched my shoulder and forced me to focus on work again.- “DNA in that muzzle we found matches one of the original five victims.”

- “That means the unsub is probably making them wear it for his fantasies.”- I said as Rossi nodded.

- “Dehumanize them.”- he added - “It's easier to kill an animal than a human.”

Spencer ended his call and turned to look at us. He seemed defeated and shocked. I took a few steps closer to him and rubbed his arm carefully. But before I could actually ask my husband what was happening, I heard JJ’s voice.

- “Everything ok, Spence?”- I couldn’t control my own face as I deadpanned her.

- “Yeah…”- he nodded and sighed. Of course, he was lying.

- “What is it?”- I whispered and held his hand.

- “That was the Las Vegas police. I guess they found my mom wandering around a casino near her living facility. She didn't know who she was or how she got there.”

- “How is she?”- I asked right away

- “She is ok. They put her on the phone. She sounded normal, just obviously embarrassed, you know, by all the fuss.”

- “You have to go be with her.”- the words left my lips before I even processed it.

- “I can't do that. We're right in the middle… and the kids are at home. I can’t leave you alone now.”

- “Investigation will be fine.”- Rossi explained to him right away.

- “And I will manage. I can ask Mom for help. Or Frank, or Mikey, or Garcia.”

- “I just… can’t…”- Spencer looked at me and I could see the struggle within him.

- “We'll be fine here. We’ll help with the kids.”- Rossi assured him and I nodded, still holding onto his hand.

- “Your mom is a priority.”- JJ added and I looked at Spencer with a short smile.

- “Go, honey. Please.”

- “Are you sure?”- he whispered and caressed my cheek sweetly. I nodded one more time and let go of his hand.

- “I am sure, you have to do it.”

- “Ok. I'm gonna go to the M.E.'s office and grab something for Prentiss, but I'll leave first thing in the morning and spend a day or two. No more than that.”

- “Take all the time you need.”- Rossi said as my husband waved and walked to the SUV.- “Aren’t you going with him?”- David asked and turned to me. - “Come on! Like I’m the one who is tearing you two apart.”

- “Thank you.”- I whispered and hurried to catch my husband before he got to the car.

Things didn’t get better for him, though. And that very same day, later in the afternoon, Spencer got another phone call. We were ready to go, mom had called to tell me she had taken the babies to our apartment so Spencer got to spend extra time with them before his trip. He had tickets to Las Vegas at 7am, and I knew he didn’t really want to go, but he had to.

- “Yes, this is him”- Spencer said as he picked up the phone on his desk and stayed sat, staring blankly in front of him.

- “What are you still doing here?”- Rossi asked and stood next to me as I stared at Spencer, still on the phone. One more time, it was clear he wasn’t getting good news. - “I thought you were home, packing a bag.”

- “We are almost out”- I said and Spencer hung up.- “What happened?”

- “That was the director of the Johns Hopkins clinical trial. Turns out my mom wasn't chosen.”

- “What? Why? What happened?”- I moved closer to him and rested my hands on his shoulders as he just sat there, in shock.

- “Budget restraints. The study had to randomly reduce the number of participants and my mom's name was drawn.”

- “I’m so sorry honey”- he just shook his head and sighed, defeated.

- “Well, you can still go to Vegas.”- Rossi suggested and I agreed with him.

- “That’s true. Your mom still had that episode this morning, and I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

- “No. It's important that I stay here and try and find something else.”- Spencer shook his head and turned to me and Rossi, giving all the explanations he thought we needed. - “There's a study coming up with Paul Stanfield at the Anderson Clinic in Houston...

- “Hon… no. She needs you now.”

- “I have to find another way to help her.”- my husband was determined, and I knew it was going to be hard to change his mind.

- “Spencer, I understand you want to help. But don't lose sight of the bigger picture.”- Rossi sat on Reid’s desk as he spoke and my husband looked at him, lost in the conversation.

- “What do you mean?”

- “You have a finite amount of time left with your mother. I know it's a hard thing to say, but I speak from experience. Don't squander the time you have left by being overly focused on fixes.”

That was exactly what I wanted to tell him, but never found the right words. I loved Rossi that minute.

- “But I want her to get better.”- Spencer argued, probably not getting the real concept of “limited time.” He knew his mom was losing her mind every day a little more, but he still thought he had more time than he actually had to help her.

- “Then get on that phone. Buy your ticket to Las Vegas. Being with you, seeing you, hearing your voice, that's the best medicine you could give your mother. That you can give each other.”

- “Papa pasta is right, hon. Your mom needs her son more than anything right now. That’s all that matters right now.”

Spencer nodded and stayed in silence, probably trying to process everything that had just happened. Rossi hugged him as we all stood up and walked out of the bullpen. My husband didn’t want to talk much on the drive back home, and I didn’t push him. I knew he was miserable.

- “Daddy!!!””- Raven ran to his arms as soon as we opened the front door and my mom stared at us from the kitchen, holding baby Vinny in her arms.

- “Someone was eager to see you two.”- she said with a warm smile.

- “We were eager to see you too, birdy. How was your day? Hey Sofia!”- Spencer kissed our daughter’s cheeks many times as he held her in his arms and she started telling him every single detail of her day. I was glad to stare at that scene because it put a smile on Spencer’s face and that was enough to make me feel happy.

- “Today the teacher read us a story, but you had read it to me already, but everybody liked it, so I told them there was a second part, and the teacher said she was gonna read that tomorrow.”- Raven kept rambling as I walked toward mom and held baby Vinny.

- “Thank you for picking them up from daycare”

- “Anytime you need, peanut. Vinny already ate, but Raven wanted to have dinner with you two.”

- “And then my friend said I had to jump, and I did, and they said I had to do it again…”- Raven was on fire talking with Spencer, so I walked to the kitchen with my mom and whispered.

- “Diana didn’t make it to the study after all.”

- “What? Why?”

- “They cut the budget and Diana didn’t make the cut.”

- “That’s so bad, how is he?”

- “I don’t think he wants to go anymore.”- I whispered and turned to look at Spencer laughing at something Raven had told him.

- “Why not? His mother needs him.”

- “That’s what I told him, Mom. But it’s still hard for him to face her episodes and the fact she is forgetting so much. One thing is schizophrenia, another thing is dementia, and I don’t think he can handle both their effects on his mother.”

- “Poor thing.”- my mom whispered and sighed. - “It’s so sad what’s happening to Diana. She is such a nice and sweet woman.”

- “I know… Spencer doesn’t deserve all this pain.”-I murmured and kissed my baby’s cheek several times.

- “Have you considered bringing her here? Keep her close?”- mom muttered

- “I’ve told him that so many times… but he keeps saying it’s too much to deal with considering we have the kids…”- but I couldn’t continue talking, because Spencer walked over and stood next to me. Raven kept her little arms around his neck and smiled at me as I stared at her thinking my daughter was the biggest daddy’s girl I had ever met.

- “ How was your day, Sofia?”

- “I was just telling (Y/N), I had a very nice day today. I had lunch with my friend Rebecca, she is so fun! She just came back from Canada, she was visiting her daughter.”

Remember when I told you I was the best liar in the entire FBI? I got that from my mom.

Later that night, we put the kids to bed. Raven asked Spencer to read her a story while I walked Vinny across his room until he was fast asleep. I sang to him under my breath and watched him asleep for a few minutes, enjoying the entire moment ‘cos I knew how short those moments were. My little baby was going to be running up and down the house in no time.

After I put him down in his crib, I put an eye on Raven, who was sound asleep already. I covered her and tiptoed outside her room, ready to get into my bed and get some decent sleep for once. That was when I heard my husband on the phone.

- “Dr. Stanfield, hi, my name is Spencer Reid, and I was wondering if you were available tomorrow to talk about my mother.”

And that’s when I knew he wasn’t going to Las Vegas the following day. He was gonna focus on getting her into another experimental treatment instead of spending decent time with her while he still could. And it really broke my heart to think how traumatized and helpless he must have felt.

Spencer’s point of view

I knew my wife was worried about me. But all I could think of at that minute was how to help my mother. And hanging out with her was not going to stop the dementia from taking her from me. I had to find a way to treat her, a place where they could actually help her.

So I let the days pass, we got a few more cases, and life continued as it had always been, and that gave me some sort of comfort. I got my mother into another experimental study group in Houston. (Y/N) and I talked about it and we had an agreement. I was going to give that study a chance, but if it didn’t work, we were bringing my mother to Washington so we could take care of her and help her as much as we could.

It didn’t feel right putting my wife under so much pressure, but she kept telling me what happened to my mother wasn’t just my problem, but ours ‘cos we were a family. And if I have to be honest, I loved the sound of that.

And life left a little more in place after that. Until it finally happened. After over a month without Hotch, we arrived at the bullpen and Garcia intercepted us before we could even have our first coffee at the office.

- “Thank God you guys are here. What do you know?”- and we all stared at her not getting what she was talking about.

