#and then the comments thank her for raising awareness that the fbi is doing this to her

[novenoide]

you guys wanna know something that scared me so bad this week? I saw a video on tiktok of someone clearly, to me, having severe paranoid delusions they were telling as their grwm storytime, and everyone in the comments being concerned for her and affirming how horrible it is this is all happening to her. I can't imagine suffering from delusions and hundreds of strangers validating those delusions with absolutely no critical thinking, that cannot lead anywhere good.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Not In The Slightest

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Diana is your mother's best friend. Cece is your best friend and Diana's daughter. Spencer is Cece's brother and your mortal enemy. You're often compared to him by your mother which makes you hate him. Wait, you do hate him... right?

Square Filled: best friend's sibling for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You’re not going downstairs. You’re not going to sit at a dinner table and be around people who always compare you to other people. Your mother is working tirelessly to get dinner ready while you’re in your room scrolling on TikTok. Suddenly, someone knocks on your door and enters without waiting for your permission. Your mother never waits for you to let her in. What if you had been changing? What if you were doing something you wanted privacy for?

“Y/N, why aren’t you ready? Diana will be over soon.”

“Do I have to go to this? Can’t I just go hang with Della or something?”

“I don’t want to hear it. You’re going. Get ready.”

She leaves the door open when she leaves and you roll your eyes in annoyance. The only good thing about this dinner is that your best friend Cece is going to be there. She is your best friend while Diana is your mother’s. Maybe you can get away with only talking to Cece without your mother getting on your back about everything.

That’ll only happen if he doesn’t show up.

Him. Cece’s older brother. Dr. Spencer Reid. You can’t stand to be within the same room as him much less five feet from him. Your relationship with him has always been this way; ever since you two were kids. You weren't sure as to why since he has always been nice but the older you got, the more you understood your hatred.

It’s not so much hatred as it’s jealousy and envy. He always has to brag about some smart thing he did, always one-ups you whether he’s aware of it or not, and is just better at everything than you are. Your mother loves to compare you two, more so when you were younger.

Why can’t you be more like Spencer? Why can’t you be smart like him? Spencer is moving quickly through school at an alarming rate. Why can’t you do the same? He got into college at sixteen. What are you doing with your life?

You’re sick and tired of hearing Spencer did this and Spencer did that to the point where your jealousy is mixing with hatred. So, it’s not full-on hatred, just hatred adjacent.

When Diana, Cece, and Spencer get to your house, you make a goal to only talk to Cece with the occasional, “I’m doing good, Mrs. Reid. Thanks.” The entire time, you can feel Spencer’s eyes burning holes in the side of your head because he knows you’re doing everything you can to ignore him.

When dinner is ready, you are seated right across from Spencer so you have no choice but to look directly at him. Knowing he did this on purpose, you decide to angle yourself so that you’re facing Cece instead of him. She’s the only person who understands your dislike for her brother so she’ll do anything to make it as comfortable as she can for you.

Still, after about ten minutes of feeling Spencer’s eyes on you, you turn to Spencer with a glare.

“What the hell are you looking at? Stop staring at me.”

“Y/N!” your mother snaps. “Be nice!”

“Yeah, Y/N, be nice,” Spencer smirks slightly.

You resist the biggest eye roll you’ve ever done. Your mother turns the conversation onto Spencer so that he has to focus on her instead of you. Huh, did one thing right today, Mom.

“So, Spencer, how is your job going? Still at the FBI?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods politely. “I love it. I just got off a case that was pretty brutal but we got the bad guy.”

“I’m glad you’re adjusting well there.”

“I’m so proud of him,” Diana boasts. “I just know those three PhDs come in handy at a job like that.”

“Three?” your mother raises her eyebrows in shock. She knew he had doctorate degrees but didn’t know he held so many. “In what, may I ask?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering. I also have two bachelor’s degrees in psychology and sociology. I’m working on a third BA in philosophy.”

“So, you’re like a genius?”

Here we go again. You can’t get away with hearing about how Spencer is a genius. Cece can sense your annoyance and places a comforting hand on your leg.

“I wouldn’t call myself that, but yes.”

“Where’d you go to school?”

“Caltech.”

“See, Y/N, you’d do good at a school like that,” your mother jabs.

Just like that, you’re back to resenting Spencer. It’s not his fault he’s so damn smart. It’s your mother’s for not being proud of the many accompaniments you’ve already gotten in life. Sure, you’re not an FBI agent who has a million degrees, but you’re a senior manager at the company you work for who is trying to get a position on the board. She doesn't see that as an accomplishment.

“Don’t listen to her. You’re good at what you do now,” Cece whispers to you.

“Thanks,” you sigh and push around your food.

The conversation doesn’t stop there. It’s all Spencer did this at work and Spencer caught this unsub. Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. You’re getting a headache from all this so you grab your nearly full glass of water and stand up.

“I’m going to get some more water.”

Your mother barely notices you’ve left the table. You walk into the kitchen and set your glass in the sink with a sigh. You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, trying to will away the slight headache. The door to the kitchen swings open and you look up to see Spencer with his own full glass of water.

“Great, it’s you,” you scoff.

“Nice to see you, too.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I go where my mom goes. She wanted to have a nice dinner with her best friend. Not my fault she has a daughter who can’t stand me.”

“You’re damn right I can’t stand you. You’re stupid smart, annoying, always have to be the center of attention, and you rub it into everyone’s noses just how many degrees you have and where you went to college. Good for you that you graduated at sixteen. God, I wish my mom could just see how much of a prick her best friend’s son really is.”

You throw insults at Spencer left and right, and he stands there and takes it. You’re only acting out because you’re envious of him. Why can’t you be like him? More importantly, why can’t you have a mom who is proud of you in the way Spencer has?

When Spencer decides he’s had enough of your petty insults, he sets his glass in the sink and grabs both sides of your face.

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

He silences you by kissing you passionately. Damn, is there anything this man isn't good at? He doesn’t have a lot of girlfriends but he knows how to kiss. He slides his tongue into your mouth to explore every inch you’re willing to give him in the short time you two have.

And you let him because deep down, you don’t hate him. Not even in the slightest.

x

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[emberfrostlovesloki]

Count the Cost [Emily x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@lone-nyctophile) Center (@weemsicalweems) Right (@paracosmoon)

Prompt: An unspoken conversation rocks Emily and the reader's relationship when Prentiss gets shot on a case. 

Pairing: Emily x Non-BAU!reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns. 

Category: angst/comfort 

Word Count: 5.1K

Content Warnings:  Use of nicknames [sweetheart, love, etc.] throwing up/nausea, airports, Emily getting shot, not described in detail, hospitals [waiting rooms. IV’s, medical equipment.] brief mention of periods/chronic pain/migraines.

A/N: Hi loves! Here is another fic based on the amazing @imagining-in-the-margins January/February Writing Challenge. The dialog prompt this was based on was “There are a million reasons not to do something.” This is the fourth part of my Emily x Non-BAU!reader series. You can find Part I, Part II, and Part III here (all fics linked). However, you can read this as a standalone. You just need to know that the reader works for a senator. I had fun writing a bit of angst between these two. Of course, I hope I made the ending worth the angst. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you’re having a great start to your week and thanks for reading.  Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name 

_y/l/n_ = your last name 

_y/f/s_ = yuur favorite senator 

_y/f/c_ = your favorite color 

The tiredness and dryness of _y/n_’s eyes didn’t stop her from keeping them open. There would be no sleep on the small dark cabin airplane tonight. The early morning flight to Kansas had been as unexpected as the call from a number _y/n_ had never seen at 2:47 a.m. At first, _y/n_ had thought it was just spam, but when she listened to the nurse on the other end of the line say he was trying to reach Emily Prentiss’s emergency contact, _y/n_’s stomach dropped like a stone. _y/n_ panicked, hit answer, and with a shaky voice said, “This is _y/n_ _y/l/n_. What’s happened to Emily?” There was a pause as the nurse took a moment to properly identify _y/n_, who was standing up and pacing with worry. Finally, the nurse replied, ‘Miss Prentiss was brought into the hospital about a half hour ago. She’s been shot.” _y/n_ nearly dropped the phone and said, “Shot! Shot where? Is she seriously injured, is there anyone there with her like law enforcement? She has a dangerous job. Someone might be after her. Try to kill her even.” _y/n_ realized that the last question was stupid because, generally, if you shot at someone, you were trying to kill them. But _y/n_’s thoughts were too paranoid and catastrophized to notice more than that. There was a pause that only deepened _y/n_’s fear. Finally, the man on the other end of the line replied, “Miss Prentiss was shot in the shoulder, has remained unconscious, and has lost a significant amount of blood. We aren’t sure about the type of bullet. And we can’t speak about anyone else on the hospital grounds, ma’am. The hospital is aware of Miss Prentiss’s situation.” _y/n_ took that to mean that they knew Em was an FBI agent. At this point, with  _y/n_ knowing that Emily was hurt, potentially significantly, without any idea if she was alone or not, convinced _y/n_ that she should get to the hospital as soon as possible. Even if it meant having to phone bank, raise funds for the campaign, and edit _y/n_’s _y/f/s_ speeches in a hospital waiting room. This was the first time that Emily had been in serious, medical danger since _y/n_ and Prentiss had started dating. Sure, Em had come home once with a few cuts and scraps from a fall or a scrap with an unsub. Fights that Emily always won, it seemed. But this, _y/n_ didn’t know what to do about this, as she threw some clothes into a backpack along with some work stuff. 

_y/n_ sat on the edge of her bed, the room illuminated by a single lamp, as _y/n_ looked for the earliest flight to Topek, Kansas. _y/n_ had at least had the foresight to ask for the name of the hospital from the nurse before saying that she’d be there as soon as possible. It seemed like a miracle that there was a flight leaving for Kansas at 5:00 a.m. that morning. It was a blessing, but the price of the ticket and the circumstances under which _y/n_ had to book them were like a living purgatory or limbo. Time seemed to barely pass. _y/n_ got to the airport, moved through security, and then waited for the plane to land on the tarmac. _y/n_ sent a hasty email to work letting them know that an emergency had come up, but that she’d brought her computer with her and could be accessed through email or her cell after she landed. The flight from D.C. to Kansas was no better for _y/n_’s nerves. _y/n_ had put on her comfiest _y/f/c_ sweater and kept ordering coffee after bland and burnt coffee. The acid taste of the hot liquid left _y/n_ feeling queasy and by the third hour of the flight, she was ready to be on the ground again. That wouldn’t happen for another hour and a half. Once in the Topeka airport, _y/n_ moved to the bathroom and threw up. The nerves and too much caffeine had that effect that made her body reject anything trying to keep it going. It was one of _y/n_ least favorite things about herself. 

Emily had been so worried one day after a very stressful workday when y/n_ had to run to the bathroom and threw up. Em had pulled y/n_’s hair back and then handed her a cool damp towel to run over her face. After _y/n_ had rinsed her mouth and sat back down on the bathroom floor to take a few breaths, Emily sat down across from her in the small space. Prentiss took hold of _y/n_ delicate hands and asked, “What’s wrong, love? Are you sick?” _y/n_ let out a sigh and said, “I’m not sick, sick. This happens pretty often actually. When I get very stressed, it just kind of happens.” Emily nodded and said, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. That has to be awful.” _y/n_ shrugged and replied, “You get kind of used to it, I guess.” Prentiss squeezed her hand and said, “Well how about we get off these cold tiles and make you a cup of ginger tea to settle your stomach?” _y/n_  nodded and accepted Emiy’s hand up. That was one thing about Em that _y/n_ would never get over, just how caring her girlfriend was. The warm memory washed over _y/n_, and she was reminded that Emily was now in a hospital somewhere, possibly alone. This thought had _y/n_ get up quickly and rinse her mouth in the bathroom sink. _y/n_ grabbed her backpack and moved outside, flagging down a cab. She told the driver the name of the hospital to take her to. The closer they got to the hospital, the more anxious _y/n_ got. She was almost buzzing in her seat. She was also feeling sick with worry, but there was no time for that now. At the hospital, _y/n_ paid the driver and moved into the bright light of the room. 

_y/n_ hadn’t gotten a follow-up call from the place of healing which made _y/n_ assume that Emily hadn’t taken a turn for the worse, but there was still a huge amount of dread as she approached the front desk. The charge nurse looked up at her and said, “How can I help you miss?” _y/n_ wrung her hands together and said, “My name is _y/n_, _y/l/n_. The hospital called me a couple of hours ago about my partner being shot. Emily Prentiss? Is she okay? I came as quickly as I could.” The woman gave her a soft smile and replied, “Let me check with the doctor for a moment. I’ll be right back.” _y/n_ stood and waited. The bright lights in hospitals always put _y/n_ on edge. She was more of a lamp and soft light person. Sometimes, when the lights were bright like these, _y/n_ could hear the electricity above. _y/n_ waited with anticipation when a slightly familiar voice called out, “_y/n_? Is that you?” _y/n_ whipped her head around and saw the bright colors of Penelope Garcia. A flood of relief washed over _y/n_, and she nearly ran to Emily’s team member. Penelope opened her arms and _y/n_ nearly fell into them. Garcia enveloped her in a hug, saying, “Sweetheart, what are you doing here?” _y/n_ felt the panicky feeling bubble up in her and said, “I got a call from the hospital. We’re each other's emergency contacts. It sounded bad so I came right away.” An older man, whom _y/n_ had never seen before said, “I guess y’all haven’t had the talk yet.” _y/n_ lifted her face from Penelope’s shoulder and asked, “What talk?” Garcia let _y/n_ go slightly and turned her toward the man, saying, “_y/n_, meet David Rossi.” Dave gave the young woman a small smile and extended his hand saying, “_y/n_ it’s nice to finally meet you. Emily talks about you all the time.” Rossi didn’t mince his words, as he added, “You make her very happy. I’m sure she’ll be glad to know that you’re here.” _y/n_ nodded, taking his hand in hers. Now that she was here, _y/n_ was beginning to feel better, but there was still the worry, and now _y/n_ had more questions than before. _y/n_ started with the big thing, asking, “Is Emily alright? The charge nurse was just going to check for me.” Rossi let out a sigh and said, “The last we heard the doctor in charge of her care was trying to stabilize her.” _y/n_ nodded and processed the information. The next thing _y/n_ asked, because her head was buzzing with many thoughts, and not all of them were as important as the rest. So _y/n_ just asked, “What’s ‘the talk’ Emily and I were supposed to have had by this point?” 