- “Nothing.”- JJ replied and frowned, as lost as we were. So Garcia started explaining:

- “Ok. Rossi got here crazy early, and then right when Prentiss came in he pulled her in there.”- and we all stared at his office the minute he and Prentiss walked out and stared back at us with the most serious expression.

- “We need to talk.”- David said as he and Emily walked to the briefing room.

- “That never leads to anything good.”- I whispered and didn’t even stop to leave my purse on my desk as I followed the team to the room. Spencer held my hand and looked at me, clearly worried about what was going to happen. Was someone leaving? What other changes could we face as a team?

- “What's going on?”- Garcia asked as soon as we were all together behind a closed door.

- “It's Hotch.”- Rossi announced and our hearts stopped at the idea of anything happening to our Unit Chief.

- “Oh, my God. Is he ok?”- Penelope’s voice was hyperventilated as she spoke.

- “He's ok. But he has not been away on special assignment.”- David started explaining- “That's something we had to say as a cover for the investigation.”

- “I’m sorry, what are you talking about? What investigation?”- (Y/N) shouted the questions, a little exasperated Rossi was taking his sweet time explaining what was happening.

- “Hotch saw Peter Lewis watching one of Jack's soccer games.”- and we all gasped at David’s words, ‘cos it meant Mr. Scratch was stalking our team.

- “By the time Hotch reacted, Lewis had taken off. The Bureau searched the area, but he disappeared.”- Prentiss added, sounding very secure and calmed, knowing she had to give us at least the false sensation of security.

- “When was this?”- JJ asked, her voice and expression as stern as I had ever seen.

- “Days after Mr. Scratch resurfaced in Arizona.”- I nodded at Rossi’s words and Tara commented

- “One of the victims was chanting his name when we found her. She had "Hotch" carved into her forehead. It really got to him.”

- “Why didn't he tell us? We could have focused on finding Mr. Scratch!”- I questioned right away. It was upsetting knowing our Unit Chief had been through that hell on his own when we could have all helped him find that psycho and keep his family safe.

- “He knows we can't drop everything. Also, he didn't want to worry everyone.”- Rossi explained like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. It meant we had failed to keep each other safe.

- “So now what? They have around-the-clock surveillance?”- Luke asked what we all wanted to know but couldn’t ask, ‘cos I get at a certain level, we were all in shock.

- “Initially, yes.”- Rossi started, and it didn’t sound good.- “Agents were assigned to watch Jack 24/7. But when we were all in L.A, on the John David Bates case, Scratch surfaced again, this time at Jack's school.”

- “Going after Jack takes this to a whole new level.”- JJ mumbled looking scared, and I could absolutely relate to her. When you realize your own kids could be the next ones chased by a serial killer, things start looking very dark.

- “Peter Lewis is not going to stop. Which is why Hotch and Jack have now entered the program.”- Rossi finished explaining, and for a moment it felt unreal. It was also a deja vu. I couldn’t stop thinking it was the same thing that happened with Haley. Hotch must have been going through hell all those weeks alone with Jack.

- “But now that this happened, we can drop everything and focus on catching Mr. Scratch, and then Hotch can come back, right?”- Garcia’s voice was filled with hope, but somehow I knew the answer was going to be a no. (Y/N) held my hand tight and I moved closer to her, feeling her body next to me.

- “He went away believing that could happen. But things have changed. He's now decided that he can't put himself and Jack in danger again.”

It was official. Hotch was gone for good. And it didn’t matter if we caught Mr. Scratch or not. He had made his choice. And it was his family, his real family, not his “work family”.

- “He just sent in his resignation.”- Rossi confirmed. - “I know this is a lot to process.”

- “I mean, yeah, he's a great dad, and this is an impossible job, and we know how much tragedy he's had. He's had enough tragedy. But… does this mean we're never going to be able to talk to him again?”

It was Garcia’s question that left us all speechless. It wasn’t just that Hotch had entered the witness protection program. It was the fact he had left us. Just like that. Like we didn’t matter. Not even saying goodbye. Turning his back to everything we had done together all the years we were at the BAU. It was… shocking to say the least.

- “We don't have a choice.”- Rossi assured us- “It's not ideal, obviously. But as his friends, we have to support his decision.”

- “The only way for Hotch to guarantee Jack's safety is if they both stay off the grid.”- Emily commented with such sorry eyes you could tell she didn’t want to give us that news. No one would. It was heartbreaking for the team.

- “And one more thing.”- Rossi added, but my wife interrupted him.

- “Come on papa! We can’t deal with any more news today. It’s too early to drink, too soon to retire. What do you want from us?”

- “Trust me, ragazza, you are gonna like this”- Rossi cut her a short smile and explained. “Hotch spoke to the director as to who should replace him. Don't worry, it won't be me. You know I'm allergic to paperwork.”

- “Aren’t we all?”- (Y/N) whispered and made me chuckle as David finally announced.

- “But Hotch's final request was that Emily Prentiss becomes the BAU's new bureau chief.”

- “Thank the universe for silver linings.”- Garcia mumbled as we all nearly clapped in excitement. That was actually good news.

- “Ok, I just heard about all of this myself a few minutes ago.”- Prentiss was almost apologizing for her new position.

- “But you are gonna say yes, aren’t you Em?”- (Y/N) asked her immediately, and Prentiss just stared at her not knowing what to answer.- “I mean, we all miss you, you miss us. This place is finally feeling a little like home with you around…”

- “Thank you, Reid.”- Em replied with a silly grin, enjoying calling my wife by her new last name, though it wasn’t new at all at that point.

- “Congratulations, Emily.”- Luke said and smiled at her.

- “This'll be good, right?”- I asked, trying to stay positive at that major change.

- “You kidding me? This'll be great.”- JJ was nearly beaming with the announcement.

- “I am really happy for you.”- Tara added with a warm smile. But Prentiss shook her head as she stared at us.

- “Thank you, guys, but I haven't exactly signed on yet.”

- “What is there to analyze? We are dying without you, we need you, you are our family.”- (Y/N) nearly glared at Em as she excused herself and Rossi continued talking before my wife said anything else.

- “Everyone knows you have a lot to consider, but the brass needs an answer by tomorrow.”

- “Understood.”- Prentiss just nodded as Garcias’s phone beeped.

- “I hate to interrupt the bad news/good news with bad news/bad news, but we've got three missing kids in Delaware.”

And just like that, life continued. I hated it. I needed time to process what was happening. To think about what was Hotch doing, and how it would affect us all. But no, I didn’t have time at all. It was all changing again, and I hate change so much it’s hard to even describe how I felt.

Pointless. That’s the word. It all started feeling pointless.

- “Can we please have a quiet weekend at home?”- (Y/N) whispered as we all gathered our things after briefing the next case. We had to be in the jet in a few minutes.

- “Sure chipmunk. Anything in mind?”

- “Pajamas, our babies, movies and books. Maybe some home-baked cookies.”

- “Sounds like the best plan.”- I kissed the top of her head and she sighed.

- “Can you imagine being Hotch?”- she whispered as I stayed close to her.- “I mean, Jack was being followed by a serial killer. If anything like that happened to Raven or Vinny, I’d…”- I couldn’t let her follow that rabbit hole, so I tried to stop her before she continued spiraling down.

- “They are safe. We are safe.”- I whispered and kissed her forehead.- “And I will never let anything happen to any of you, chipmunk. Never.”

- “I’m sure that’s what Hotch said to himself every day while he worked here.”- (Y/N) seemed lost in her head as she mumbled those words. I held her close to me and sighed knowing what was happening was as hard for me as it was for her.

- “And he stayed true to his word. Nothing will happen to Jack.”- I assured her, trying to make her feel calm.

- “Not after what happened to Hailey.”- my wife whispered and her voice sounded brokenhearted. - “Sometimes I wonder which will be the drop that breaks the camel’s back for us at the BAU.”

I stared at (Y/N) not knowing what to say. So I kept my mouth shut as her eyes begged me for an answer.

- “Come on, Reids.”- Luke interrupted us as he passed by my desk. - “They are waiting for us in the jet.”

- “Yeah, we’ll be right there.”- (Y/N) replied and took a step back from me slowly. I held her hand and looked into her eyes, trying to show her how serious I was.

- “I will never let anything hurt you, or our babies.”

- “I know, hon. Me neither.”

The mood on the plane was weird. (Y/N) sat next to Prentiss and Rossi and kept asking questions about Hotch the first minutes we were there, while I walked to the kitchenette to pour us some coffee.

- “There's a lot to process before my first cup.”- JJ said as we stood there, both of us craving caffeine. She handed me a cup for myself and poured one for herself.

- “Thank you.”- I replied and grabbed another mug for my wife as she just kept talking.

- “I can't believe he's been dealing with this for weeks and we never knew.”

- “That part really doesn't surprise me. He's always kept things to himself. I guess it was just his way of protecting us.”- I said in a lower voice, ‘cos I really didn’t want to talk much more about the subject if we were supposed to be focusing on the case.

- “If anyone targeted my boys, I'd do anything to keep them safe.”- JJ whispered and looked at me wanting to open up about how she felt about the entire situation. But we didn’t have time.

- “I know how you feel”- and before she could continue talking, I grabbed the two mugs and walked back to my wife.

- “Thank you, batsy.”- she smiled and grabbed the cup from my hands as Rossi asked Emily if she was ready to test drive leading the team. No one was ready for that change. But change doesn’t wait for anyone.

(Y/N)’s point of view

I hated everything. Hotch was gone. Out of the blue. My unit chief. My friend. Out of the blue, just gone. Forever. And why? ‘Cos work had gotten too much of a threat for his family. That was my biggest fear and it happened to the strongest man in the BAU. It meant it could happen to any of us. Including my family. I just didn’t know how to deal with that fear at the moment. So I tried to push it aside and focus on work. We had to find three missing kids.

Yeah, kids. ‘Cos life was not going to make things easier for me.

The town was small, the kind of place where everybody knew each other. We were at the police station talking with the chief, Coop. Spencer was trying to find a connection between the three missing kids and the ghost story in town. Apparently, way back, a local mental institution burned down and inmates escaped, town legend has it that those who were never found moved into abandoned houses around town. And considering the kids were into horror movies, they might have tried to get into one of those houses and god knows what was waiting in there.

Sadly, there was a history of missing kids in town. Back in 1993, the Henson twins had disappeared at thirteen and their bodies were never found. We didn’t know if we were trying to find the same unsub or not, but it was the only lead we had. Rossi asked me to stay with him and Tara at the station, talking with the parents, as Spencer, Luke, and JJ went to the area where the Hensen kids were last seen, to try to find any clues.

It wasn’t easy talking with the parents. It never is. But that day was especially hard. There I was, playing my BAU SSA part, all together, when deep down, I was as scared as those poor parents, wondering if my kids were in fact safe. Not just at that minute, but ever. Was I helping make the world a better place or just exposing my family to the rage of any random serial killer?

- “Bella donna…”- Rossi announced his entrance to the room where I stood in front of the board, not really staring at the pictures of the missing kids, but trying to find a sense of everything that happened around us.

- “Coronel Cannelloni.”- I replied with a tiny smile.- “How did it go with Jimmy Ridley?”

- “Penelope got nothing.”- I hummed and kept staring at the board.- “Anything else on the parents?”

- “No, they are just desperate. And I totally understand.”- Rossi walked until he was standing next to me, staring at the same board, and kept quiet for a moment. - “Are you going to ask how I’m holding up?”

- “More like trying to find the right words to ask you how you are doing without sounding condescending”- I nodded and sighed.

- “You just nailed it. I’m…”

- “Mad”- Rossi took the words from my lips as I nodded.

- “Yeah, and terrified.”

- “Your kids are going to be ok, you can trust me on that. I don’t think Spencer would ever leave anything to hurt you or those bambinos.”

- “I know. Or at least, I want to think I do. I just…”- I made a pause and turned to look at him, trying to really find the right words to explain how I felt.- “It’s just pointless, you know? Everyone leaves. Why are we staying? Why am I missing my baby’s first words or first steps to save a world that feels like it doesn't even deserve to be saved?”

David Rossi opened my mouth, but no word came from him. He just stared at me for a moment, and then opened his arms, and just hugged me tight, as I kept fighting the tears back.

- “He was my friend. And now he is gone.”

- “I know.”

- “Like Morgan, like Blake, like Callahan, like Elle…”

- “It’s ok to feel like nothing makes sense.”- Rossi whispered and just kept trying to keep me together.

- “How do I do this job when I am questioning the entire time if it’s actually worthy of everything I am missing?”

- “Just keep in mind everyone we are helping here.”- Rossi kissed the top of my head. - “And that we all love you. You are like my kid, I’ve watched you grow and become an amazing young woman, who is raising the most incredible kids with the man she loves. You are doing everything right. Never doubt that.”

I nodded and sighed as Rossi kept his eyes on me. Tara Lewis walked into the room and stared at us, confused.

- “Just a little pep talk.”- I explained and waved as David chuckled.

- “Seems today is the right day to get or give one of those to the team.”- Tara cut me a smile and added.- “We have footage of the cornfield last night. The rest of the team are on their way back.”

- “Great. Hopefully, there’s something on the kids in it.”- I said and felt my phone humming. It was a text from my husband.

- “Miss you. Be there in ten.”- and those six words automatically made me feel better.

To be completely honest, I was miserable the entire time. Prentiss asked me to stay with the parents, which didn’t help my mood at all. Just being with those couples who felt guilty that anything bad could happen to their kids was too easy for me to relate to. Spencer kept texting me, with updates from the field, info on Jimmy Ridley’s house, and asking if I needed anything.

- “Just come back safe.”- I replied. They had to bring Ridley back for interrogation ‘cos they found some of the kids’ belongings at his house. My guts kept telling me he wasn’t the unsub, but there was something weird happening in that town. All small towns creep me out. There are usually too many secrets for so few people living in them.

Less than fifteen minutes later, my husband stood in front of me and hugged me quickly.

- “How are you, chipmunk?”

- “As tired as I was when you left, honey bunny.”- I replied and felt his lips on my cheek, as Prentiss stood by our side arguing.

- “I’m not even sure I’ll accept this job and you are forcing me to give you a warning for PDA at work.”

- “Sorry”- Spencer and I said at the same time as we moved from each other, but our friend just laughed and kept walking.

- “Shit, I missed making fun of you.”

- “You are lucky I love you.”- I replied and followed her- “How did the interview go?”

- “Luke talked to him. Your guts were right. He is most likely not our guy.” - the team got together and we analyzed what we had, which to be honest, still wasn’t much.

- “His house is a puzzle, but other than the bicycle helmet, we couldn't find any sign of the kids.”- Em explained and Alvez agreed

- “ I think this guy's too simple to be who we're looking for.”

- “The kids were tracing the steps of the Henson’s missing kids. Maybe we should put an eye on that investigation.”- I looked at Prentiss, and she nodded.

- “Who called it in back then?”- JJ asked and my husband replied.

- “Their mom did, but she died a few years ago. Their older brother Deeley was with them that night.”- Spencer added and showed a picture of the three brothers together.

- “Yeah, we met him on the roadside.”- Prentiss explained. - “According to Coop, he lives across town and he went out of his way to find us on Route 7.

- “Sounds like he's trying to insert himself into our investigation.”- Rossi pointed out

- “Except when we asked him to talk, he refused.”- Spencer refuted the theory and looked at me.

- “Maybe he just needs someone who listens. I’m sure it was hard for him, investigation in small towns can turn into hell.”- I was rambling out loud, but by the look on my husband’s face, he was on board.

- “Maybe it's time to give talking to him another try.”- Prentiss suggested.

- “You want to take a ride?”- Alvez asked Spencer

- “Sure.”

- “Don’t flirt with my husband!”- I warned him, joking obviously. Luke chuckled and Spencer frowned confused.- “Watch out, Alvez!”

- “I would never even think about getting in between you two, Mrs Reid.”

- “It’s Doctor Reid, for you.”- I teased Luke and he just chuckled.

- “See you later, chipmunk.”- Spencer held my hand for a moment and squeezed it, sweetly.

- “Take care, honey.”

- “If Jimmy really isn't our unsub, we're back to one.”- JJ said the second Luke and Spencer left the room.

- “Let's go dig up the Henson files.”- Rossi suggested and she agreed. - “I'll buy you a cup of coffee on the way.”

And just like that, it was just Tara, Em, and I in the room. I hadn’t been alone with Prentiss after what had happened that morning. Mostly along with the team. And I didn’t really know what to say or how to ask her what was going on in her head.

- “What are you thinking?”- luckily, Tara did it for me.

- “A lot of circumstantial evidence against Jimmy Ridley, but I wanted to go over…”- Prentiss started ranting about the case, but Lewis quickly corrected her

- “I was actually wondering what you were thinking about staying.”

- “Oh. Right. Well, uh, more pros than cons.”- Emily explained and looked at me with a sweet smile. - “I love this group and the job, but…”

- “But you've got a life back in London”- Tarah finished her sentence nodding

- “And don’t forget she also has a boyfriend on the other side of the pond.”- I added with my worst British accent.

- “Yeah….”- Prentiss was almost holding her breath as she answered, probably ‘cos she didn’t really want to deal with any of that at the moment.

- “Have you told him yet?- but clearly, Tara wasn’t going to let it go.

- “I haven't had the chance. We jumped on the jet.”- I knew it was the logical answer, we really didn’t have much time for any personal problem. But this was a big deal, and it sounded like Em was making up excuses to delay facing the situation.

- “You should call him.”- Tara simply replied and stared at her. Em nodded immediately.

- “I will.”- but neither of us moved. Instead, the two of us just stared at her, waiting for her reaction.- “You mean right this second.”

- “Yeah.”- I chuckled along with Tara as we both started walking out of the room Emily grabbed her cell phone and dialed.- “Hey!”- we heard her saying as we left the room.

- “Thank you for that.”- I whispered and looked at Lewis.- “She needed a boost to start dealing with the facts.