Before Rossi had a chance to say that was a conversation that should probably happen between Emily and _y/n_, Aaron and the doctor emerged from a hallway that led into the hospital's interior. _y/n_ didn’t recognize either man, but the members of the BAU team present, Rossi, Spencer, and Penelope seemed to. Everyone turned to the two men and waited with bated breath for information. The doctor approached the group and Aaron moved to the left flank of the team. The somber leader of the BAU noticed the new edition to the party immediately but didn’t want to cut off the doctor’s statement. There would be time for questions later. Doctor Smith took a breath before saying, “Miss Prentiss is more stable now. She left a significant amount of blood and the bullet was lodged in her left shoulder. The shot was dangerously close to her carotid artery, thus the excess loss of blood. However, I’ve managed to dislodge the bullet. It was a 9mm soft point bullet. The damage could have been much worse. I gave her a transfusion and stabilized the wound. She should make a full recovery. It will take time but she should be okay if she takes things slow. I’ll let you see her when she wakes in a few hours. I’ve given Miss Prentiss a mild sedative for now.” The doctor walked away to speak to a nurse nearby. The team seemed to instantly relax, but _y/n_ didn’t take the news so well. _y/n_was shocked to hear what Emily had been through, the pain, and the near-death experience of her partner The suddenly relaxed attitude of the team also surprised _y/n_. How the group could suddenly be so calm was beyond her. _y/n_ wanted to say something, but she was cut off by the last man that she didn’t know in the group. By his demeanor and solemnity, _y/n_ had to guess that the man was the leader of the BAU, Agent Aaron Hotchener. _y/n_ was proven right when the tall man said, “Hello. I’m Aaron Hotchner. I assume you’re _y/n_?” _y/n_ nodded and Aaron took on a look of understanding. With a tone that was slightly softer than his normal demanding voice, he said, “Can you give the team a few minutes to talk, alone?” _y/n_ wanted to protest, but then realized that this was all their job, she was just here. Emily was alive, and there wasn’t more she could do here until Em woke up. _y/n_ sat down in an uncomfortable chair. The tiredness seemed to hit her all at once and _y/n_ closed her eyes. She was too far away to hear what the BAU members were saying, but the tone was serious. After the conversation, _y/n_ watched as Spencer and Rossi left the hospital. This left Aaron and Penelope standing in the hallway. _y/n_ watched as Agent Hotchner put a hand on Garcia’s shoulder, said a few words, and then pulled a cell phone from his black slacks and took a call. 

Garcia moved toward _y/n_ and sat next to her. The normally bright and spunky tech wizard held out a hand for _y/n_ to hold and anchor to. _y/n_ took it and sniffled. _y/n_ asked, “I thought you didn’t go on cases, Penelope? At least, that’s what Emily said.” Gacia smiled and replied, “I don’t normally go on cases, no. They needed my tech skills in person on this one. I’m happy Hotch, Aaron, asked me to come because I was able to find Emily in time.” _y/n_ squeezed Penelope’s hand. She knew that Garcia was as upset about what had happened to Em as she was. _y/n_ knew the whole team was, even those not at the hospital. However, Penelope showed that concern more openly. _y/n_, like Garcia wore their heart on her sleeve. _y/n_ looked at the technical analyst and asked, “Can you tell me how you found her? Is the um…” _y/n_ tried to remember the word for unsub, and it clicked. “...unsub been caught yet?” Gacia gave _y/n_ a small sad smile and said, “I can’t tell you, _y/n_. The investigation is still ongoing. I know it’s frustrating, but I can’t say.” _y/n_ nodded in understanding. In some ways, it was annoying but more than anything it was just difficult. Up until that point, Emily’s job had been something exciting to talk about. And _y/n_ did worry about her when she was on a case, but Em had never been seriously wounded while they had been together yet. But now the possibility that Emily could die, could be stripped from _y/n_ forever, every time she stepped out the door to a case, became a possibility. This was a new kind of dread that _y/n_ realized she was going to have to live with. That possibility felt like the discomfort of knowing a period was coming next week. And that menstruation could be better or worse or not happen at all some months, but the possibility was always there. At least until menopause. Or if someone had migraines or other chronic pain. _y/n_ realized how gross and juvenile those comparisons were, but it was the best her brain could come up with at the moment. There was a shift when Aaron came back, the phone still in his hand and pressed to his ear. The tall man walked up to Penelope and said, “Garcia, Morgan has a question for you.” Penelope stood and took the phone from Hotch and moved over to the corner where he had just been standing. The hospital was pretty crowded and the chair Gacia had just vacated was one of the only ones open. Hotch looked down at Emily’s girlfriend. The woman had a look on her face of understanding of what a job at the BAU really meant. Aaron pulled _y/n_ from those thoughts when he asked, “May I sit here?” _y/n_’s eyes snapped to his firm ones, and she said, “Of course, Mr. Hotchner, Agent Hotchner?” _y/n_ strumbled through the possible names to call him. Neither she had tried to work. The man let out a small breath that might have been a laugh as he said, “You can just call me Hotch, or Aaron.” There was a small silence before Aaron said, “It’s nice to meet you, _y/n_. I wish it was under better circumstances than this.” _y/n_ nodded and said, “It’s nice to meet you too, Aaron.” The next half hour was spent making small talk and _y/n_ looking at her hands or the hands of the clock slowly ticking by. As the time moved, the dread returned and Aaron could feel it like a weight on _y/n_’s frame. 

Hotch understood. Not from _y/n_’s point of view, but the other way around. He knew how it felt to leave Haley and Jack and not know if he’d see them again. He knew how those feelings for Haley had been so great that she had to step away. He didn’t blame her for that. It was clearly all new to _y/n_ and he softly said, “It’s not fair.” _y/n_ looked over at him and said in a weary voice, “What do you mean?” Hotch shifted in the chair and sighed very softly before saying, “It’s not fair for the people who stay behind. I can’t speak for Emily, but I know she understands that too.” Feeling slightly defeated by the circumstances and new reality, _y/n_ replied, “I was living in a fantasy world where she never got hurt, and that’s been shattered for me. I know fantasies are silly things and we don’t live in them, but I’m not sure how to deal with this kind of uncertainty.” _y/n_ turned and Aaron, the man Emily had spoken so highly of as the fearless leader of the team, was looking right at her. Not just right at her, but right into her, with an understanding that _y/n_ was unaware was possible. _y/n_ suddenly understood why the man was so respected. Hotch replied, “I think that’s a conversation you should have with Emily. That’s the best advice I can offer you.” It was with that last full conversation they shared before the doctor returned and told them that Emily was up now. They both stood up, and _y/n_ realized that Aaron was going to need to speak to her alone. Emily probably had some information that he needed. Hotch turned and said, already a step ahead of _y/n_, “I’ll make it as quick as possible, _y/n_. You’ll see her soon.” _y/n_ nodded. The anxiety came back to the surface. She spent the next forty-five minutes pacing the waiting room and counting the ceiling tiles. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a nurse came back and led _y/n_ to the back of the hospital. _y/n_ watched from the closed blinds as the shadow of Hotch stood from a chair near the shadow of the bed and the medical equipment. He opened the door and held it open so _y/n_ could slip into the small room. _y/n_ looked at Aaron and they exchanged a brief nonverbal “thank you” with each other. Once the door was closed, all _y/n_ could think of was Emily. _y/n_ rushed into the room and to her bedside. The brunette turned her head to see _y/n_ and tried to fake a smile. _y/n_ saw right through it as she sat down in the chair and took Em’s hands in hers. Prentiss had an IV in her arm and there were multiple monitors attached to her chest. Then there was the large bandage wrapped around Emily’s left shoulder. _y/n_ could see it under the flimsy hospital gown covering Em’s body. _y/n_ took a second to look Prentiss over and then asked, “How are you feeling, please don’t try and make it sound better than it is because, to be honest, you look rough.” Emily let out a shaky breath that _y/n_ knew to be a laugh. The sound could make _y/n_ cry at that moment. _y/n_ did start crying once Em started talking. Her voice was hoarser than usual and it sounded thin, but Prentiss said with sincerity, “Well I’m on a lot of drugs, so I don’t feel anything too much right now. Even with that being the case, my shoulder feels like a mountain either got dropped on it, or something burst out of it like Aliens or something. And there are some scrapes and bruises from when I fell.” _y/n_ nodded along noting how pale Em looked. _y/n_ was amazed that Prentiss could even speak as coherently as she was. It was a reminder that Emily could be tough as nails. However, _y/n_ could see the hints of pain in the corner of Emily’s eyes and the firm line of her mouth. She also looked tired. _y/n_ knew there needed to be some conversation between them to address what had happened with her injuries and _y/n_ being there at the hospital. Prentiss had seemed surprised almost when _y/n_ walked through the door, though it was clear that Aaron had told Em that she was there. Deciding to postpone that conversation for when Emily was a bit stronger, or at least in less pain, _y/n_ said, “Why don’t you rest for a while, Em? I’ll be here when you wake up.” Emily nodded and closed her eyes. The only sounds in the room were the soft beeping of the machines in the room and _y/n_ and Em’s soft breathing while both of them rested. 

An hour or so later the doctor came back and checked on Emily’s vitals and administered another dose of the various medications Em was on. A nurse also raised the head of the bed and promised to bring Emily some food. Once the medical professionals were gone, _y/n_ looked at Emily. They were both slightly refreshed in a way, and with the prospect of food on the way it gave them a timeline of something happening. It was helpful because time in a hospital just seemed to stretch on forever. Lunch provided a definite finite point in space. Both Em and _y/n_ just knew that their conversation was going to at least start before Prentiss’s food arrived. _y/n_ started the dialog by asking the hard question, “Am I not supposed to be here, Em? Is there something I’ve missed? The team seemed very surprised I guess when I showed up.” Emily, with her piercing eyes, looked at _y/n_ and sighed, knowing she couldn’t avoid this talk forever. She replied, “No _y/n_, it’s okay that you’re here. If it wasn’t, Aaron or Rossi would have sent you away by now. It’s just they didn’t expect you. Partners don’t normally come to see an agent until after the case is over.” _y/n_ furrowed her brow and said, “But how would I know that, Em? You never told me that. I just heard that you were hurt, maybe seriously, and I didn’t know if you were alone. How could I not jump to be here with you?” Emily nodded, knowing this wasn’t on _y/n_ and wanting to reassure her. Prentiss said, “_y/n_, you didn’t know because we haven’t had that conversation yet.” _y/n_ bit her lip wondering if this was “the talk” that they hadn’t had yet. _y/n_ released her lip from her mouth and asked uncertainly, “Em we’re almost five months into this relationship, what is this important conversation we haven’t had yet?” 

Em could see that this lack of information was distressing to _y/n_ and Emily said, “The conversation about what happens if I get hurt. If I die doing this job.” _y/n_’s eyes widened and she said, “That seems like a pretty important conversation to have. I mean, we’ve talked about the risks. I just assumed that if the hospital called I should come.” Emily looked at _y/n_ and replied, “It’s not always that easy, _y/n_. Sometimes they can’t tell you. Even if it’s bad. So bad that I might not make it. If the hospital does call, like I said, most people just wait until the case is over, or their partner lets them know.” _y/n_ struggled to process the information and said, “So if the hospital, or you, or Garcia tell me you’re seriously hurt like shot in the arm say, I just have to wait and see what happens? If that’s the norm, why didn’t you tell me that, Em?” Emily listened to the desperation in _y/n_’s voice, at the fear of being left out of such important information. Meanwhile, _y/n_ struggled to comprehend having to just wait and see for something as important as Emily’s life to be had or lost. Finding out that Emily being shot had nearly put _y/n_ into a downward spiral, having to just wait and hear if the love of _y/n_’s life had made it or not at the end of a case seemed unsurmountable. It was asking too much. Em watched these emotions play out on _y/n_’s face, and _y/n_’s expression of what she was being asked was why she had avoided this conversation for so long. Because the reality of what loving an FBI agent entailed often sent people running in another direction. To something or someone more stable. A place where the likelihood of pain and uncertainty was far less. Prentiss swallowed and said, “I let you down, _y/n_. By not telling you this earlier. At how much of a sacrifice this is. I didn’t tell you because I had been so lucky that I hadn’t been hurt before. At least not when I was with you. I suppose I was naive and just hoped my luck would keep going, but it didn’t. I also didn’t tell you because when that conversation happens it forces people to choose whether or not this is something they can take. I was careless with your feelings by not telling you. I just love you so much that I couldn’t think about losing you because of that conversation. I’m sorry, _y/n_. I’m sorry for putting you through this the way I did. What happens from here is up to you, _y/n_. If you don’t think you can take that stress, I understand. You just have to count the cost of if it’s worth being with me and understanding how it works sometimes. Just know that every time I step into the bullpen, or onto the plane, I’m thinking of you. I’m thinking of making the world a safer place for you.” 

Emily realized that she wasn’t letting _y/n_ get a word in edgewise, because she was afraid of what _y/n_ might say or do. But it was up _y/n_ now, and Emily thought that perhaps _y/n_ was going to get up and leave right then and there. It had happened to her once before. _y/n_ sat silently in her chair and closed her eyes wondering if she could take it. _y/n_ did feel like Emily had kept this from her, but it had been out of a fear of losing her. Their relationship flashed through _y/n_’s mind and the love, passion, and warmth filled _y/n_ nearly to the brim. She tried to compare it to the anxiety she had felt and would feel in the future if Emily got hurt again. As painful the uncertainty was, the love outweighed the fear, and _y/n_ looked at Em and said, “There are a million reasons not to do something. A million reasons why you didn’t want to have this talk with me, a million reasons why I could walk away, but I just need one reason to stay, and that’s you, Emily Prentiss. I’m picking you. I’m going to pick you every time. But no more secrets. No more missed conversations. If we’re going to make this work for the long run, which is what I want, then we have to be honest with each other. Even if it’s conversations that are painful.” Em nodded with tears in her eyes as she said, “You’re everything to me _y/n_. I promise to tell you everything. The good and the bad, there won’t be any more surprises. I’ve never met anyone so willing to love me. To choose me over the uncertainty.” _y/n_ leaned in and kissed Em’s hand. She would kiss Em all over if it wouldn’t hurt her. 