- “I can recognize a fellow woman with issues dealing with hard topics.”

- “If that’s your superpower, I am not jealous.”- I joked and Tara chuckled.

- “It’s more like my natural reaction. I blame all the years I worked as a psychologist. My brain is wired to start treating anyone around me, even when I am not supposed to.”

- “Remind me to never stay alone with you in a room for more than a minute.”

- “Come on, (Y/N). I would never profile a team member… especially one with a profiler husband, who can track me and make me pay.”- I chuckled at the thought of Spencer avenging me, not ‘cos I didn’t think it was possible, but because it was exactly what would happen. And it was one of the reasons why I loved him so much.

A search party was organized to cover the whole area where the kids might have been taken. By nighttime, we were desperate, because we were running out of time to get the kids back safely. Spencer and Luke never came back to the station after talking with Henson, they stayed helping with the search. Emily left to meet them as soon as they found a bag pack that belonged to one of the kids, so I never got the chance to ask her what had happened with her boyfriend.

It wasn’t the right time either, we had to save those kids.

We didn’t have much news until Rossi, Tara and I got a call from Luke and the rest of the team. We finally had a name.

- “This Clements guy used to hunt out here and someone still using his traps.”- Alvez explained to us what they knew about the suspect after finding a trap with fresh bait in the middle of the woods.

- “I'll patch in Garcia.”- Rossi dialed her number and her voice made me smile for a moment.

- “I was feeling forgotten.”

- “Not on my watch.”- I replied immediately- “We need all your intel. What do you have on a local man named Reginald Clements?”

- “Reginald Clements.”- we could all hear her typing as fast as possible and a few seconds later, we heard an avalanche of information.- “Uh... He's lived there all his life. He, uh, appears to be, I think the words for it are "off his rocker." Lot of bats in the belfry. B-a-n-a-n-a-s.”

- “Tell me more, tell me more, like does he have a car?”- I recited the lyrics of the Grease song and Tara bit her lips next to me, trying not to laugh.

- “I am going to send you what I find as I find it so you can follow along at home. He's from one of the founding families, but this Reginald has quite the past. He did time at that mental hospital that burned down, but he was there before the fire.

- “For what?”- JJ asked from the other side of the line.

- “Assault with a deadly weapon. But it was the bodily harm he did to himself that put him away. He claimed he needed protection from aliens. His delusions ranged from the world ending to major conspiracies, cag him to live entirely off the grid. And, you know, I'm all for solar panels and making your own kombucha, but this guy took it to the extreme. When he was 18, he got in trouble for abduction of a minor. And get this. His defense was loneliness.”

- “When was he released?”- I heard my husband asking

- “Winter of 1982.”- Pen replied in a second.

- “So if it was him, he was out for a year before the Hensons disappeared. It could have been for a dual purpose… Survival and companionship.”- Emily suggested, and it made all the sense in the world.

- “If he got the Henson��s kids he might have never gotten to abduct anyone else for the rest of his life.”- I commented on that train of thought. - “He already got what he wanted, there was no need to put himself in danger again.”

- “Is Clements dead, Garcia?”- Rossi asked the elemental question

- “I don't have a death certificate, but if he's alive, he'd be 82.”

- “Could he have been strong enough to hold the boys and set hunting traps? ”- Luke asked, though it sounded like he was rambling on his own to settle his own head.

- “Doubtful.”- David answered his question, but I knew there was something more.

- “What’s your theory, homewrecker?”- I asked him

- “I'm thinking the next logical step. If he didn't kill the Hensons, he's had them this whole time.”

- “But how would he maintain control, especially once they were strong enough to escape?”- Tara questioned

- “If you think about it, it wouldn’t be that hard.”- I replied, picturing the whole scene in my head clearly.- “He's already got them isolated, and their home life wasn't great. They were young and naive enough to buy all the conspiracy theories he fed them. It might have worked.”

- “Exactly!”- Luke supported me. - “He believes that the world is coming to an end. He could have convinced them of his own delusions.”

- “So one paranoid survivalist bred two more.”- JJ concluded and I nodded, though no one but Tara and David could see me.

- “And if the Henson twins have taken our 3 boys, who knows what they're gonna do with them.” - Spencer’s words gave me chills. Not of the good kind. They meant those poor kids had been raised by a psychopath who brainwashed them and ruined their future.

- “We need an address, Garcia.”- it was the only thing I could think of at the moment.

- “On your phones.”

The team got there on time and saved the three kids. Plus, the Henson kids, reunite them with their older brother. We don’t usually get happy endings, but that day, we did. I finally had the pleasure of telling the families their kids were coming back home safe. And it was a heartwarming moment when my husband opened the front door of the station and the three kids ran to their parent’s arms. It was hard not to cry as I watched them all hugging and kissing their kid’s cheeks.

Spencer held my hand as he stood by my side, and I leaned onto his shoulder, feeling my heart filled with love and contentment. For the first time in what seemed to be forever.

- “Moments like this make everything worth it.”- Spencer whispered as we kept staring at the emotive family reunion going on in front of us.

- “Yeah…”- I mumbled and rested my head on his shoulder.- “Having Prentiss here is also very nice.”

- “Do you think she might want to stay?”- my husband made sure to whisper those words in my ear, so no one else from the team could hear us. I shrugged and didn’t move my eyes from the kids. One mother took a bag with snacks from her purse and gave it to her son. She probably made it as soon as she heard her son was missing, scared he could be starving. It was one of the sweetest gestures I’ve ever seen. Something only a mother can understand, I guess.

- “We could just ask her. This team will be miserable if she decides to leave. Can you imagine? Getting a new guy for the job? Having to meet a random agent?”-

- “Like Alvez?”- I could almost hear the smile on Spencer’s words.

- “He is fine. Garcia still hates him, though.”

- “Of course, she does…”- my phone dinged and a picture of our babies playing on the carpet, watching Paw Patrol warmed our hearts. Mom had taken them to our place.

- “Ready to go home?”- I asked my husband and he nodded, still holding my hand tight.

The flight back home was very short. But we still found a moment to talk to Emily. We knew it was too soon, but we had to ask her what she was going to do, ‘cos honestly, what had happened had been too hard. We needed some silver lining.

- “You ok?” - JJ asked Em as the three of us walked toward her on the jet. Emily was sitting on her own, lost in thought, looking over the window.

- “Yeah. I'm just glad we found those kids.”

- “Oh, yeah, me, too. But, uh, I was talking about that other thing.”- JJ sat in front of Prentiss as me and Spencer stood by our friend, waiting for her reaction. And what did she do? She asked how we felt about the entire situation, ‘cos of course she was worried about us.

- “I haven't had a chance to talk to you guys. What do you think?”

- “I think we've been through a lot of changes and we always figure it out, you know?”- Spencer started the most rational speech of his life.- “Morgan left, and now Hotch, but if you stay, it'll be ok.”

- “If you ask me, honestly, you being here is the only thing keeping me sane right now”- I said from my guts, not my brain.- “How did it go with your boyfriend?”

- “I talked to Mark, and he is gonna be here next week for a visit.”- Prentiss announced, absolutely not sure if that was good or bad news. So I did the only thing I knew how to do: I started making plans.

- “We could show him around the tourist places, maybe have brunch…”

- “Let’s see how it goes when he gets her first, (Y/N).”- Em smiled at me and stopped my planning in a second.

- “Roger that.”

- “They need an answer in the morning, right?”- JJ’s words came close to a whisper, ‘cos I’m guessing neither of us wanted to push her, but we also needed answers.

- “I know.”- Prentiss sighed and looked outside the window. I turned to Spencer and bit my lips, as he stated the facts, crouching down next to Em’s seat.

- “Here's the truth. If you don't take the position, they're gonna bring in some stranger to be the Unit chief. And I don't know how that'll turn out, but the learning curve could be brutal.”

- “Yeah, I mean, one thing is bringing a new SSA to the team, which is always a curveball. But a new Unit Chief, that’s a completely different thing.”- I pointed out and cut Prentiss a short smile.- “And you know how I act with authorities… I am not good at random people telling me what to do.”

- “It'll probably stink for us, but…”- JJ was trying to be rational. - “Look, we're your friends and we'll support you no matter what you decide.”

There was a silence between the four of us. Prentiss took a deep breath and made eye contact with us all.

- “I'm gonna stay.

- “Oh, thank God!”- JJ nearly yelled, relieved. I opened my arms and hugged Prentiss in a second.

- “Best news ever!!”

- “Are you serious?”- Spencer asked nearly in shock.

- “Yes!”- Em replied as soon as I let her go.- “I love being here, and I've really missed you guys.”

- “We have missed you, too.”- JJ kept smiling as I giggled and my husband stared at Emily, still not believing what she had just said.

- “Honestly, you have no idea how much.”

Spencer’s point of view

Later that night, when we were nearly ready to go back home, Garcia got us all together in the conference room for a toast. We had to celebrate something good had happened after all: Emily was staying. And no matter how much Hotch’s departure was hurting us, there was some silver lining to treasure. We were all holding our glasses when Rossi started a very touching speech.

- “Well, let me just say something to everyone. I've been in and out of here since 1978, but I know this is where I belong. I've seen a lot of great agents pass through those doors, and a lot of them have moved on. Now, most of this team has been together for over a decade. Some of you have actually started a family together. I promise you, that doesn't happen often.”- Rossi smiled at me and winked- “Now, I've heard the rumblings about how lucky we are, and it's true, but the truth is, it's what happens… When we're not on a case that has defined who we are. We stand beside one another, through good, through bad, because we're family. So… To Aaron and Jack, I don't know who's luckier, but it warms my heart to know that they'll be together every day and safe. And to Emily, our friend, and new Unit Chief. Welcome home.”

We toasted and smiled. Yes, we were happy and lucky to be together again. The team was facing two major changes in less than six months. Derek left, Hotch left, and we had a new Unit Chief. It felt like things were changing too much too fast.

That very same night, after putting our babies to sleep, I sat at the kitchen table with my wife and two cups of herbal tea and just held hands as neither of us knew how to start that conversation.

- “So…”- she finally whispered after eleven minutes of silence.- “What are we going to do?”

- “I honestly don’t know.”- that was my best answer because I really didn’t know where to go after what was happening.- “I mean, at least we have Emily back. That’s a good thing.”

- “Yeah… but, I’m scared.”- (Y/N) murmured, probably ashamed of dealing with how she felt. - “If Aaron couldn’t keep Jack safe from serial killers…”

- “We could do it, you know”- I replied knowing where her train of thought was going.- “We are not Unit Chiefs, we are not…”

- “We are dealing with psychopaths daily, Spencer. You know that.”- she paused and looked into my eyes with honest concern.- “Mr. Scratch is still out there…”

- “But he doesn't want us. He wanted Hotch.”

- “Ok, so what if Cat Addams escapes from prison.”- my wife suggested and the mere thought of it gave me chills.- “She swore she wanted to avenge what you did to get. What if she does? What if she hurts you? or your mom, or us? What then?”- her voice trembled and I quickly stood up and wrapped my arms around her. She did the same, holding onto me, nearly shaking.- “I had never been so afraid before, Spencer. Suddenly, I no longer feel like I can keep our family safe.”

- “We can do it, chipmunk.”- I kissed the top of her head and looked at her, holding her face with both hands.- “We will be safe. We are safe. Nothing bad will happen to us.”

- “But…”- tears blurred her eyes and fell down her cheeks.- “Promise me, Spencer. Swear to me if anyone threatens us, we’ll leave. We are not putting our family in danger. If someone is trying to hurt us, we will join the program and vanish. No playing heroes. Not putting anyone on the line. If there is a threat, we leave.”

- “I swear.”- I replied immediately, running my thumbs across her cheeks, and wiping off her tears.

And that was the day I lied to my wife.

I held her in my arms and kissed her cheeks and lips until she calmed down. Then we got into bed and cuddled until she fell asleep. I wasn’t as lucky, and stayed up staring at the ceiling, thinking I had a lot to plan. I needed to make my wife feel secure and keep my babies safe, no matter what. And my mother had to get better. I needed a way to fix everything. Make us happy, and healthy. There had to be a way to do it. I just needed to find it. 

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[bgbrry]

On My Chemical Romance, dictatorships and comfort.

So my very initial reaction to the Black Parade tour announcement was, while not entirely negative, definitely frustrated. For the past several hours I have also been trying to understand why. I knew they were doing something based off TBP, but something about that made me inherently uncomfortable in an odd way.

Rationalising it to myself, it made perfect sense. This tour is almost a bigger scale version of one of my favourite stunts they ever pulled - WWWY2022. We have a parody of their old self, performing as a rotted corpse of the band they used to be for an audience that will cheer regardless, as long as they hear the songs they recognise, that dont put them outside their comfort zone. And then we have the very idea of MCR parodied as a dictator the very next day. It served not only as incredible satire of cash grab tours and nostalgia festival, but a critique of the way the band is perceived by the fans.

So if its not discomfort with the theme, what could it be? Maybe it is the subversion of the "secretary" character, who I have analysed in a completely different manner since the day i first saw that leg of the tour? Perhaps, in a way, it is odd to feel as though a concept you have been enthralled in for so long is snatched away from you and turned on its head. But isnt that what always made me like this band? The unconventional storytelling, the twists and turns they pulled?

In my initial post complaining about a hypothetical TBP continuation I proclaimed that any material that isnt entirely original would be a disappointment and underwhelming considering the themes of Return tour. But why do I think that? Isnt it hypocritical, for someone who values Return as a masterpiece to put this baseless boundary in place without knowing what I am talking about just yet? At what point does the idea of "Reimagining your own legacy through a corrupting force that forever alters it" become worse because it is more explicit? How am I not at that point complacent in being the very force that puts My Chem in a box of expectations i built up for them.

And that is pretty much what I came to for now. It is one am and I cannot get it out of my head. My own expectations for what "The New MCR project" were going to be, are held up by my own unconscious desires and understandings of what "good art" is, based on the very world that oppresses people like me and those with their head under the boot of this system. The idea that a new album has more inherent value than performance art, the idea that a tour is motivated by monetary reasons exclusively, the idea that the concepts and characters that bring people comfort and nostalgia are too precious to be tarnished by something new. The tour has not even begun and I already got caught in its trap of complicity to the system that can bring me comfort.

When I was recording a voice message about this announcement, I had to go past two cops, and I couldn't say the word "dictator" as I did not want to get in trouble with them.

I do not want to be this complicit. I wanna hear them out. Especially if it makes me uncomfortable

[astradyke]

MY EXPERIENCE W/ TIT TOUR (tysons 2)

( written while looping I'm Not Okay (I Promise) by MCR, and also a car alarm going off outside my dorm room repeatedly :') )

NON-SPOILER SECTION:

SO many sweet people in line. someone gave us (me, my best friend, and my other beautiful friend) custom dan & phil stickers (pictured above), there was a lovely person in cat whiskers making sure people knew the difference between the gen admission & silver line, etc. phannies have the coolest fashion sense all the sick lovely lesbians were making me nervous... <3

s/o to my best friend's running capacity we were first in merch line!!! I am so endlessly happy with my photocard haul especially the uni hoodie one that one is my FAVORITE, also I love this long-sleeve so much. I almost got more merch but I held myself back and I think that was a good call! Also a super cool phannie made custom photocards and I got a silly dan one :D

y'all already saw but I met Clo @bitchslapblastoids who is the first mutual I have ever met in real life ever! between you and me... she is super kind and also really cool :]

our seats were so good!! balcony like row F or whatever but it worked out <3 our seatmate was also very kind!!!

pre-show people danced to HOT TO GO! and someone held up a Palestine flag and we all cheered! and people were moshing to von dutch which is so beautiful to me

SPOILER SECTION:

List of favorite jokes included: "Now our show passes the Bechdel test!" "I have kind of an aloof sociopath vibe going. ... which has worked for me :)" "[I am not satisfied on screen] What was that about? // I think I was just horny that day." "Scared of my life without you when I kill you!" "Dan had depression :D!!" "Enough about the gay, we've already done the gay// Enough about the depression, we've already talked about the depression."

No "sorry daddy, I mean father" line, which is devastating, BUT we didn't get the whole 'do you think Dan Howell' can commit schpiel with the wedding... much to think about

our conspiracies were pumpkin, faked sleepless night 3, bar, and wedding! i deeply wanted the other conspiracies i am so not going to lie but it's okay...

our "one minute" tangent was about electricity, clo made a post about this but they made a God and Adam joke because Phil tried to electrocute Dan and it failed so they were just awkwardly touching fingertips for a period of time

Nothing could have prepared me for the Phil on top of Dan choking him with the llama hat thing. Like i knew it was going to happen but still nothing could have prepared me. i think i fully grabbed my best friend's arm and shoulders and shook them a bit

our confessions and like nolemodel bit were really funny shout out DMV phannies!!!

Really made me sad when phil made the joke about babysitting like NO!!! YOUR CONTENT IS THE REASON I CAN SLEEP AT NIGHT WHEN MY PARANOIA IS BAD!!!!!!!! I LOVE U HIATUS YR CONTENT PHIL!!!! But his whole thing about the hiatus being a good thing in the end because it brought us here... <333

every segment felt perfectly timed and the entire show was just so funny and good. Like ultimately i can yearn for having gotten different conspiracies or slightly different vibes but altogether it was incredible.

THE SONG WAS LIFE-CHANGING. I knew more about it thru spoilers than I had thought but either way not only was it so fucking good, like, I'm going to get I-D-G-A-F it saved me tattooed. I have decided this.