Their brief moment of intimacy was interrupted by the nurse bringing in a plate of soft foods for Emily. _y/n_ pulled back, and the woman looked at them for a moment before setting the tray on the bed. The older woman said, “Make sure to use your right hand only. You shouldn’t move your left arm or shoulder at all.” Emily looked at the stern woman and nodded. With that missive, the nurse left them again. _y/n_ watched as Emily attempted to poke at some jello with a spoon unsuccessfully. _y/n_ couldn’t help but chuckle and Em looked at her saying, “Hey, no laughing at me. I’m injured.” _y/n_ fixed her face and said, “Well then let me help you because that jello is fighting for its life right now.” That comment had Em laugh slightly and it felt good to have their dynamic closer to their normal. Em teased, “Hey I’m a big girl. I think I can handle it.” _y/n_ sighed and took the spoon from Prentiss’s hand as _y/n_ said, “Listen, love, you’re the bravest person I know. We just had a brave conversation, now I just need you to be brave enough to let me help you, okay?” Em smiled and gave in saying, “Okay love, and for the record, you’re pretty brave yourself.” Though their relationship had been rocked, momentarily, their foundation was strong, built on trust and love that could endure hard storms and conversations. _y/n_ and Em were affirmed of their love for each other as Em allowed _y/n_ to feed her in an intimate act of caring. 

That evening when Morgan and Penelope moved back to the hospital to check on their teammate, Derek asked, “You really think Prentiss didn’t tell _y/n_ about coming during cases?” Garcia replied, “She couldn’t have, or why else would _y/n_ have shown up here?” Morgan nodded and said, “Well I bet that was a tough conversation.” The pair moved to Emily’s room and stopped. Inside the darkened space, they could see Emily sleeping while holding _y/n_’s hand. _y/n_’s head was resting on the edge of the bed and they both seemed to be at peace. Penelope softly said, “Maybe it wasn’t so hard after all.” Pen let out a sigh and said, “Let’s get a coffee or something, we should let them rest.” Derek agreed, and they let the couple rest and recuperate in the love they had for each other.

______________________________________________________________

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[helloitshaley]

Horror Con books Pedophile Rapist!

Since I'm posting about this on all my socials here you go tumblr! Mad Monster Convention, a horror con that operates in both North Carolina and Arizona booked Kevin Spacey as a celebrity guest at their North Carolina con this February.

I know, what the actual fuck, right?????

Obviously this decision was met with backlash. Kevin Spacey was very publicly called out a few years ago over his sexual assault allegations (all of which I believe were boys under the age of 18). He went to court in London and was acquitted last year because of some sort of mistrial I believe (I could have that wrong but it was some legality thing and NOT because he's innocent). OJ Simpson was also acquitted but we all know. And I believe the two are under the same management. Shocker.

Now you may be wondering, how has Mad Monster dealt with the backlash? Have they talked to the fans, taken time to consider what this means for the future of the con, opened the floor for a discussion? Nope, instead they began on Facebook by deleting any comments not kissing Spacey's ass, then went straight to blocking anyone that would make a negative comment. I was blocked for commenting, and I quote, "Not Cool." Seems kind of harsh to block a top fan and avid Mad Monster attendee over "Not Cool," but they were blocking others for far less.

Now they have disabled comments on all platforms and continue to block not only fans and cosplayers like myself, but the artists and vendors that pay to be at their event! You would think at a fan centric event, the convention would want to cater to the fans. There would be no celebrities without fans!

Apparently the convention is under new management, which should have been apparent when they started booking more and more non horror celebrities i.e the cast of Smallville, Lou Diamond Phillips, the cast of Dukes of Hazard- which I am about to circle back to. Not to say these aren't good guest, and I'm not trying to diminish (most of them) in the least, but it is a horror convention. Another tip off to the new management should have been when John Schneider (Bo Duke from Dukes of Hazard) was not immediately uninvited from the con when he tweeted about wanting the President of the United States publicly executed. Yes, you read that correctly. He is still on the guest list even though I believe he is under FBI surveillance.

Another new management decision has been to get rid of the Madame Monster Showcase, a horror themed burlesque show that happens every Saturday when there is a convention. I have never attended since it takes place late at night and I am a granny who has to go home to feed her cat, but from clips I have seen and what other people have said, the Madame Monster Showcase is always a big hit! These ladies are super talented and they are a big part of the reason people attend the after party.

The convention is unfortunately doubling down on their poor decisions and disregarding the fans in every aspect. I don't really have a point to make with this post, I'm not telling people to go flood their socials (they're only going to block you if you try) I am just trying to raise awareness about the shit show that is currently Mad Monster NC. The more people are aware, the better chance there is of them righting this wrong and uninviting Kevin Spacey.

I know a few vendors that have pulled out, but most cannot afford to do so. I myself and stuck attending because the tickets are non refundable and I really can't afford NOT to go. The vendors who are still attending are not bad people, they are just artists and small business owners who have already paid to attend and make a lot of their livelihood from conventions.

Anyway, if this could get shared to raise awareness, I would really appreciate it. And if you stuck around this long, holy crap and thank you for listening!

[jediken0bi]

Boundaries

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary:

When JJ makes an offhand comment about Spencer not being particularly fond of physical touch to his girlfriend it causes a bit of a misunderstanding.

word count: 3180

-

Ever since you and Spencer decided to ditch your colleagues for the third time in a row to watch Doctor Who at his place instead, which resulted in him awkwardly admitted to liking you at the end of the night, you two have been practically inseparable. You knew that Spencer was shy when it comes to physical affection from the start but you also knew that a huge part of it was the lack of said affection throughout his life.

Often times he looks surprised when you hug him or kiss him with no particular reason in mind other than that you wanted to.

It's like he's used to only experiencing soft touches in the context of challenging and heartbreaking events happening to him.

You were set on changing that. You're going to make up for all the people who have failed to treat him with the love he deserves.

So far he hasn't stopped you from trying either. You cuddle him every chance you get, you kiss him whenever the opportunity presents itself and the environment allows it, you hold his hand while you're on the jet. You make sure Spencer is on board for all of this though.

You always ask him if he's okay with it before. The last thing you want is for Spencer to feel uncomfortable with you.

He's never denied you though and your question is always received with a big smile on his face.

Despite being very responsive to your touches Spencer doesn't allow himself to outright ask for them. Your best guess is that it comes from a long line of people denying him these simple pleasures. The thought breaks your heart.

You two were in the elevator on your way to meet the rest of the team in the bullpen when it all sort of went south.

You were holding hands with Spencer and he subconsciously squeezes your hand a little once the doors open. You give him a smile and lean up to press a small kiss to his cheek.

He immediately turns bright red and you giggle. He's given up on asking you for their reasons. He's starting to accept that you like kissing him and that's reason enough.

He grins at you and you let go of your grip on his hand. You both walk to your respective desks and stuff your go bags under them.

Before you can make your way back to Spencer you spot JJ across the room seemingly headed straight to your desk.

You know JJ is Spencers best friend and while you admittedly had a hard time accepting that your boyfriends best friend was a woman he used to have a crush on, you decided that you had absolutely no reason not to trust Spencer. He was happy with you and JJ was married with kids after all. Hell, Spence is their godfather. There's no need to worry about either of them having feelings for the other. You're sure of it"

Plus, you really like JJ. She was the hardest to win over simply because she and Spencer were so close but she never treated you with hostility. She was kind and respectful but kept you at distance until she was sure you were right for Spencer. You would've been upset if you weren't so happy someone was looking out for him after all.

"Good morning JJ" you greet her happily.

It really had been a good morning.

You and Spencer woke up earlier than usual to eat breakfast together. He made you pancakes!

Or, at least he tried. They were a bit burned but you told him that they were the best pancakes you have ever had. And you meant it.

He, of course, turned bright red and refused to take the compliment so you shut him up with a kiss.

A kiss that said 'Thank you for making me breakfast. I love you and i can't wait to spend the rest of my life eating burned pancakes with you'.

"Hey Y/N i was wondering if you had a minute to talk. About Spence." JJ approached you with a certain worry in her eyes that immediately unsettled you.

"What do you mean? Did something happen? I just saw him a minute ago and he seemed fine" You say nervously. Was there something you overlooked?

You make a mental note to go through the events of this morning again.

"No, he's fine! It's not that. I just wanted to talk to you about how it's going with Spencer. You know, being a couple and all"

JJ seemed almost nervous.

You weren't sure what to think about that.

She never dug around in your business before and you don't think she's got any malicious intentions but it does throw you off a little bit.

"Did you have something specific in mind? We're doing great, JJ. I know you worry about him but i think he's happy with me"

You say proudly because you know he is.

He tells you every night when you two settle down to lie in each others arms to read for a bit.

That's code for Spencer reading to you while laying his head on your stomach and you playing with his hair.

You smile at the memory.

"Uh yeah i guess i do. I just don't want you to think of this as something personal but i think as his best friend i owe it to Spencer to talk to you about it"

She looks down at her feet seemingly uncomfortable but willing to go through with this.

You were shocked to say the least. What could she possibly have in mind that would potentially hurt your feelings? Your mind goes to the worst possible scenarios and it's giving you a good bit of anxiety.

JJ seems to spot the look on your face and grabs your hands.

"No, no, no it's nothing bad per se! Just something you should be aware of to avoid misunderstandings"

You let out a small breath and calm down a bit. You're still confused though. If it's so urgent, why wouldn't Spencer tell you himself?

You were curious though.

"Okay so what is this about then?"

JJ looks at you with a bit of pity in her eyes and you immediately decide you hate that look.

"It's just that, you know, Spence is a bit of a germaphobe and he just doesn't do very well with people invading his personal space. Not that you're invading his space! Gosh no, you're his girlfriend after all. It's just that it seems like he might be a bit overwhelmed. I know it's non of my business, but i think he's trying to be okay with the PDA because it's something you want. I'm all for expanding your comfort zones but i'm afraid Spence is not going to tell you himself"

She finishes her nervous rant and you felt your heart sinking.

Is that why he never asks for your touch? You thought it was because he was shy but maybe it's because it makes him uncomfortable.

Was he trying to protect your feelings by not denying you touch whenever you asked?

Or worse, did he think you would leave him if he put up some boundaries?

Your eyes are filled with unshed tears and you look down at your feet out of embarrassment. You don't want to see the look on JJ's face right now. You're humiliated and honestly just upset Spencer wasn't telling you all this himself.

"Oh. Well, i'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought we were okay but i'll make an effort to turn it down. Thanks JJ"

It's clear she wanted to say something in return but you already turned away from her to flee the scene. It was overwhelming and you didn't want her to see you cry over this.

You went to the only place you knew you could feel freely without having to downplay the whole thing.

Penelopes Office.

You knock twice at her door.

"Hey Pen, can i come in? Are you busy?"

She immediately opens the door and with it, her arms.

"Never too busy for you honey bun!"

You give her a sad smile and hug her tightly.

You sniffle a little and she closes the door behind you two.

"What's wrong Y/N? Did Spencer do anything? I'll kill him for you. I have about twenty seven different ways that would make it look like an accident! Perks of working for the FBI"

This actually makes you laugh and you immediately know you've made the right call coming to Garcia.

"It's more about what he didn't do. Pen, am i a bad girlfriend?"

She grabs your shoulders and pushes you out of her embrace to look at you.

"What? How could you possibly think that? Boy Wonder has never been happier and i've known the kid for a solid couple of years!"

You look down again with an empty smile

"Then why would he send JJ to tell me all about how uncomfortable i make him?"

Okay so maybe you were being a bit dramatic but it feels like he broke your trust by talking to JJ about it before talking to you. At least, you assume he did. Why else would she bring this up?

"He did what? Are you sure?"

You raise your arms in a frustrated manner.

"I don't know Penny all i know is that JJ had some thoughts on how to be in a relationship with Spence!"

Garcia looked shocked and it makes you laugh.

"Yeah, that was my initial reaction too"

She shakes herself out of it.

"Did you talk to Spencer about what he thinks?"

You look at her with sheepish eyes.

"I don't want to yet. I'm upset with him and honestly a little embarrassed. I just wish he would've told me certain things himself. I think i'm going to take a sick day, okay? Can you let Hotch know i'm out for today?"

She looks at you with understanding eyes and gives you a nod.

"Of course, Bunny. Take care. And don't forget that Spencer loves you!"

You smile and give her a nod in return.

"Yeah, i know"

And with that you're out the door and on your way to grab your bag from your desk.

Of course you end up running into the one person you don't want to talk to right now.

Spencer looks at you with a small smile and you give him one back. Admittedly, yours looks a bit forced but you don't have the energy to pretend right now.

"What are you doing?" He asks innocently. He must be unaware of your conversation with JJ.

"I- Uh i'm taking a sick day. I'm not feeling so well"

You try to avoid eye contact but you fail to ignore Spencers worried expression in your peripheral vision.

"Are you okay? Was it the breakfast? I told you you shouldn't have eaten the pancakes!"

He sounds so distressed you can't help but laugh.

You were still mad at him but he was just too cute for his own good.

Out of habit you raise your hand to plant it on the nape of his neck where you usually toy with his hair before kissing him.

Just as you were about to put your hand on him you shake yourself out of it and retreat it.

He looks at you with confused eyes.

"What's wrong?"

He asks you with sad eyes. He's giving you completely mixed signals and it's driving you insane. Did he suddenly want you to touch him?

"Nothing. I just- I'm really tired"

You look down at your bag and pick it up to make your way out of there.