WRAP UP THOUGHTS:

I first got into Dan and Phil when I was 11/12-- my first video was post Daniel Howell rebrand, and it was Daniel and Depression, I'll give you three guesses as to why my friend at the time recommended that video. I was obviously a die-hard phan at the time, reading phic and watching the compilations and obsessed with their gaming videos. I remember being like, unfathomably depressed trying to do math homework in bed, and just 'secretely' watching their videos instead. I can remember exactly when the first WDAPTEO dropped, and like how much I wanted to go to interactive introverts but was too scared to (I think I'm glad I didn't go for personal reasons) but my friends did go. I remember I was leaving summer gym class before I started HS when Basically I'm Gay dropped, and watching it-- but I was 13 almost 14, closeted, and while it resonated with me it didn't really hit me that strongly? I remember being most taken aback by the confirmation of their relationship, and the conclusion Dan left about his own sexuality had an impact on me wrt rejecting the constraints of labels, but it didn't really hit me crazily. during hiatus years I watched solo AP semi often but so much was happening... obviously, when the hiatus returned, i came back full force. when it's summer and i can't sleep at night, I watch AP hiatus years solo content; I watched most of the Dystopia Dailys; I saw We're All Doomed's digital release w/ the same best friend I went to TIT with; and obviously, you all have seen me talk about their collaborative content. But after that time, maybe even a bit before the hiatus ended, I rewatched Basically I'm Gay. after all I went through in high school (nothing quite like his experiences, but aspects of it resonated through), that video hit me like a fucking truck-- it made me realize the inherent amount that my queer identity played in my trauma, and it like... made me really emotional lol. also, Phil's openness about his chronic illness has meant a lot especially as I battle with my own-- not chronic illness, but, physical health battles. So when they sang IDGAF it saved me, that was like fucking earth-shattering to me, because they did save me! from when i was 12 years old struggling to do work, wondering why i was so tired every day but at least having them to cheer me up-- to being 19 years old, joints aching and emotionally stressed, watching their pizza mukbang 2 and seeing how much happier they are, how much happier I am. they saved me. and i love them so, so fucking much.

On a very different note, seeing them live has colored my whole, uh, envisioning Dan Howell being trapped in my head in order to cope with my day to day mental isolation, issue, as being like... maybe not the move. so i'm trying to get more used to the quiet of my own head, but hey, over the years, they've helped a lot with that.

I wish i could have met them just to say all these things i'm realizing now, after seeing the show. but TLDR: TIT tysons 2 was the best night of my life. i love them, i love them, i love them, i love them, and i hope they know. i dunno how to move forward with my life after an experience like last night, just, God. i love you dan and phil. i love you phandom. it saved me. TIT saved me.

[babygray]

I got these two tonight. The screams of joy and “Ah so cute!!!” that came out of me when I opened the box were… very loud.

There was a thank-you card in the box, too.

No, no, thank you!!!!

[chibishortdeath]

Mspaint is really fun actually—

[no1ryomafan]

Thinking more about umbraclaw and while there’s stuff to critique from the gameplay side I think probably the biggest flaw of it is like everything to do with the writing, and I don’t mean just plot.

It’s one of those things where it’s like- The basic narrative of the story is got across well regardless of what ending you get-yes I did look it there being multiple endings lol-and it’s the first entry of a series so the story not being the best can be forgiven but it’s a shame NOTHING is super fleshed out. Not just the soul plane but the characters don’t get much at all, they kinda just exist as set pieces to move the narrative forward. Kuon, the mc oddly never talks that the characters always acknowledge it so she’s basically a blank slate and I’m unsure if it’s because we’re meant to project onto her/interpret her whoever we please or if it’s just to reflect she’s not like the others and she’s a normal animal.

We also don’t get to know enough about her owner that it’s actually hard to care about her other then “well she seems nice ig” since you can’t say you want to care about Kuon because she’s blank unless you really put yourself in her shoes or your own pet into her place ig. And don’t even get me on how LOCKE is so weirdly interrogated into the plot and clearly has more to him yet is left off being so vague, like we get teased he’s like you but never are directly shown or hinted at that. He’s just there as a rival but he’s not at ALL fleshed out enough or placed right into the plot even if he’s spared at the end which doesn’t amount to anything, he’s just there yet again to be a set piece that’s just a bit different from the others. (And also how he hints at a deeper theme of losing control of yourself in terms make you forget who you are but it’s not explored ENOUGH even if he’s there to reinforce it it only comes up in one ending)

Like this story doesn’t make me super angry to hate the game as I’m still gonna do another ending and overall playing it is a really interesting experience I won’t get from anything else, but maaan if we get a sequel I hope the plot is reworked significantly cause it sucks how it’s “not a bad story but also a story with no substance”.

Its something that’s satisfying only because it’s a what you see is what you get thing but doesn’t have anything deeper to really pick at.

[positivelyapunovexponent-good]

I am visiting extended family and experiencing a spectrum of shrimp emotions both positive and negative. Positive because I love them and love spending time with them. Negative for reasons I feel so self conscious about I can’t bring myself to explain them outside of the tags even in my anonymous personal blog. I can’t sleep even though I’m exhausted. every night I’m pacing from anxiety as I try to figure out which parts of me to be honest about and which to conceal for the sake of not? Deeply hurting the people I care about? Even though I haven’t done anything wrong so if they are hurt that’s not on me.

[hella1975]

the confirmation that andrew never heals sucks so bad but it's also funny as hell because i'm assuming this was on her blog mentioned at the back of the book. so. either she just, completely unprompted, felt the need to say this. which is hysterical on it's own. OR the even funnier option i'm picturing she got some sort of question from a fan like "hey i love your books! i just wanted to ask what you think andrew and neil's future looks like! does andrew ever heal?" and this fucking woman answering with something like "hi! this is such a lovely thing to say, i'm glad you enjoyed my books! as for your question,

no. andrew never heals. him and neil never learn to say 'i love you' to each other.

but they adopt two adorable cats and give them silly little names! one is grey and the other is orange :)"

literally she could have just shut the fuck up WHY did she feel the need to add all the shit she did. she so easily could have left this series alone after getting so much hate but instead she decided to make it objectively worse for herself. she amazes me

[acourtofquestions]

No. No, it couldn't have been a dream The escape, Rowan, the ship to Terrasen—

A dream. An illusion. Her escape from him, from Maeve, had been another illusion.

Had she said it? Had she said where the Keys were hidden?

Then a cool, cultured voice purred, "All that training, and this is what becomes of you?" Not real. Arobynn, standing on the other side of the altar, was not real.

"Even Sam held out better than this."

Fenrys snarled.

You could get out of these chains, if you really wanted," Arobynn said, frowning with distaste. "If you really tried."

No, she couldn't, and everything had been a dream, a lie.

"You let yourself remain captive. Because the moment you are free..." Arobynn chuckled. "Then you must offer yourself up, a lamb to slaughter."

Only hearing the King of the Assassins, unseen and unnoted beside her.

"Deep down, you're hoping you'll be here long enough that the young King of Adarlan will pay the price. Deep down, you know you're hiding here, waiting for him to clear the path." Arobynn leaned against the side of the altar, cleaning his nails with a dagger. "Deep down, you know it's not really fair, that those gods picked you. That Elena picked you instead of him. She bought you time to live, yes, but you were still chosen to pay the price. Her price And the gods'?"

Arobynn ran a long-fingered hand down the side of her face. "Do you see what I tried to spare you from all these years? What you might have avoided had you remained Celaena, remained with me?" He smiled. "Do you see, Aelin?"

She could not answer. Had no voice. Cairn hit bone, and—

Aelin lunged upward, hands grasping for her thigh. No chains weighed her. No mask smothered her. No dagger had been twisted into her body. Breathing hard, the scent of musty sheets clinging to her nose, the sounds of her screaming replaced by the drowsy chirping of birds, Aelin scrubbed at her face.

The prince who'd fallen asleep beside her was already running a hand down her back in silent, soothing strokes.

A dream. Just a dream.

She twisted, setting her feet to the threadbare carpet on the uneven wood floor.

"Dawn isn't for another hour," Rowan said.

Yet Aelin reached for her shirt. "I'll get warmed up, then." Maybe run, as she had not been able to do in weeks and weeks.

Rowan sat up, missing nothing. "Training can wait, Aelin." They'd been doing it for weeks now, as thorough and grueling as it had been at Mistward.

She shoved her legs into her pants, then buckled on her sword belt.

"No, it can't."

A gathering storm to the north had forced their ship to find harbor last night—and after weeks at sea, none of them had hesitated to spend a few hours on land. To learn what in hell had happened while they'd been gone.

The answer: war.

Everywhere, war raged. But where the fighting occurred, the aging innkeeper didn't know. Boats didn't stop at the port anymore— and the great warships just sailed past. Whether they were enemy or friendly, he also didn't know.

Aelin scowled. "What." It wasn't so much of a question as demand.

His gaze was unfaltering. As it had been when she'd returned from her run through the misty fields beyond the inn and found him leaning against the apple tree. "That's enough for today."

"We've hardly started." She lifted her blade.

Rowan kept his own lowered. "You barely slept last night."

Aelin tensed. "Bad dreams." An understatement. She lifted her chin and threw him a grin. "Perhaps I'm starting to wear you down a bit."

His canines gleamed. "You need to eat."

"I need to train."

She couldn't stop it-that need to do something. To be in motion.

No matter how many times she swung her blade, she could feel them. The shackles. And whenever she paused to rest, she could feel it, too—her magic. Waiting.

Indeed, it seemed to open an eye and yawn.

She clenched her jaw, and attacked again Rowan met each blow, and she knew her maneuvers were descending into sloppiness.

Knew he let her continue rather than seizing the many openings to end it.

She couldn't stop. War raged around them People were dying. And she had been locked in that damned box, had been taken apart again and again, unable to do anything.

Rowan struck, so fast she couldn't track it. But it was the foot he slid before her own that doomed her, sending her careening into the dirt.

"I win," he panted. "Let's eat."

Aelin glared up at him. "Another round."

Rowan just sheathed his sword. "After breakfast."

She growled. He growled right back.

"Don't be stupid," he said. "You'll lose all that muscle if you don't feed your body. So eat. And if you still want to train afterward, I'll train with you." He offered her a tattooed hand.

But Aelin said, "People are dying. In Terrasen. In-everywhere. People are dying, Rowan."

"Your eating breakfast isn't going to change that." Her lips curled in a snarl, but he cut her off. "I know people are dying. We are going to help them. But you need to have some strength left, or you won't be able to."

Truth. Her mate spoke truth. And yet she could see them, hear them. Those dying, frightened people. Whose screams so often sounded like her own.

Rowan wriggled his fingers in silent reminder. Shall we?

Aelin scowled and took his hand, letting him haul her to her feet. So pushy.

Rowan slid an arm around her shoulders. That's the most polite thing you've ever said about me.

Elide's eyes widened. Widened further as he opened his mouth, and took a bite. His swallow was audible. His cringe barely contained. Elide reined in her smile at the pure misery that entered the Lion's tawny stare. Aelin and Rowan had been finishing up a similar battle when she'd entered the taproom minutes ago, the queen wishing her luck before striding back into the courtyard.

Elide hadn't seen her sit still for longer than it took to eat a meal. Or during the hours when she'd instructed them in Wyrdmarks, after Rowan had requested she teach them.

It had gotten her out of the chains, the prince had explained. And if the ilken were resistant to their magic, then learning the ancient marks would come in handy with all they faced ahead. The battles both physical and magic.

Gavriel met her stare, and Elide again restrained her laugh.

She felt, rather than saw, Lorcan enter. The innkeeper instantly found somewhere else to be. The man hadn't been surprised to see five Fae enter his inn last night, so his vanishing whenever Lorcan appeared was certainly due to the glower the male had perfected.

Indeed, Lorcan took one look at Elide and Gavriel and left the dining room.

They'd barely spoken these weeks. Elide hadn't known what to even say. A member of this court. Her court. Forever.

He and Aelin certainly hadn't warmed toward each other. No, only Rowan and Gavriel really spoke to him. Fenrys, despite his promise to Aelin not to fight with Lorcan, ignored him most of the time. And Elide ... She'd made herself scarce often enough that Lorcan hadn't bothered to approach her.

Good. It was good. Even if she sometimes found herself opening her mouth to speak to him. Watching him as he listened to Aelin's lessons on the Wyrdmarks. Or while he trained with the queen, the rare moments when the two of them weren't at each other's throats.

Aelin had been returned to them. Was recovering as best she could.

Elide didn't taste her next bite of porridge. Gavriel, thankfully, said nothing. And Anneith didn't speak, either. Not a whisper of guidance. It was better that way. To listen to herself. Better that Lorcan kept his distance, too.

Whether the others knew what propelled her, they hadn't said a word. Aelin sheathed Goldryn and loosed a long breath. Deep down, her power grumbled. She flexed her fingers. Maeve's cold, pale face flashed before her eyes. Her magic went silent.

Fenrys sat in wolf form at the edge of the nearest field, staring out across the expanse.

Precisely where he'd been before dawn.

She let him hear her steps, his ears twitching. He shifted as she approached, and leaned against the half-rotted fence surrounding the field.

"Who'd you piss off to get the graveyard shift?" Aelin asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.

Fenrys snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "Would you believe I volunteered for it?" She arched a brow. He shrugged, watching the field again, the mists still clinging to its farthest reaches. "I don't sleep well these days." He cut her a sidelong glance. "I don't suppose I'm the only one."

She picked at the blister on her right hand, hissing. "We could start a secret society-for people who don't sleep well."

"As long as Lorcan isn't invited, I'm in."

Aelin huffed a laugh. "Let it go."

His face turned stony. "I said I would."

"You clearly haven't."

"I'll let it go when you stop running yourself ragged at dawn."

"I'm not running myself ragged. Rowan is overseeing it."

"Rowan is the only reason you're not limping everywhere."

Truth. Aelin curled her aching hands into fists and slid them into her pockets. Fenrys said nothing didn't ask why she didn't warm her fingers. Or the air around them. He just turned to her and blinked three times. Are you all right?

A gull's cry pierced the gray world, and Aelin blinked back twice. No. It was as much as she'd admit. She blinked again, thrice now. Are you all right?

Two blinks from him, too. No,

They were not alright.

They might never be. If the others knew, if they saw past the swagger and temper, they didn't let on.

None of them commented that Fenrys hadn't once used his magic to leap between places. Not that there was anywhere to go in the middle of the sea. But even when they sparred, he didn't wield it. Perhaps it had died with Connall. Perhaps it had been a gift they had both shared, and touching it was unbearable.

She didn't dare peer inward, to the churning sea inside her. Couldn't.

Aelin and Fenrys stood by the field as the sun arced higher, burning off the mists.

Aelin shook her head. Another dream, or hallucination. "If she's on our heels with this army, I'm just ... trying to understand it. Her, I mean."

"You plan to kill her." The gruel in her stomach turned over, but Aelin shrugged. Even as she tasted ash on her tongue.

"Would you prefer to do it?"

"I'm not sure I'd survive it," he said through his teeth. "And you have more of a reason to claim it than I do."

"I'd say we have an equal claim."

His dark eyes roved over her face. "Connall was a better male than—than how you saw him that time. Than what he was in the end."

She gripped his hand and squeezed. "I know."

The last of the mists vanished. Fenrys asked quietly, "Do you want me to tell you about it?" He didn't mean his brother.

She shook her head. "I know enough." She surveyed her cold, blistered hands. "I know enough," she repeated.

[rubysundaey]

disabled my anon asks because some of you guys are the most insufferable freaks alive :3

[der-schweizer]

There's my portal

As i said on @bet-on-me-13 'Where is my portal' post, here is my short about their idea. please enjoy.

Danny sipped his coffee, slowly shuffling towards his lab. It had been a long time since he had a ‘run on two coffees and some ecto’ weekend but here he was, Monday morning, on his way to work.

He really wanted to be in bed but he had bills to pay.

Quietly he shuffled into his lab, which he found oddly drafty and oddly bright, considering he hadn’t turned on the lights yet. After flicking them on he moved on towards his desk, passing a big gaping hole in the wall and—

Danny paused, shuffled backwards a bit and then looked at the place where his portal used to be. For a long moment he just looked, then did a slow blink and took another sip of coffee.

After making sure that his portal, including parts of the wall, were really gone, he let out a sigh and held his face. “Who the fuck stole my door?”

With a sigh he pushed his bangs out of his face and walked to his PC, to check the security footage of his Cameras. For once it wasn’t Vlad who stole his shit, Vlad at least had the courtesy to leave a note that he ‘borrowed’ something. It was safe to say that he was surprised to find the footage gone. There weren't many people that could hack through Tucker's programing.

Danny sat there, looking at the black screen of his PC for a long moment before thinking aloud. “Okay, we have one or more people who can; One, break through Tuckers firewalls. Two, physically move a portal weighing around ten tons and, Three, knows their way around Arcane Runes so as to not cause a mass ghost invasion.”

He thought about it for a minute before throwing his hands up. “Fuck this, I’m just going to use the other side to find it.” He got out of his chair before transforming. 

Danny focused his power into one of his fingers before poking the air in front of him, the tip of it pierced the fabric of space which he then used to rip it open. He quickly flew through the tear before it sealed again. Despite Wulf teaching him how to do it he still sucked at it, which was the main reason he built his portal.

Once in the Zone he looked around for it. He found it after over two hours of searching, which only served to piss him off to the point where he began muttering curses under his breath.

Standing in front of it, he gave it a quick inspection. After inspecting the Runes, Danny had to admit that, whoever had stolen it, knew his way around them. They pretty much locked out anyone not authorized and or approved by the Caster. Too bad for them, Danny had the ‘Masterkey’ and went through anyway.

John Constantine was holding his face, quietly counting to ten. Neither smoking nor drinking would help in this situation. After reaching fifty he ran his hands over his head, looking at the assembled brigade of idiots in front of him.

“Okay, let me get this straight.” He started, “You,” he pointed at Batman, “found an ‘unknown energy signature’ and went to investigate. Then you found a high security lab with had an active portal to ‘who knows where’ and your first decision was to fucking steal it?!?!”