Spencer grabs your hand and it causes you to stop in your tracks. You breath in and out and turn around to look at him once again.

"Are- I mean are you leaving now?"

He looks at you with an embarrassed glint in his eyes. But there's something more to it. He looks hopeful. Like he's expecting something.

Maybe he's waiting for you to kiss him goodbye like you always do says a small voice on the back of your head.

No, you shake your head, JJ was perfectly clear about these things.

"Yeah, i am. See you later okay?"

You say with a small smile. You weren't mad at him for not being comfortable with PDA. That's not it at all. You just wanted him to be the one telling you.

You squeeze his hand and he exhales a little.

"Yes! Yeah, um, we're still on for tonight right? Your place?"

He seems so nervous and it reminds you a lot of the first few dates you two had. He was so afraid of messing up, of being laughed at or rejected.

"Of course we are. I'll order us some Chinese"

You give him a real smile and he starts lighting up as well.

"Yeah i'd like that. See you, uh, tonight then"

He's still holding your hand and you squeeze it one more time before letting go.

As you step into the elevator you know that you two have a lot to talk about.

--timeskip approx. 8h--

You've spend all day trying to figure out how to talk to Spencer about what happened at work today. You didn't want to fight with him and you hope he's not going to try and shut you out.

All your worries pretty much wash away when you find Spencer at your door holding a beautiful arrangement of flowers.

When he finally reveals himself behind them you can't help but drag him inside and press a kiss to his lips. You smile into the kiss and it's not long before Spencer does the same. It's harder than it sounds like but you two aren't willing to separate yet so you keep kissing for a little longer before leaning back to accept the arrangement.

"Thank you, Spence. They're beautiful"

You push the curls out of his face and cup his cheek in your hand.

He leans into it and closes his eyes for a second

"Almost as beautiful as you"

It's barely a whisper but you heard him.

Putting the flowers down on the counter you don't waste a single second hugging him tight to your chest.

He hums in contentment and you melt into him.

You've missed him so much today. You weren't used to being at distance with him. Emotionally or physically.

Speaking of.

"Does that mean we're okay again?"

Spencer asks pressing small kisses to your neck.

You shutter slightly before leaning back to look at him.

"What do you mean? Were we not okay before?"

You brush the curls that have fallen back into his eyes away again and he looks at you with wide loving eyes.

"I don't know i thought we were but then you didn't- um i don't know you just left and i thought maybe i had done something to upset you?"

He looks nervous. Almost like he's afraid he's going to say something wrong. You give him a small sad smile and decide that now is as good of a time as ever.

"I didn't kiss you because i know you're not comfortable with that"

You weren't mad anymore. You had enough time to process what happened and you've come to the conclusion that Spencer must've had his reasons. You're willing to let him explain.

He on the other hand looks at you like you've grown a second head.

"What? No i- why would you think that?"

You huff out a breath and look at him for a moment with raised eyebrows. You really thought he was going to tell you now. Is he waiting for you to say it?

Spencer looked genuinely confused and upset you would even suggest such a thing. It makes you wonder if he talked to JJ at all.

"Look, JJ came to talk to me today and cleared some things up and honestly i'm not upset about what she said. Not really. I'm upset i had to find out from someone who wasn't you. You could've told me. You should have told me actually"

This didn't do anything to wipe off Spencers confused expression. If anything, his frown just got deeper.

"Y/N i seriously don't know what you're talking about. I haven't talked to JJ this week"

Now it's your turn to frown. Did he not know? Was it really just JJ making assumptions that weren't true?

"But she said- No it doesn't matter what she said. What matters is that i want you to tell me, right now, if my affections make you uncomfortable in any shape of form. It's okay if they do Spence! I know i'm a lot but it's important we're both okay with what's happening between us"

He stares at you with a mix of adoration and confusion.

"Of course i'm not uncomfortable with you! I would tell you if i was. It's not even like you're doing any of it without checking with me first! Why would i lie to you?"

You let out a frustrated huff.

"Because you don't wanna hurt my feelings! But it's okay. We're equals and we can set up boundaries if you want. All that matters to me is that you won't shut me out"

Spencer smiles at you and it confuses you. Why the sudden mood change? Not that you're complaining. His smile always did manage to make you feel better. This time is no exception.

He grabs your hands and pulls you closer again.

This is new. Not the hand holding, but the fact that Spencer is the one initiating it.

"I promise you i have never been more comfortable with a person. I don't know what JJ told you and i'm definitely going to have a talk with her about boundaries but as far as we go, i'm more than happy with where and what we are"

You give him a small laugh and he joins in.

You wrap your arms around his middle and bury your head in his chest.

"So you're okay with me kissing you or touching you in general? In front of the team"

He presses a small kiss to the top of your head.

"More than okay" He whispers

You smile and lift your head to give him a proper kiss. He grabs the side of your head and pulls you even closer.

Lips just millimeters apart you look him in the eyes and find nothing but love in them.

"Also, next time you leave work without kissing me goodbye i'll make a scene. No hesitation"

You laugh loudly and push him away. He playfully stumbles back a couple of steps and laughs with you. He shrugs his shoulders

"Try me"

You lean your head on his shoulder.

You don't even know what you were worried about anymore. Spencer has a way to make all the problems seem to minuscule. You can confidently say you've never been happier.

[honeypiehotchner]

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- chapter eighteen

Helloooo I almost posted this yesterday as a thank you gift and then I totally got caught up in schoolwork. Gotta love finals season am I right

Anywho, thank y’all so much for 1.7k followers <3 Here’s a long ass chapter that’s a good ol’ mix of fluff and angst xx.

Chapter Warnings: waking-up-together kinda fluff, no sexytimes but there are some ~suggestive~ comments of course, ANGST at the end (i’m so sorry), the end of this case is very near on the horizon

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Aaron wakes you when his first alarm goes off at 5a.m. It’s way too fucking early in your opinion, but you know he wants you to have time to go back to Emily and JJ’s room to get ready for the day.

Still, being woken by a kiss on your forehead is something you can see yourself getting used to. Not to mention using his chest as a pillow all night.

You tilt your head to capture his lips in a sweet kiss, not caring that the both of you probably have disgusting morning breath right now.

He pulls away first, nudging your nose with his before he rests his forehead on yours, looking deep into your eyes. “Good morning, sweet girl.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your lips. “Good morning.” You close your eyes in your flustered state, burying your face down into his chest. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I want you to stay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But we’ve got a job to do.”

“I know,” you sigh, opening your eyes to bring yourself back to reality. Then, you hook your arms around his neck, starting to grin. “Same thing tonight?”

He smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Depends on how much of a good girl you are today.”

“Ooh, a challenge,” you tease. “I dunno…I’m feeling pretty bratty this morning.”

You feel his arm tighten around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him in warning.

“I’m just teasing,” you murmur, propping your chin on his chest, giving him your best eyes.

But he isn’t fazed. “I know. I’m keeping track.”

So, naturally, you pout. “Fine.”

“Strike two.”

“I have a feeling this isn’t like baseball. Three strikes and I’m out?”

“Are you trying to find out?”

“Mm, maybe?” You grin, but, as always, the FBI Agent part of your brain comes back to life. “If we didn’t have to be downstairs soon, I’d say yes. But I probably should go get dressed.”

“Understood,” Aaron replies, a small grin on his lips too. “I suppose even as your boss, I can’t keep you here.”

“As my boss, we’re technically not even supposed to be in the same bed together,” you remind him with a snort, but seriousness comes over him. “What?”

“We still need to talk,” he says quietly. “Really talk about this, but right now I just want you to know...I don’t regret this. I want this. No matter the consequences.”

“Me too,” you whisper, fingernails gently scratching the base of his skull, your weak attempt at comfort. “Do you think there’ll be consequences?”

He sighs, and you rise and fall with his chest. “I don’t know.” He pauses. “If Strauss finds out somehow, maybe. I don’t know if keeping it from her until she inevitably finds out is better than telling her ourselves, but…”

“We’ll figure it out,” you assure him with a small smile. “But you wanna do this?”

Instead of answering you verbally, he pulls you closer for a soothing kiss, coaxing all your worries away.

“I want to do this,” he says, knowing you need to hear the words from his voice.

“Okay,” you murmur, taking a deep breath. “What do we do about the team?”

His eyebrows furrow. “What about them?”

You give him a tired look. “Come on. They know.”

“What?” He blurts, sitting up a little, taking you with him. “Rossi knows.”

“And Emily and JJ and Garcia,” you chuckle. “I didn’t even tell them. Emily saw us at dinner one night. JJ figured it out from the phone call a few days ago. Garcia just...knows.”

“What about Morgan and Reid?”

“Are you kidding me? Morgan knows. Have you seen how he irritates the shit out of me every day?”

“Exactly,” Aaron says. “He does it every day.”

“Have you noticed how he’s been doing it especially when you’re around?” You raise an eyebrow. “Come on, you’re our supervisor! I thought you were a better profiler than that!”

“We have a rule not to profile each other,” he says sternly, obviously a little butthurt that he didn’t see that everyone else knew.

“A rule that none of us stick to, by the way,” you laugh. “We just don’t voice it. But we do. Trust me.”

“I didn’t think you’d figured that out yet,” he admits.

“Eh,” you shrug. “It wasn’t hard. I caught myself profiling everyone. I figured I couldn’t be the only one who does it by accident.”

Aaron only smiles. He’s amazed by you every single day. Sometimes he wonders if you even know how intelligent you are. If you even know the full scope of your mind. Maybe you don’t, maybe no one does.

“But anyway,” you swerve back on track. “I feel like it should be unspoken, but just...no PDA, you know? It’s fine that they know because honestly I think they knew before we knew, but let’s not make it a big deal.”

“Agreed,” he nods. “We still need to be professional.”

“Exactly,” you breathe, glad to be on the same page.

His second alarm goes off, the one for 5:30, and you groan, dropping your forehead to his chest.

“Why does it have to be so early?” You mutter, your lips brushing against his skin as you speak. It sends a hot wave through him, one that causes him to promptly shift your body off of him. “What are you doing?”

“You need to go get dressed,” he says. “And if you stay here wrapped around me any longer, I won’t be able to let you leave.”

You grin. “Point taken.”

You roll off the mattress, fully aware that he’s looking at your ass, and at your entire body, marveling at the way you look in his shirt.

“Oh,” you say, doing a dramatic turn, watching his eyes very quickly move back to your face. “Do you have any boxers? I probably shouldn’t walk down the hall in just a shirt.”

He’s scrambling for a pair of his boxer briefs, the thought of anyone else seeing you just like this making his blood boil frighteningly fast.

“Thanks,” you smirk when he hands them to you. And you put them on in front of him, partly for a show and partly because the look he was giving you demanded it. “I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

He nods. “Try not to spend too much time gossiping.”

“Oh, please,” you shake your head. “They’re getting all the details.”

You’re out the door before he can even catch you, and you just know you’re going to get it later.

+++

Emily and JJ are on you as soon as you open the door, both of them dressed and ready, arms folded over their chests like Moms whose daughter stayed out too late last night.

In a way, that’s completely accurate.

“And where have you been?” JJ asks, fully entering her Mom persona.

“Uhm, a friend’s house?” You play along, trying to inch your way to the bathroom.

But Emily knows your move, and stands in front of the bathroom door. “Is this friend named Aaron?”

“...maybe.”

And the façade falls, because they both cheer, pulling you into a hug.

“Finally!” Emily screams.

“Finally, what?” You laugh. “The night before I was also in his room.”

“Oh, we know,” JJ assures you.

“Finally, you admit it,” Emily clarifies. “So...details?”

“So...we have to be downstairs soon and I need to get dressed,” you walk past them to your bag. After grabbing your clothes, you turn back around to find them still staring at you. “What?”

“You’re in his shirt,” JJ says, still smiling.

“And boxers,” you laugh, pulling the hem of his t-shirt up a little. “Guys, don’t make this a big thing.” You pause, heading toward the bathroom. “He was a little upset that I knew everyone knew, and he didn’t.”

“How did he not?” Emily scoffs. “He can be so dense.”

You shake your head, shutting the bathroom door to get dressed.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed and looking more presentable, Emily and JJ are finally getting ready, too. They still watch you like a pair of hawks stalking prey, though. You just hope they won’t make any comments later.

That’s wishful thinking and you know it. But hopefully the comments will be held in at least until you’re all on the jet, heading back to Virginia.

+++

When you walk out of the elevator with Emily and JJ, you find Hotch standing with Rossi, the former looking much more grave than you left him. And he’s on the phone.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, picking up the pace. You glance at Hotch, silently asking, and he nods. “There’s another body,” you fill in Emily and JJ, ignoring the strange look that Rossi gives you.

Once Hotch hangs up, he looks immediately at you. “There’s two bodies. Male and female.”

“What?” Emily blurts. “In the same location?”

He nods. “Same house.”

About this time, Morgan and Reid step out of the elevator, jogging over when they see the team’s faces.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asks.

“Two bodies this time, same house, male and female,” you explain briefly.

Hotch jumps in. “JJ: you, Reid, and Y/N head over to the precinct and get Garcia on the phone. Get her to find everything she can on these new victims.”

You nod, glad he’s not sending you to see anymore bloodied bodies. Just the thought has a chill running down your spine.

You don’t want to admit it, but it’s hard not to picture Trevor’s face. It’s hard not to feel the thrill of the possibility of revenge. But you know that’s only the irrational part of your brain. You know you wouldn’t really act on those thoughts.

But they’re still there.

+++

Back at the precinct, you’re dialing Garcia and stirring a cup of shitty coffee. When she picks up, she sounds about as frizzed as you feel.

“Good morning, my angel sent from Heaven,” she sings, sounding far too bright for seven in the morning. “What can I do you for?”

“Good morning,” you chuckle. “We’ve got two new victims.”

“Mm, I know,” she groans, and you begin to hear typing. “Morgan texted me their names, I was waiting for your call.”

“Yep, we just need you to work your magic, that’s all.”

“That I can do,” she replies, no doubt through a smile. “Speaking of magic…”

You already know where this is heading. “Seriously? Who told you?”