Superman moved forward, opening his mouth to counter but Constantine didn't let him. “AND you moron helped him steal it, not to mention you!” he pointed at flash, “Help install it here, in the watchtower, without telling anyone from JLD about it?”

Flash looked a bit sheepish at him. “Well, in my defense I didn’t know it was stolen.”

Constantine wanted to bash his head against the next closest bulkhead, maybe that would help.

“Okay, okay.” Constantine facepalmed, trying to stop the aneurysm from building up more.

A deep chill suddenly filled the air and sent goosebumps all over his back, “Oh this is just getting better and better.” Constantine reached into his pocket for a warding charm, before turning around and swearing. He stopped swearing when he saw who had come through. “Oh, hey Phantom.”

“Constantine, why the fuck did you steal my portal?” Danny wasn’t even pissed anymore. He knew the English drunktard too well to blame him. Granted he was obnoxious, didn’t pay back his debt and came whenever it suited him, but Danny liked the man. He didn’t exasperate problems and always did what was necessary.

“Look, I didn’t.” He then threw a thumb over his shoulder, “Those morons did.”

“Constantine, do you know this entity?” Batman already looked on high alert.

“Excuse you! I have a name. And that is my Portal. Explain why it isn't where it is supposed to be.”

“The sensors of the Watchtower found an unknown energy signature, upon investigation we found an unsecured pathway to a different dimension, so we secured it.”

Danny stared at Batman for a solid minute, then simply said, “Oh I'm going to sue your ass so hard your grandkids will feel it.”

[corvidcrossbow]

~•♡•~ I Like It Long

➳ Summary: While out on a run, you and Michonne start lightly teasing Daryl for having his hair grown out. But there's a hidden reason as to why he won't cut it. (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, post Savior war

➳ Word count: 1.4k

➳ C/W: Just smut n hair pulling

➳ A/N: This spawned from me writing the context plot of another fic and I was like… wait (And thank yall for the attention on that Mother's Day post??? Yall are so sweet 😭🫶)

My hair is really similar to Daryl's when it's partially or almost dry and it's actually my favorite thing about myself like xbsosjdjdneisnsiasjebeiisjabajissn

You loudly banged your forearm against the glass door of a long abandoned drug store, not hearing any noise inside. Vines and weeds had grown through cracks in the concrete, winding up the sides of the building.

“Sounds pretty clear,” You shrugged, holstering your bow and opting for hand-held blades as Michonne pulled open the handle. You, her, and Daryl were clearing through a nearby town while out on a supply run, opting to make quick work of the task in favor of getting home.

You three entered the building, keeping your guard up in case of any straggling walkers that weren't roused by the initial attempts to lure them towards you. The interior wasn't large, so you could comfortably split off from each other and still be close.

“Seems mostly ransacked. Not much left,” Michonne commented, katana lowered but out in front of her. This had begun to grow repetitive and boring, energy matching the grayness of the lighting.

She took a pair of hair cutting shears off the shelf in front of her, holding them up to your gaze a few isles over. “Think he could use these?” She asked as a smile played the edges of her mouth, nodding back towards Daryl, looking for mischief. His hair had grown quite long over the course of the last two years, the tawny blond darkening into a rich brown, accompanied by a shaggy cut.

“Oh definitely. Jus’ gotta determine which onna us can hold him down long enough to cut it,” You replied with a chuckle, eyes following hers to where the archer stood at the endcap of another lane.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with grunt. His gaze didn't break from the advertisement in front of him, trying to ignore your antics. “Ts'fine.”

“Gotta make use of whatever supplies we find, no?” You continued your teasing, trying to hide the grin on your face at his reaction. “You were sweatin’ like a pig all summer, hair tangled all over yer face ‘n what not. When was the last time you cut it?”

“Don’ kno’, don’ care,” He grumbled, and you eyed Michonne again. It's definitely been since the prison, at least. He moved on from the stand. “Plus, winter up ‘ere's gon be colder. Will keep me warm.”

“Daryl, you're ‘bout the only one who didn't freshen up since we got to Alexandria. Don't you at least want a trim?” Michonne pestered, raising her eyebrows at him and shifting her weight to one leg. “You remember Rick's whole hobo-beard.”

“Ain't got no ‘hobo-beard’.”

“But you do look like the only ‘scissors’ you know is the recently searched on your go to porn site,” Michonne chaffed, barely able to contain herself.

Daryl froze for just a second, face flushing as his head whipped to stare back at her. And you two burst out laughing, to which his expression soured.

“Give it up, alrigh’?! Ain't nothin’ wrong with mah hair!” He snapped, accent thick with embarrassment, bowing his head slightly in an effort to obscure it. He readjusted his hold on his crossbow. “Gon shoot tha botha ya.”

“Ay, ay! Jus’ sayin’. Rick scrapped the beard and… maybe you'll finally get some play too,” She winked, followed by a lighthearted snicker.

Daryl groaned again and rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, but caught your gaze for just a second.

It's not that he didn't want to cut his hair - he didn't care about it – but he wasn't really allowed to either way. There was one major, sexy, moaning reason he didn't cut his hair.

❥-》》—————➣

“Oh, god, Daryl! Fuck! Don't stop… god don't stop,” You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders as your nails began to dig into his flesh. His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping you steady as he pounded up into you at a relentless pace. That grip was the sole thing grounding you in the reality of the present moment.

“Ain't gon stop,” He affirmed, voice gravelly. You moaned wildly, head weakly falling to his chest with exacerbated breaths, his own heaving against your temple. He leaned closer when he could, harshly sucking at your clavicle and boobs, leaving behind a litter of hickeys and little bites that colored you in reds and purples.

The springs of the bed beneath you sounded like they were gonna fold in on themselves, headboard sporadically banging against the wall as Daryl shifted down a little to hit into you at an angle, your clit brushing against him with each thrust. Your back arched overtop of him, shoving his dick into your belly.

“Baby, please… fhuuuckkkk.” You couldn't even think, every thought consumed by the feeling of him. The way he just destroyed you like it's an art he'd mastered, tip brushing against every sweet and sensitive spot inside you, walls desperately trying to cling on, balls hitting up against you, clit grinding on him, slickness coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, his clutch on you just so fucking strong.

You pulled yourself together, lifting your head to see him. His long hair was dark and dampened with sweat, matting up as it stuck to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. But he was too focused on using you to fix it, didn't dare to remove his hands unless God willed him to.

You moved up, swiping it away, and his blue eyes instantly connected with yours, pupils blown with lust. He (somehow) sped up, starting to slam your hips up and down to meet him instead of just keeping them stationary, now just beating your cunt.

“Tha's it girl. Jus’ keep takin’ me good like tha’.”

His words made you shiver, and you partially fell forward again, nestling your face beside his and snaking an arm behind his head. Your fingers weaved through his messy hair, tangling at the scalp, then tugging harshly as another wave of pleasure ripped through you.

And he whined. There it is. His breathy gasps and grunts mingled with strained whines, and whimpers, as you pulled tighter and tighter at the roots of his locks. His face contorted, eyes nearly squeezing shut, that one vein bulging from his neck, directly on the verge of so much.

“Daryl… inside.., Dar-” You panted, cut off as everything went white and you hit your peak. Your whole body felt electrified, tensing, twitching, walls spasming, toes curling and claws clinging to his frame.

Daryl tipped over the edge almost immediately after, having just been waiting for you to cum first. He desperately pumped into you a few more times, before curving up once more and simultaneously ramming you down as he came deep in you, the warmth of his release spreading through your core, and he threw his head back with ragged breaths.

You were both left a sweaty mess, gasping for oxygen, feeling full and satisfied. Your muscles couldn't keep you up, and you collapsed onto him, loosening your hold at his scalp, his hold on your hips doing the same.

He recovered a bit quicker than you, bringing a hand up and brushing your own messy hair away the second he had the energy to do so.

“Ya alrigh’, sunshine?” He asked between hitches, hoping he hadn't been too rough. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the curve of your body where bruises were sure to form.

You nodded faintly, moving your head so you could breathe better, and you could feel him relax beneath you from the reassurance. He held you tenderly for a while, giving you time to regain your composure. Your eyes were closed in bliss. Few things beat the feeling of Daryl under you, rising and falling with his torso, hearing his low humming as he steadied himself – his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum ever so surely beginning to dribble down.

You lazily remained in his arms, not wanting to deal with getting up, or the shower you two definitely needed. You took a strand of his hair, affectionately curling it around your finger like a tendril, then letting it go and repeating.

“Ya actually want me tah cut ma hair?” He eventually asked, thinking back to your light mocking from earlier, how you'd laughed as Michonne layered it on. It didn't matter much to him, he'd do whatever pleased you.

“Fuck no. Was just messin’ with you, Dixon,” You replied, kissing the skin of his collarbone right below you, and moving up to find his lips. “You know I like it long.”

The long hair suited him, he looked good with it. You loved to wash and play with it, brush and braid it while he laid in your lap. But mainly, it was easy to grab at, pull on – and close to nothing in existence sounded better than those whines and whimpers every time you did so.

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