“JJ and Emily texted me,” Garcia admits. “But you know I was going to weasel it out of you eventually, anyway!”

“Yes, I know,” you roll your eyes, tossing the coffee stirrer and empty cream and sugar packets in the trash. “Listen, how about this: Once this case is over, we’ll all have a girl’s night at my place with a bunch of junk food and wine, and I’ll give all the details -- whatever they might be at that point.”

You can’t let yourself believe that you’ll still be together because who knows what could happen. Anything could happen. The universe has a bad habit of getting in the way of your love life.

“You know the way to my heart,” Garcia sighs dreamily. “It’s a date. Speaking of dates, it looks like our two victims were married.”

“Married?” You nearly yell. Talk about a plot twist. “And the guy brought our unsub home for a one-night stand?”

“Looks that way so far,” Garcia says with a grimace. “Caroline Merritt, 35, was the CEO of her own company and traveled a lot. It looks like she changed flights yesterday and landed around eleven p.m. She checked her car out of the airport parking lot at eleven forty-five.”

“Great, so she might’ve walked in on our unsub.” You rub your forehead from the stress. “What about the other victim?”

“Jasper Rhodes was 34 and a part-time worker at the local Walmart,” Garcia lists off. “They had been married for three years, but Caroline never changed her last name.”

“Don’t exactly blame her,” you remark. “Alright, which one had allegations?”

“I’m about to burst your bubble, babycakes. Neither of them.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Garcia echoes, just as solemn. “Caroline has a squeaky clean record, aside from one speeding ticket when she was seventeen for going forty-five in a school zone. Jasper also has a clean slate for a record, but he does have one DUI from when he was twenty-two. Nothing else since.”

“It’s been twelve years, so for all we know, he could be sober for a decade now,” you mutter. “Okay. Do they have any connection at all to our other victims? Please say yes.”

“Cross referencing as we speak,” Garcia says, typing furiously. “Almost done… Negative,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head. “Thank you for being such a wizard, as always.”

“It’s my specialty,” she quips. “So...do I get some details about you and Hotch now?”

“Goodbye Garcia…” You chuckle, ending the call before she can ask anything else.

You walk back into the conference room, shaking your head sadly at JJ who looks up with hopeful eyes.

“Garcia found virtually nothing. Caroline got a speeding ticket at seventeen, and Jasper a DUI at twenty-two. Nothing since. And no connection to any of our other victims,” you relay the information, ending it with a sip of your coffee.

“This unsub is good,” JJ says, exasperated. “How is she always three steps ahead of us?”

“She’s not, really,” Reid says, and you can feel something else coming on. “It’s like she knows we’re closing in on her, so she’s going after those who have no reported allegations. She’s not as far ahead as we think, but maybe that’s what she wants us to think.”

“Reid, dude, you’re sounding like a fortune cookie right now,” you laugh. “I get where you’re going with this. But unless they find some DNA at the crime scene, we’re back to square one again.”

“Maybe…” He trails away, getting up to look at the map.

Something is going on in his head, but you’re not sure what. He’ll tell you when he’s finished with it, you’re sure.

In your pocket, your phone starts buzzing. Thinking it’s Garcia, you pull it out and answer without looking, but Garcia’s voice isn’t what you hear on the other end.

“I’m heading back to the precinct,” Hotch says.

“O...kay,” you furrow your eyebrows, mouthing, ‘Hotch’ to JJ. “Why just you?”

“I need to show you something,” he says slowly, like he’s struggling to get the words out. “The unsub left a note.”

“What does it say?” You ask, wondering why it’s like pulling teeth to get him to speak.

“It’s addressed to you,” he finally says, and all the blood drains from your body. “It’s in an envelope and sealed. Your… Your name is on the front.”

You’re not sure what to make of that at all.

“Okay,” you say, your brain unable to really process it. “Okay, we’ll look at it when you get here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Aaron,” you whisper, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Don’t say that to me. You’re scaring me.” You pause. “What are you sorry for?”

“For this note,” he replies, voice quiet. “For this unsub targeting you, and now for scaring you.”

“What does the note say?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t open it.”

“Okay. Just...hurry, I guess.”

“I’m turning into the parking lot now.”

“Okay, see you in a sec,” you murmur, ending the call.

You look up from the phone to find both JJ and Reid staring at you, concern swimming deeply in their eyes. You don’t even have the energy to offer them a reassuring smile. Nothing about this is comfortable for you.

Why would the unsub leave a note addressed to you?

Hotch walks through the precinct doors a few moments later, a man on a mission as he walks directly to the conference room. You’re explaining to JJ and Reid about the note when he walks in, and you fall silent upon seeing him.

He hates that he even called you to warn you, but he had to do something. His mind was racing on the drive. He had to hear your voice, and he knew you were bound to ask why he was coming back on his own, what’s so urgent, so he knew he’d have to tell you.

But the fear in your eyes right now is something he never wants to see again. Ever.

“Where is it?” You say, your voice wavering.

Slowly, Hotch pulls the envelope out of his jacket pocket. It’s in a plastic bag, which is standard protocol for evidence, and you begin searching for a pair of gloves.

You find a pair and start to slip them on, grimacing at the way your hands shake, and using your peripheral vision to see that Aaron is watching you closely.

Once you’re gloved up, he hands you the plastic bag. It feels much heavier than it should.

Carefully, you pull out the envelope, swallowing down the nausea you’re feeling. As Hotch said, your name -- Agent Y/N L/N -- is scrawled on the front in messy handwriting. Fortunately, Reid can examine that, and this letter if it’s handwritten.

You break the seal on the envelope, flinching slightly, and ignoring that you did. But Aaron saw it.

You pull out the note and half of you cries in relief because it is handwritten, and the other half of you feels sheer terror because your business card is taped to the top left hand corner.

“Shit,” you cuss, closing your eyes.

“What?” Aaron asks, taking a step closer, lowering his head to meet your eye level.

“My business card,” you say, opening your eyes again, hating the way things look blurry for a moment. JJ and Reid are just fuzzy figures at the table when you look around the room. “It could’ve been anyone at the meetings. I handed my card to as many that would take it. There’s no way I’ll remember everyone, or even half of them, I mean, I ran out of cards, I had to go stand by Morgan because--”

“Okay, okay, slow down,” Aaron stops you, putting both hands on your arms. “Look at me, please.”

Slowly, the world comes back into focus and you meet his brown eyes, finding your peace there like you have so many other times before. You focus on the weight of his hands on your arms, grounding you, bringing you back.

“I know it’s difficult,” he says. “But you need to breathe.”

You nod, sucking in a deep breath a little too abruptly, not even realizing you had been taking shallow breaths in the first place.

“Good girl,” he whispers, so low that he’s almost mouthing it, careful not to let JJ or Reid hear. And it’s not sexual or sensual this time. It’s comforting. “Can you read the rest of it?”

You nod. “I can help you end your suffering. I can help you avenge. I can help you heal. It doesn’t have to be this way.” You pause, looking up from the note, looking between Hotch, JJ, and Reid. “What does that even mean?”

“Did you talk about your experience during the meetings?” Reid asks.

“A little bit, but I barely scratched the surface of it,” you admit. “And I didn’t mention any names. I might hate him, but...I’d never send a serial killer after him.”

“I know,” Hotch says. “We’re not accusing you of that,” he adds gently. “It’s clear our unsub feels a connection to you now. Something you said must’ve resonated deeply with her.”

“But all I said was that he was my fiancé and that I didn’t report him, so that still gets us nowhere. She’s still a ghost.”

“She’s not a ghost,” he says sternly. “We will find her. You’ve already seen her once.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember seeing her, Hotch.”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s reaching out. Which means we’re close.”

“Not close enough,” you protest, tossing the letter back on the plastic bag on the table. “I need to take a walk.” You move toward the door, and he’s following you, so you add quietly, “Alone, please.”

Hotch nods, and watches you go, more worried than he’s ever been in his life.

+++

When Rossi, Emily, and Morgan return to the police precinct, they spot you sitting alone on a bench outside the front doors.

“I got this,” Morgan says, hopping out of the car and heading to you, gesturing for Rossi and Emily to head inside. They share a look and nod, disappearing into the precinct to leave Morgan alone with you.

You don’t even look up from your hands when you see Morgan coming over from your peripheral vision.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He asks, standing in front of you.

“I’m really not in the mood right now, Derek.”

“Too bad,” he shrugs, sitting next to you on the bench, stretching his arm out behind you. “What’s going on? You know I’m just gonna keep buggin’ you until you tell me.”

You snort. “I know.”

“So…” He pauses. “Tell me. It’ll save us both a whole lotta time. And it’ll save you a whole lotta stress, sittin’ there with all that in your head.”

You know he’s right. And you know he’s the only one who really gets it.

So, you tell him what’s wrong.

“The unsub left that note just for me. My card was taped to it, Morgan.”

“And?”

“What do you mean and? It means I laid eyes on her, maybe talked to her, handed her my fucking card, and I still didn’t know it was her.”

“We’re not superhuman, Y/N. We only see what they show us. She probably put on a mask while talking to you.”

“Well now she’s still out there--”

“Listen to me. I ran out of cards too, remember? We started using yours. I easily could’ve given her your card. Hell, I was there with you, I probably looked at her a dozen times, too. Are you gonna yell at me for not recognizing her?”

“No--”

“Then stop doing it to yourself, you hear me?”

“I just… She feels a connection to me. What does that say about me?”

“That you’re a relatable person,” Derek offers, causing you to glare at him. “Hey,” he raises a hand in surrender. “I’m just being logical. It doesn’t say anything about you. Because a serial killer’s view of you is not who you are. You are who you are.”

“Thanks for the fortune cookie.”

“Don’t get that tone with me, kid,” he replies tiredly. “You know you’re not really mad at me, so don’t take it out on me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you rub your forehead. “I’m just…”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know that, but you still need to hear it,” he says. “And I’ll always be here to tell you, got that?”

You look over at him with a small smile. “Got it.”

He smiles too, glad to see you’re feeling better. He shoves your shoulder lightly, playfully. “Come on. Let’s get back in there.”

“Yeah,” you nod, standing up.

He walks ahead, but you stay still, wondering if you should even ask what you’re about to ask. But Derek notices your hesitation and turns back around, studying you.

“Spit it out,” he says, knowing there’s something.

“The unsub is trying to talk to me,” you say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. “So...what if we set up a trap.”

“What?” Morgan deadpans, raising his eyebrows, turning his body to completely face you.

“What if we--”

“Use you as bait?” Morgan finishes, incredulity coating his words.

You nod. “I wasn’t going to word it like that, but--”

He scoffs, looking more and more pissed off as the seconds go on. “Hell no. Are you outta your damn mind?”

“No, I’m not. I’m--”

“No,” he stops you, holding up his hand, pointing at you. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t go there. We will find this unsub, and we will do it without you sacrificing yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be sacrificing myself!” You protest. “You guys would be there. You’d have my back.”

“We can’t predict everything this unsub will do, Y/N, you know that,” Morgan fires back. “And I’ll be damned if I let you throw yourself into danger like this. It’s not happening. You hear me?”

SIghing, you nod. “I hear you.”

“Have you even told Hotch about this?”

“No.”

“Good. Don’t,” Morgan replies. “You’ll just get a lecture and you and I both know you don’t need that right now.”

“I know.”

He pauses, shaking his head. He steps forward, wrapping you in a hug, eyes closing when he feels you burying your face in his neck. “I love you, kid,” he whispers. “And I know it’s hard, but you got this, we got this. And it’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod into his neck, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Next chapter

[dontcare77ghj]

We Interrupt This Program

Wanda x reader x Vision

Monica had dreamt of her mother and aunt. Memories from long ago when everything had been okay. 

She had woken up in the same uncomfortable hospital room chair she had fallen asleep in, to her hands forming from dust.

Monica had jumped in her chair with a gasp at the strange image before her head snapped over to her mother's hospital bed.

An empty bed.

As Monica jumped to her feet, she suddenly became aware of the loud crashes and screams echoing outside the room.

When Monica opened the door, she was greeted by the disturbing image of people forming from dust.

Monica had rushed past the dusty people and to a doctor.

"Excuse me," She tried to say.

"They're all coming back!" The doctor snapped. "They're all coming back. We don't have the capacity!" He said before rushing away.

Not deterring from her goal, Monica continued to race through the hospital halls until she crashed into a nurse.

"Excuse me? I'm looking for a patient in room one-o-four."

"Who my wife? Do you have a phone?" The man asked.

"I don't have a phone."

"I have to call my wife." The nurse said before turning away from Monica.

People were still appearing around Monica as she rushed towards the hospital front desk and crashed into a man.

"Are you okay? It's okay, I've got it." A nurse said, helping the stranger up before Monica could pull him to his feet.

"I'm looking for a patient in room one-o-four," Monica said to the woman behind the desk, who waved her off.

"I don't know what to tell you." She said before walking away.

Why will no-one help me? Monica wondered as she stared all around her. Where is my mother?

"Monica?" Her name was called loudly over the din. Monica spun to the person calling her name and let out a sigh of relief at the familiar figure.

"Oh, Dr. Harley, thank God!"

"I can't believe it." The woman said, staring Monica up and down.

"I was,"

"Where did you go?" The doctor cut Monica off.

"I've been in her room since she came back from surgery," Monica told her. "I mean, I might have fallen asleep, but no longer than twenty minutes. Dr. Harley, where's my mom?"

"Your mom, she died, honey." The doctor admitted, staring at Monica with honest eyes.

"What?" Monica asked, staring at the doctor in horror. "No. No, no, no, you're mistaken. My mother, the procedure went well. You said so yourself. Clean margins. You're discharging her today."

"The cancer came back." The doctor said, causing Monica to scoff.

"Okay, stop. Stop. You're, my mom is Maria Rambeau, look it up. I mean, look it up. Maria Rambeau." Monica demanded, rushing to the check-in desk and slamming her hand on the counter.

"Monica, I don't understand what's or how, but you need to listen to me. Maria died three years ago." Dr. Harley said, pulling Monica away from the desk.

"Three? No. No, no."

"Which was two years after you,"

"After I what? After I what?" Monica demanded, willing herself to not let her face crumple.

"After you disappeared."

Monica had been dead for five years, well gone as the rest of the world put it. She disappeared in her mother's hospital room, and when she woke up, five years had passed.

Monica had been gone for five years and her mother two. 

The only difference, her mother wouldn't be coming back any time soon.

But Monica was Maria's daughter. Monica had been raised by the strongest of women and refused to crumble under grief's pressure.

So Monica had thrown herself back into the world. She had forced herself back into the life she once lived.

It had been three weeks since Monica and the rest of the universe had found herself undusting, and now she was walking through the SWORD headquarters, preparing for a meeting.

Monica had flashed her badge at the scanner, but the doors wouldn't open as the scanners beeped at her.

"Ma'am? Over here, please." A man from the desk called her over.

"Hi, good morning. I work here, and," 

"If you did, your badge would work." The man cut her off, staring at her with a blank face.

"Right." Monica chuckled nervously. "Um, I have a meeting with,"

"You know who this is?" Tyler Hayward asked, appearing beside Monica.

"This guy." Monica smiled, relieved.

"Captain Monica Rambeau." Hayward stuck his hand out.

"Director Tyler Hayward." Monica nodded, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

"Acting Director." Hayward corrected. "You haven't aged a day." He complimented.

"And you look old as hell," Monica commented with a smirk, causing Hayward to chuckle.

"Come on, let's catch you up," Hayward said, leading Monica away from the desk and towards the doors she'd tried to enter. "It's been three weeks, and you're the first to report. Can't say I'm surprised, Captain."

"How are the numbers for the astronaut training program?" Monica asked as she and Hayward walked down long and winding halls.

"Dismal. Lost half my personnel in The Blip, and half of those remaining have lost nerve." Hayward told her with a frown. "The program hasn't been the same you've been up there, Rambeau. Shifted away from human-manned mission and refocused on robotics, nanotech, AI. Sentient Weapons, like it, says on the door."

"It also says, "Observation and Response" on that door, not "Creation," Monica noted.

"The world's not the same as you left it. Space is now full of unexpected threats." Hayward told her.

"Always full of threats. And allies." Monica corrected the man.

"Listen, Monica, I just wanna acknowledge the awkwardness of the situation. I know SWORD's your home." Hayward acknowledged, stopping in the middle of a pristine white hallway. "Your mom built this place from the ground up. You grew up here. You should've been here to help name the replacement."

"You were the obvious choice," Monica said with a work-approved smile.

"I was the only choice."   

"I wasn't gonna say it," Monica smirked as Hayward chuckled quietly. "Look, Tyler, you know the job you have to do. I'm here to do mine." She told him, nodding to herself.

"Let's get you back out there," Hayward said, opening the door to his office and letting Monica step inside. "The FBI is in a tizzy over a missing person case up in Jersey."

"Missing persons?" Monica asked, raising a brow.

"I know. But the FBI has requested the use of one of our imaging drones, and I need a chaperone." Hayward told her.

"Tyler, drones usually chaperone me." Monica shook her head.

"I get it." The man nodded before Monica cut him off.

"Look, if this is because of, you don't have to worry about me. I'm good." Monica assured, cringing at the thought of her lost five years.

"There's no easy way to say this but, you're grounded," Hayward said, causing Monica to pause.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Terrestrial missions only," Hayward confirmed.

"You're kidding. For how long?" Monica scoffed, glaring daggers at the man. "Whose protocol is this?"

"Your mother's," Hayward admitted. "She implemented guidelines in the event vanished personnel ever returned. Look, I know it's a raw deal, but there is one positive takeaway." He said as Monica rolled her eyes.

"And what's that?"

"She believed you'd come back." He said, causing the woman before him to freeze. "You'd be doing me a big favor with this FBI thing, but if you need more time,"

"No. No, I'm good to go." Monica cut him off, looking much sourer than when she began this meeting. 

"Excellent. Keep me updated, Captain." Hayward stood, handing Monica a file which she took with a frown.

Monica made the drive to Westview, New Jersey, the next day. 

The plan was to get there that morning and be out of there by the end of the week. 

In all honesty, Monica did not want to do this assignment. It was so far beneath her pay grade and not for someone with her skill set, but Monica would grin and bear it.

Monica would take whatever assignments she had to to get back to what she used to do. 

It was 11:30 in the morning when Monica pulled up to the edge of Westview where an FBI agent stood, talking with two officers.

"James E Woo, FBI." The agent introduced himself, pulling a card out of nowhere, causing Monica to smile.

"Monica Rambeau, SWORD. What's the story here, Agent Woo?" Monica asked, taking the business card between her fingers.

"I've got a witness set up down the road in Westview, and this morning, it looked like he flew the coop," Woo explained.

"Your missing person is in the Witness Protection Program?" Monica confirmed. 

"I have contacted known associates, relatives," Woo started, but Monica cut him off.

"And let me guess, none of them have seen him either?" She asked, a clearer picture of what was happening now in her head. 

"No. None of them have ever heard of our guy." The man said, shattering Monica's picture.  "Something seemed hanky to me, so I took the first flight out of Oakland to interface with the local law enforcement, which is when I encountered a new wrinkle."

"What is that?"

The FBI agent didn't respond merely nodded his head over to the two police officers, and the two made their way over to them. 

"Pardon me, Sheriff. Would you mind repeating your claim about Westview to my colleague here?" James asked the blank-faced Sherrif.

"No such place." The Sherrif shrugged.

"You're saying the town of Westview, New Jersey, doesn't exist?" Monica asked, turning to the visible sign, with a raised brow.

"It's what I keep telling your G-Man here, but he won't listen." The man said, sipping his coffee.

"I see. And, I'm sorry, but what town are you from?" She wondered.

"Eastview." The man answered, causing Monica's befuddlement to grow.

"Thank you, Sherrif. We'll reach out if we need further assistance." James dismissed the officers as he and Monica turned back to her car. "I pulled phone numbers for all the residents, I'm only through the D's, but so far, I got diddly squat." He told her.

"So you can't reach anyone inside, and everyone on the outside has some sort of selective amnesia?" Monica asked.

"This isn't a missing person's case, Captain Rambeau. It's a missing town. Population 3,892." James said, turning to the sign.

"Why haven't you gone inside to investigate?" Monica questioned the agent.

"Cause it doesn't want me to," James told Monica, causing her head to snap and face him. "You can feel it too, can't you? Nobody's supposed to go in." He said, finally acknowledging the unsettling feeling in the air. 

Monica couldn't respond. She couldn't think of a single thing to say at that moment, so she didn't.

Monica didn't say anything as she opened her trunk and pulled out one of the SWORD drones.

"What about you?" Monica asked as she set the drone up.

"Me?" James confirmed before letting out a small chuckle. "Well, I'm from Bakersfield originally. Growin' up, other kids had Micheal Jordan posters on their walls, but I had Elliot Ness." He explained as Monica moved to stand beside him.

"No, no, no. I mean, why is it that you have an awareness of Westview? Or me, for that matter?" Monica asked, focusing on the controls in her hands. "Is it because we are outside of a certain radius or maybe because we don't have a personal connection?"

"I don't know, maybe,"

"Wait. Where'd it go?" Monica cut James off as the video feed fritzed and the drone disappeared from the air.

"It was right there," James said as Monica stalked closer to the town.

As Monica got closer to the town's edge, she finally noticed the cause of the man behind nerves. 

"Whoa."

"What is it?"

"Some sort of energy field," Monica said, raising her hand towards the force field. 

"Careful, Rambeau," James warned, stilling at Monica's actions. "Captain Rambeau!" He exclaimed when Monica's hand touched the field. "Watch out! Rambeau! Captain Rambeau!"

But it was too late. Monica had touched the force field, and she had disappeared.

Darcy Lewis had been through and experienced so many things in the past thirteen years. Experiences that had completely changed her definition of weird.

That's why when she was approached by two SWORD agents, camped outside of her apartment, asking if she would help on what they were described as an anomaly, Darcy didn't bat an eye before agreeing.

Now Darcy was sat in the back of a van with three other people.

"Hey, what's your field?" Darcy asked the man across from her, breaking the silence of the car.

"We're not supposed to talk to each other." The man shook his head, eyes wide.

"Hmm? Boy Scout leader. Got it." Darcy rolled her eyes before turning the woman beside him. "And you?"

"Nuclear Biology." The woman told her

"Artificial Intelligence." The bald man beside Darcy said.

"Astrophysics." Darcy nodded. "We got the full clown car. It means whatever the threat it, SWORD clearly has no idea what they're dealing with."

"I'm a chemical engineer." The Boy Scout leader piped up.

"No-one cares." Darcy shot him down quickly as the van came to a halt.

"Alright, grab your gear." An agent from the front ordered.

Darcy was the first to exit the car and survey the chaos around her. 

They set up a base camp faster than I paint a base coat. Darcy thought as she walked past several men and women.

"Ms. Lewis." A man called, walking over to her.

"Dr. Lewis." Darcy corrected him. 

"We have your gear inside." The agent said before leading her towards her station.

"Those drones you're sending in, what kinda data are you getting?" Darcy asked, watching as one drone approached Westview on a screen before disappearing.

"I'm afraid that's highly classified." The agent told her.

"You can't see anything?" She asked, causing the agent to freeze.  "FBI, Army. I saw the Air Force Office of Special Investigations out there." She commented, setting up her computer. "Research Lab, Space Command, too. A bona fide, joint, multi-service response. Looking forward to a commemorative T-shirt. Is there somewhere a lady could get a cup of coffee? You guys look like you might get down with those little pod things, horrendous for the environment, by the way."

"Make your assessment, please." The man sighed, irritated by Darcy's comments. 

While going on her mini-tirade, Darcy had been setting up her equipment and station. She now looked down at a small device in her hand, watching it scan the area.

"Whoa. I mean, whoa." Darcy said, her eyes incredibly wide, as she adjusted her glasses.

"What're you getting?" The agent demanded, moving closer to her.

"A colossal amount of CMBR," Darcy told him.

"CM?"

"Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation." She clarified.

"We've been told the radiation is within a safe limit." The agent said, looking at Darcy in concern.

"It is, for now."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"Sh!" She cut him off with a hiss. Darcy watched the device in her hand with rapt interest as it continued to beep. "There are longer wavelengths superimposed over the noise here." She thought aloud, chewing on her lower lip. 

Darcy surveyed her surroundings before she found what she needed beside her. 

"I got it," Darcy grunted as she heaved a large piece of computing systems onto her desk. Darcy fiddled with the settings and the knobs before a blurry picture began to appear. "I need a TV. An old one. Like, not flat." She told the agent beside her.

Hours later, it had begun to rain, but that didn't stop SWORD operations.

A man in a plastic hazmat suit walked over to where Hayward was standing, allowing the rain to soak his form.

"You good to go?" Hayward asked, yelling slightly over the weather.

"Yes, sir." The man nodded. 

"The sewers will take you straight into town. Try to find anything you can on Rambeau." Hayward ordered him.

"Copy that." The man said, beginning to descend into the sewers.

"Agent Franklin. We will keep this channel open for you." Hayward said over Franklin's earpiece as he crawled through the small tunnel.

"Copy."

"Keep me updated," Hayward told the assembled team before walking away. 

"Director Hayward," Woo said, jogging beside Hayward. "Between you me and the bedpost, I am not confident about this mission."

"Thanks for the feedback, Jimmy. If only my drones were as forthcoming." Hayward said as they entered a tent. 

"There's no reason to suspect the perimeter doesn't extend subterraneously." Jimmy tried to reason. 

"There's no reason to suspect it does."

"We don't know enough about the nature of the threat to send another agent when the first is yet to return," Jimmy told the director.

"Someone must miss you back in Quantico." Hayward scoffed. 

"No, sir. Softball season's over, sir." Jimmy joked.

"What do we have up?" Hayward asked, walking further into the room and towards a female agent.

"Radar, lidar, sodar, infared." She told him.

"Cycle through," Hayward demanded. When the woman couldn't get anything up on the screen, Hayward let out a sigh. "Will someone get me a useful visual, damn it?" He asked before loud studio audience laughter rang through the room. "What is that? Who's doing that?" He asked as everyone began to look around.

"Who are those people?"

"What are you wearing?"

"And why are they here?"

"What are you wearing?"

Hayward froze as he caught sight of a dark-haired woman watching the source on an old-fashioned television.

"Well, it's our anniversary!"

"Our anniversary of what?"

"Vision now is not the time to debate your failing memory processors."

"Is that?" Jimmy asked, leaning on the desk beside Darcy as several other officers and Hayward crowded behind her.

"Yeah, it looks like them." Darcy nodded, not taking her eyes off the screen.

And sure enough, on the screen before her was a black and white video of Wanda Maximoff, Y/N Barton, and The Vision.

"You move at the speed of sound, Y/N makes a storm with her pinky, and I can make a pen float through the air. Who needs to abbreviate?" Wanda questioned incredulously.

"Look, I know it's been a crazy few years on this planet, but he's dead, right?" Darcy asked, turning to Jimmy, who hadn't taken his eyes off the screen. "Not blipped, dead."

"Excellent plan. Where's the tenderizer?" Vision asked.

"We're looking at him," Y/N said as she handed Vision the tenderizer.

"What am I looking at?" Hayward demanded. "You. What is this? Where's this coming from?" He asked Darcy.

"Out there," Darcy said, throwing her arm up in a vague gesture to the outside. 

"You didn't answer the back door. For your upside-down cake." A dark-haired woman said, holding a pineapple in her hand.

"Is it authentic?" Hayward asked.

"I'm not sure how to answer that," Darcy told him.

"Is it happening in real-time? Is it recorded? Fabricated?" He pressed.

"I don't know. I don't know. And I don't know." Darcy told him. 

"What do you know?" Hayward demanded.

"My equipment registered an extremely high level of CMBR. That's,"

"Relic radiation dating back to the Big Bang." Hayward nodded.

"Yeah." Darcy nodded. "Entwined was a broadcast frequency. So I had one of your goons pick me up a sweet vintage TV, and when I plug this bad boy in, voila, sound and picture."

"Dinner is served."

"So, you're saying the universe created a sitcom starring three Avengers?" Jimmy asked, staring at the screen in confusion.

"It's a working theory." Darcy shrugged.

"Get me transport back to headquarters now. And someone get me, Clint Barton." Hayward demanded, causing two men to rush away. "Are we recording this?" He asked the woman.

"Never stopped," Darcy informed him.

"I need immediate analysis. Now, people. Let's go!" Hayward said before walking away. All the agents scattered, keen on following orders, leaving Jimmy and Darcy alone.

"He's a charmer." Darcy scoffed.

"Great work." Jimmy smiled before getting up and walking away.

"Hey, thanks." Darcy grinned happily. "Maybe I can get that coffee now?" She asked, looking around, but no-one even looked up. "Or not. That's cool." She grumbled, turning back to the screen as the episode finished and three kissed one another. "Aw!"

"First and foremost, our main objective is to get any intel on Captain Rambeau. Originally this case was a missing person, so we're going to start there," Jimmy explained to the gathered group. "We've successfully identified three individuals inside the Westview anomaly." He added, hanging up pictures of Wanda, Y/N, and Vision in their 1950's garb. "Let's keep going."

"This guest is leaving your home." Mrs. Hart said as Darcy frantically typed away at her keyboard.

Everyone in the room had a job to do to find out what was happening in Westview.

Some were watching the footage on repeat, taking copious notes, Darcy was attempting to find out who was playing who, people were tracking the radiation waves coming from the town, and Jimmy had been filling out a whiteboard with questions.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hart. Played by Todd and Sharon Davis." Darcy announced, holding up two forms with pictures of the two before hanging them up beside the three other photos. 

"Computational forms," Norm said. "And no-one can process the data quite like you do, pal."

"Agent Woo." A man interrupted Jimmy's watching of the footage before handing him a form.

Jimmy slightly smiled as he read it before calling out, 

"Abhilash Tandon is Norm."

"Harold Copter is Jones!"

"We got Isabel Matsueida cast as Beverly!"

"John Collins as Herb!"

It had been hours of searching, trying to figure out everyone's identity, and Darcy was tired. 

Tired and hungry.

She had just made herself cup ramen and made her way back to her desk when she let out a gasp and dropped her noodles. 

"Jimmy!" She called, dropping into her seat, not even bothering to clean up the mess. "Damn it, Woo. Hurry up!"

"What?" Jimmy asked, rushing over and freezing when he saw who was on the screen. "Oh my god." Jimmy sighed, sinking into a chair beside Darcy.

"Does she seem okay to you?" Darcy asked as the two watched Monica read a newspaper while Wanda, Y/N, and Agnes spoke in the background.

"Well, she doesn't appear to be harmed in any way, but that is definitely not the boss lady I met yesterday." Jimmy determined.

"So what, deep cover? Monica has to play along?" Darcy asked.

"With whom? Or else, what? All right. Brass tacks, Dr. Lewis. What are we lookin' at here? Is it an alternate reality? Time travel? Some cockamamie social experiement?" Jimmy asked

"It's a sitcom. A 1950's sitcom." Darcy explained, shaking her head.

"But why?" Jimmy wondered.

"I'd like to know that myself." Clint Barton demanded, now standing behind the two.

"Agent Barton." Jimmy greeted, standing up and moving towards the man. "I was told you wouldn't be here until tomorrow."

"Well, it turns out a quinjet makes journies a lot quicker," Clint said, crossing his arms. "Where is my daughter? And where is Wanda?"

"We'll have to fill you in later, Hawkeye." Darcy piped up. "I think I have an idea how to contact them."

"How?"

"So there's this radio that sits in the kitchen, right? The next time someone's washing the dishes, which happens like once an episode, barf, we'll shoot a signal to that little guy." Darcy explained.

"Sounds like a plan. What do you need done?" Clint asked. 

"This transmitter will mimic the frequency of the broadcast, and if my theory is right, allow us to speak to either Y/N or Wanda. This is totally gonna work." Darcy explained, continuing to set up the station. "Don't touch that." She admonished Jimmy.

"Agent Woo." A woman called, walking over to the three with a file.

"Is this from the current episode?" Jimmy asked, looking at the picture in his hands.

"Aired about two minutes ago." The woman nodded.

"What is it?" Clint asked, looking over the man's shoulder.

"What does it look like to you?"

"It looks like a retro version of a SWORD drone," Clint noted as Darcy took the picture out of his hands.

"Bingo." Jimmy nodded.

"But how did it change and why?" Clint wondered.

"Uh, to go with production design?" Jimmy guessed.

"Or to render it useless." Darcy theorized.

"Why'd you colorize it?" Jimmy asked the female agent.

"I didn't." She shook her head.

"Let's get this show on the road. Clint, you're with me." Darcy said, grabbing her laptop and rushing back into the tent with Clint on her heels.

Darcy and Clint donned their headpieces before Darcy turned to the window.

"Jimmy, you ready?"

"Ready," Jimmy affirmed, holding his thumb up. 

Darcy and Clint took their seats in front of the screen where Wanda and Y/N were now talking with Monica.

"Uh, Jimmy, Monica is talking now. She's got a speaking part." Darcy told him.

"What is she saying?" Jimmy wondered.

"Say those pants are peachy keen. Both sets."

"She likes their pants." Darcy shrugged. "They're at some sort of swim club. We've never been here before."

"Is it the sixties still?" Jimmy wondered.

"Still the sixties and still black and white." Clint relayed, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"The girls are with another character," Darcy told Jimmy. 

"Another person." Jimmy corrected.

"I can't help but wonder if the three of us haven't gotten off on the wrong foot, Dottie. And I'd like to, we'd like to, correct that if we can." Wanda said to a blonde woman.

"Ooh, radio on the side table!" Darcy cheered. 

"Start talking," Clint ordered the man.

"Wanda, do you read me? Agent Barton, are you there?" Jimmy asked. "Can they hear me?"

"I don't think so," Darcy told him. 

"Keep trying." Clint pushed.

"Wanda. Wanda, can you hear me? Agent Barton, do you read me? Wanda? Y/N?"

As Jimmy continued to speak to the two, Clint and Darcy were staring at the screen intently, waiting for any sign they might hear. 

For a second, it looked like it might have worked. The radio on the television crackled before the show jump cut.

"Pop quiz, Wanda," Dottie said as Y/N wrapped her hand. "How does a housewife get a bloodstain out of white linen? By doing it herself."

"Wait." Darcy stuttered, staring at the screen in confusion.

"What?" Jimmy asked.

"I don't know," Darcy said. "That was weird."

"What was?"

"Nothing." Darcy shook her head when the show faded to a commercial. "It's over. Mission failure."

"It was worth a try. Good effort, Darcy."

"Yeah, come on in," Darcy said, pulling off her headset.

"You saw that, right?" Clint asked, pulling off his own. "I wasn't imagining that. The screen cut?"

"It's an old TV, Clint. It flickers." Darcy sighed.

Franklin had been crawling through the sewers for what felt like days. It was hot inside his suit, he was sweating, and the sewer smelt like a sewer was supposed to.

But Franklin kept crawling along. 

He kept crawling even when he passed through the energy field, and the cord around his waist fell off.

No-one was sure what had happened to Franklin. He'd never checked in with base, and when the cord had been rewound, the end had somehow turned into a child's jump rope.

When morning came, no-one had slept. Everyone at the SWORD base had stayed awake all night, continuing their search into the Westview anonymity.

Darcy wasn't sure who had suggested it, but soon the room had been filled with old-fashioned TV's all playing the latest episode. 

The show was now in color as the decade had shifted into the seventies.

"Sweetheart, do you think it's time to,"

"Call the doctor."

"1950's, 1960's and now the '70's. Why does it keep switching time periods?" Darcy asked as she, Jimmy, and Clint sat in front of the same TV. "It can't be purely for my enjoyment, can it?" Darcy wondered, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

"I can't believe Y/N and Wanda are both pregnant," Jimmy commented, watching with rapt interest.

"I can't believe I'm about to be a grandfather." Clint sighed, staring at the screen in confusion.

"Can I ask you something?" Darcy asked, turning to Clint. "Do you seriously not know where Wanda and your daughter were before this?" She questioned the archer, recalling what she read in his statement.

"No. I don't know where they were." Clint shook his head. "And I'm the only person to blame."

"That can't be true." Jimmy tried to assure.

"It is." Clint nodded. "I hadn't seen Y/N since 2017 when Thanos snapped. She was on the run with Wanda and team Cap after the raft, but I'd taken a plea. After Banner snapped and Thanos dusted, my only thought was to get back to my wife. I left Y/N with Wanda on the battlefield." Clint admitted. "I abandoned her."

"Look, I wasn't there during that final fight, but I can imagine the chaos after," Darcy said to the man. "It's not the coolest thing you could have done, but it's understandable."

"Shh!" Jimmy hissed. "The girls are giving birth!" He said, causing Darcy and Clint to turn back to the screen. "Congratulations, Agent Barton, you've got a granddaughter."

"Yeah, and two grandsons."

"Twins. What a twist." Darcy sniffed, causing both men to turn and face her. "What? I'm invested."

"He was killed by Ultron. Wasn't he?"

"Did she just say the name Ultron?" Jimmy demanded. "Has that happened before? A reference to our reality."

"No. Never." 

"Don't go near her." Wanda snapped, stopping Geraldine from moving beside a sleeping Y/N. 

"Hey, I'll take a shift rocking the babies." Geraldine offered, beginning to move closer to the bassinets when the babies started to cry.

"No, I think you should leave." Wanda shook her head, blocking the bassinets from her view.

"Oh, Wanda, don't be like that," Geraldine said, staring at Wanda as though she were the crazy one.

"Who are you?" Wanda demanded, staring at the woman in anger.

"Wanda." Geraldine shook her head as she took a step back. "I'm. Wanda, I'm."

"This is different," Darcy said, staring at the screen uncomfortably. 

"What happened? Where'd she go?" Jimmy asked as the screen glitched. The screen glitched to the end credits, which showed Wanda, Y/N, and Vision now sitting on the couch, each holding a baby. 

"God not again." Darcy sighed, reaching over Jimmy to her laptop, which was recording the episode. Darcy quickly typed away at her computer, and it brought up the last ten seconds of the scene. "There's nothing here!" Darcy snapped when it played the same.

"You think it's still a glitch?" Clint asked her. 

"I don't get it. One second, Monica is standing right there, and the next, she isn't. Someone is censoring the broadcast." Darcy realized.

"But where's Rambeau?" Jimmy asked right as alerts began to blare.

"Alert! Boundry has been breached!" The alarm screeched, causing the entirety of the tent to rush into action.

"Who are you?" Wanda demanded, stalking closer to Geraldine. 

"Wanda, I'm just your neighbor." Geraldine attempted to reason with the woman.

"Then how did you know about Ultron?" Wanda demanded, tilting her head to the side.

But Geraldine couldn't answer, causing Wanda's hands to glow bright red. 

"You're not my neighbor," Wanda whispered tearfully. "And you're definitely not my friend. You are a stranger and an outsider. And right now, you are trespassing here. And I want you to leave." She said before blasting Geraldine out of her home.

It took a second for Wanda to realize what she had done. Geraldine was gone, and there were large holes in the walls. 

She stared at her hands in shock before looking over to her wife, who was just beginning to stir. 

Thinking quickly, Wanda used her powers to pull the house back together and reset it.

Before Wanda could wonder too much about what she had done, one of the babies let a loud cooing noise.

Wanda had just moved back in front of the bassinets when the front door slammed open.

"Wanda? Where's Geraldine?" Vision asked, rounding the couch to stand beside a stirring Y/N.

"Oh, she left, honey," Wanda told him, not turning to face him. "She had to rush home." She added, finally turning to the man.

But the sight of Vision caused Wanda's eyes to widen and a gasp to escape her mouth.

Vision had lost all his color. He was grey, his eyes white, and there was a hole in his head.

"What?" Vision asked. "What is it? What's wrong?" He asked, moving closer to Wanda.

When Wanda looked up, she was relieved to see Vision was back to normal.

"We don't have to stay here. We could go wherever we want." Vision reminded his wife.

"No, we can't." Wanda shook her head. "This is our home." She smiled.

"Are you sure?" 

"Don't worry, darling. I have everything under control." She said as Y/N sat up on the couch with a yawn.

Outside of Westview, Jimmy and Darcy had made it to the scene.

"Monica!" Jimmy gasped, kneeling beside the woman. "Are you okay?"

"It's Wanda," Monica whispered, staring at the night sky blankly. "It's all Wanda."

"I thought you said you'd wake me if the babies cried?" Y/N asked, taking Tommy into her arms.

"I had it control, sweetheart. You needed your rest." Wanda said, picking up Luna. "What should we watch tonight?" Wanda wondered, moving over to the couch.

Y/N and Vision followed their wife and sat on either side of her, each holding an infant. 

Today had been a series of crazy events, but it had had the best outcome. Y/N thought staring down at her son in her arms and her other children in the arms of her husband and wife.

Something is happening here. Vision thought glancing down at his squirming daughter. 

We’re safe here. Wanda thought with a smile as she made faces at the baby in her arms. I’ll keep us safe.

Taglist is open throughout the entirety of the series.

@x-uglyprincess-x @imthedoctorlove @loveinnoya @unknownalien3388 @bindythedemon @summersimmerus @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @natasharomanoffismywife @mcsteamy4ever @monxpeet @amywinehouseisgod @milleniumloki @buckybarnesplumwhore @kennedywxlsh @drpepperobsessed @madamevirgo @superbsccissorsdeanexpert @itty-bitty-witch @essenceproxima @severusminerva @okkulta @mrscasnovak @niki-is-a-thing @sunshinepower17 @pinkninja200 @iflostreturntoflynnrider @simp4mcuwomen @blackfarrahfawcett @angelicl-y @bromieeeomieee @persie33 @ambria

[adorehs]

undercover

Hello! Welcome to a very chaotic story.. I really cannot accurately describe all that happens. Heavy influences from Quantico which I have been watching and the American Assassin series which I have began reading.

For @majorharry​‘s #majorharry20k with the following prompts: “Should–should we kiss?” (6) and “You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.” (30)

Summary: FBI!Harry and Y/N work together to solve a crime and romance ensues. Enemies to lovers if you squint. (6k words)

Warnings: violence, smut (unprotected), mentions of death, use of alcohol, there is a lot happening

The gun felt cool against your skin which juxtaposed your body which was coated in a light layer of sweat. You were hyper aware of its presence under your dress, along with the wig on your head and the colored contacts you wore, making you feel entirely uncomfortable for the simple assignment you were given.

You sat in the backseat of a government SUV, eyeing the dashboard monitor at the front of the car. It’s view showed multiple angles of the casino you and your partner Harry were headed to. You watched as various members were let in under what seemed to be a heavily guarded building.

You glanced to your right to see Harry reading over his new persona, mouthing certain phrases to himself as he folded the alias card into a black handkerchief, tucking it into his suit pocket.

The two of you and your analyst Mitch were briefed on the mission a few hours earlier. There was a man and a woman, siblings, who were believed to have bombed a casino in London earlier that week. Now, you and a team were set to find and detain both siblings, along with disarming the bomb before it is too late. 

“Bellagio’s guest list for nights like this is pretty exclusive but they recently had some people added so we should be able to get by just fine but play off me if need be,” Harry spoke with a gruff voice, adjusting his collar to ensure his communication device was hidden properly.

You defensively shifted towards Harry, “I know my alias,” you stopped to wrap your radio harness tighter around the wire of your bra to hide it’s bulk, adjusting the receiver in your ear you continued, “I was supposed to use it last mission but I didn’t need to.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, “Okay, no need to get defensive.”

You look at him one last time before eyeing the camera footage at the font of the car again. You see a skip in the footage and scoot forward in your chair, “How do you rewind this?”

Mitch meets your eyes in the rear view mirror, “You have to call back to the cyber ops, we can’t do it from here.”

You nod, testing to see if your comm was working before asking the same question, prompting the security team on your case to rewind the footage. “There!” you point out, asking them to go back and pause it again, “There’s a cut,” you decide after seeing a frame by frame replay.

“No camera has him after that. It can’t be a blind spot, he just disappeared,” Harry agrees.

“Someone was probably waiting in a blind spot to take him,” Mitch informs, “They're five to ten feet, there is enough room.”

Having the camera back in current time, you watch as a cab pulls through one screen and stops before it reaches the next camera's sight, “So do you think that's them? Picking up whoever that was?” you ask, looking at Harry.

He sighs heavily, “Probably,” he hesitated. He didn’t want to have to follow the cab, “We can call someone to trace the cab though, right? So we still make sure shits good at the casino,” he replied.

Mitch slows to a stop as he approaches a stop sign, “Ask them to get their license number from another camera and find out who drives that cab,” he suggests, “Then whoever follows them can see what's going on.”

You nod, relaying the information to the analyst team assisting you all on the case. Your eyes follow the monitor as you watch the cab leave the building with an excessive roar of their engine. A crinkle forms between your eyebrows, “Why was that so loud? Wouldn’t that draw more attention to themselves?”

Harry sucked his teeth as he racked his brain for a logical answer, “It would,” he agreed, “Maybe it’s to derive our attention.”

You shrug lightly, “That could be it. We definitely need to get more people out here just in case, though,” you agree.

“It could go both ways,” Mitch reminds you, “They could be a step ahead, knowing how we think, and really be escaping and we would be too naive to realize.”

“This is so confusing,” you whine, “Why can’t they just pull a stunt we already know.”

Harry’s lips tug upward into a smirk, “We don’t have to know what they’re planning, we just need enough people to be ready no matter what,” he reminds you.

You open your mouth to reply but a noise in your earpiece stops you. “They’re headed south on Las Vegas Freeway,” someone comments, “Be ready to follow through once they stop.”

-

You and Harry approach Bellagio, arms linked. It wasn’t the original plan, but Mitch said it would be easier to go in together rather than to be seen leaving the same car fifteen minutes apart in a crowded area.

You both approach the bouncer, Harry giving the buff man his alias, “Oliver Irvine,” he speaks casually. The bouncer's gaze moves to you with an unimpressed gaze, “Maggie Greene, but also my plus one,” Harry speaks again. The man glances at the door and back at you with a grunt. You sigh softly, leaning closer to Harry while also shrugging your arm up to make your breasts look more pronounced, “We know the Russell’s,” you mention the siblings. You watch in amusement as his eyes widen slightly, panic visible on his face.

The bouncer’s face scrunches up in confusion, “We’re visiting from London,” Harry helps him remember your names.

He clears his throat, “Of course, I remember them mentioning Irvine now,” he nods at Harry. You bite your lip softly in attempts to keep yourself from laughing, “Head in,” he sidesteps and you wink at him whispering a soft thank you, making him smile slightly like a schoolboy.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and you let go of Harry’s arm. You make a beeline for the bar and immediately ask for a pale ale. The bartender eyes you up and down before returning slightly after with your beer. You thank him softly and look around the club, sucking your teeth with distaste at the bitter substance. You hate beer but you need to encompass Maggie Greene and Maggie likes beer.

You spot a man looking at you and you smile at him, giving him permission to come up to you. He approaches you with a smirk, “Hey, I’m Rob.”

You twist the hair from your wig around your finger carefully and you lean forward giving him a face full of cleavage, “Nice to meet you Rob, I’m Maggie.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his eyes refusing to meet yours.

You look down at your full beer and lift it slightly so he sees before laughing at him, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”

He laughed back and with a stutter replies, “Yeah, I figured,” he paused. Looking at your eyes, you silently hope he can’t tell they’re not your natural color because of the dim lit building. “Sorry, I just don’t know how I haven’t seen you here before, I come here every few nights,” he explains.

You perk up at that, he probably knows someone, you think to yourself. “No, I’m new, I came with my boyfriend.”

He nods with his head down and a chuckle, clearly disappointed, “And who’s that?”

“Oliver,” you say simply, pointing at Harry who is talking to a guy towards the back of the crowd, “How come you’re here so often,” you counter.

“The owner is a friend of a friend,” he smiles, lifting his hand to meet yours. He takes the drink out of your hand and sets it down on the bar before speaking, “They’re coming later today, maybe I’ll introduce you.”

“Oh cool!” you feign enthusiasm. You're beginning to regret speaking to him. The more you talk, the faster he seems to go. “Who are they? Oliver was telling me about some of the regulars he met last time,” you trail off in hopes of getting something.

“My friend? Her name’s Jazzy. Jazzy Russells,” he tells you, “Heard of ‘er?”

You shake your head lightly trying to suppress a smile, “No, but I’d love to meet her,” you send him a lipstick sweet smile. You pick up your beer with a slight tilt towards your body spilling it along the hem of your dress “I’m sorry,” you gasp, “I need to freshen up. Would you mind holding my drink?” you ask with no intent of drinking anymore.

He smiles at you and nods, allowing you to rush to find a secluded area. You find a nook next to the bathroom where an occasional straggler looks near. You put your phone up to your ear so it looks more natural and press the button on your comm to speak directly to your team.

“A found a guy who said he’s meeting Jazmyn later today,” you speak in a hushed voice, “Said he’d introduce me,” you tell them.

“Great,” you hear on the other end, “Can you get Styles in with you?” they ask.

“Probably, yeah.”

“Okay. Styles meet Y/L/N and devise a plan,” they conclude.

You nod slightly in confirmation, texting Harry to meet you near the women's room.

When he arrives in a haste, he has a light lipstick stain on the apple of his cheek and smells strongly of a woman’s perfume- his own scent masked heavily. “Jesus, Harry, did ya smother her?” you ask, licking your thumb and attempting to smudge the lipstick off before deciding it’s no use. You sigh, “Go wipe it off in the bathroom, you look ridiculous.”

His face scrunches up in disgust, “Why’d ya do that?” he asks, using his handkerchief to wife off the lipstick and your spit, making sure to keep his alias card hidden.

“Because I told that creep I was talking to that you were my boyfriend so he wouldn’t try anything,” you whisper harshly as you see a woman approaching the bathroom.

His lips upturned forming a smirk, “I knew you liked me.”

“I don’t like you, you just need an in,” you remind him. “Seems like I’m the only one doing any work of value,” you complain, “By the way, that perfume? Doesn’t suit you.”

Harry groaned, “I ran into a drunk girl on my way here, she threw herself on me and kissed my cheek to get some guy away from her,” he explains.

You shake your head with a bitter laugh, “Whatever. Just know, you’re making this so much harder than it has to be.”

Harry looks at you intensely before breaking out into a grin, “Awww, Y/N, no need to get jealous. I promise I won't let anyone kiss me tonight if that’s what you want,” he teases.

You look at him unimpressed, “No, I don’t care what you do, just don’t blow our cover. What are we going to say when I show up with you to meet Jazmyn and you smell like another woman but I claim you’re my boyfriend?”

“Relax, I’m a professional,” Harry shrugs, leaning against the wall next to him.

You scoff, “Doesn’t seem like it,” you mumble.

Harry rolls his eyes in response, fed up with you, “What’s the plan?” he asks.

“So I was thinking,” you pause when you hear Harry grumble an oh great, “I was thinking when we meet Jazmyn we get her a bit drunk,” you shrug. You knew she wouldn’t just reveal anything to you. Especially sober. You meet his eyes, “Then you take her up to her room to take a nap or something? Or back to wherever she says she’s staying,” you shrug, “And from there you take her wherever you can that’s alone and you interrogate her.”

Harry nods, “Okay and Justin? He’s gonna be out all night we can’t just get one of them.”

“Well, if he does end up coming I’ll just flirt or something and get him alone. If he doesn’t, you have to get Jazmyn to tell you where he is or whatever.”

He hums, “Okay so when Jazmyn comes, we have to get her drunk then I take her back? That's it? That simple?” Harry was skeptical. He had done enough work in this field to know that simple plans are never executed to perfection.

“That simple.”

-

Getting Jazmyn drunk was proven harder than you both thought. First, you asked if you could buy her a drink since she just arrived but she insisted she plays better when sober. Then, Harry tried to hand her a drink while she was approaching a game of craps but she knocked it out of his hand onto some random man’s suit who was none the pleased. He sighed an insincere apology to the man as you suppressed a laugh. Harry then immediately found you to keep from drawing attention to himself.

Safe to say the plan was not going well.

On top of that, Oliver, the man you had met earlier, would not leave you alone and insisted on buying you drinks. You took them carefully and set them on a random surface when he looked away, but the inconvenience it gave you was not taken lightly.

You both were on the edge of giving up when Mitch told you through your earpiece that they had gotten Justin, Jazmyn’s brother, and he wasn’t talking. He kept saying his sister has it under control.

Harry looked at you briefly before walking off to find Jazmyn in a rush. He found her playing the same game of craps he left her at and she had just finished betting a push on her opponent when Harry whisked her away.

“Hey,” he breathed on her, voice steady.

“Hi,” she giggled back. Harry smiled, maybe he was getting somewhere with this. He watches as her opponent rolls a perfect twelve and she cheers quietly at her neutral state. “Think I’ve gained four hundred,” she speaks quietly.

Harry raises his eyebrows, “Impressive.”

“I make good bets,” she shrugs with a smile. Her hand finds his, intertwining them together, and Harry watches as her face falls. “Where’s your girlfriend?” Jazymn asks.

Harry smiles fondly and points to the bar, “She’s getting me a drink, ya want one?”

She huffs out a breath in frustration, “Sure,” making Harry smile.

You approach not a minute later with an old fashioned in hand and Harry transfers it to Jazmyn’s. She smiles at you and asks how your night has been.

You glance at Harry and back at Jazmyn, “It’s been pretty good, love getting tipsy,” you shrug. You lean into her, “I always find someone when I get him drunk,” you whisper with a wink.

Jazmyn’s eyes widened slightly, “And today?”

“Workin’ on it,” you shrug, “Why?”

She looks at you and sighs in frustration, “No particular reason.”

You smile to yourself. She’s interested in one of you, you just have to figure out who. “So, Jazzy, are you in a relationship?” you ask her a bit louder then intended.

She shakes her head sadly, “No, haven’t liked someone in a while.”

You purse your lips and nod slightly, “Well I’m sure we can find you someone here, come on!” you enthuse, “There are hundreds here.”

She shakes her head, “I’ve had my eye on someone since they’ve walked in,” she starts, “But it turns out they have a boyfriend,” she looks you in the eye.

You mask your surprise with a soft smile, “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind- they don’t have to tell anyone,” you whisper.

Harry looks your way with a nod. His face is hardened and his jaw is clenched. He looks upset but you couldn’t put your finger on what. “I’m gonna go get a drink,” Harry paused, gesturing to the drink he sacrificed for Jazmyn. You nod in response, watching him walk off.

“They really don’t have to tell anyone?” Jazmyn asks once Harry is out of earshot.

You watch her carefully. For a moment you forget she’s a wanted criminal- a ruthless murderer. In a vulnerable moment, you almost forget that you are supposed to be trapping her.

“Maggie?” she asks. You look at her confused for a moment before remembering where you are and what you are doing.

“Don’t have to tell anyone,” you confirm with a sweet smile.

She smiles back, showing all her teeth. “When shall we go?” she asks.

“A bit forward are we?” you ask, taking the drink out of her hand and taking a long sip, keeping your eyes locked with hers. She shifts, slightly uncomfortable, as you hand the drink back and slightly push the glass up to her lips for her to follow your lead and take a sip as well. “Don’t wanna get to know me? Buy me a drink?” you continue your teasing.

She looks you up and down, “I know everything I need to know about you.”

You raise your eyebrows, slightly unimpressed but wholly not surprised, “Is that so?”

“You like hard liquor, you hate your boyfriend but he gives good dick, your game of preference is poker but you’re bad at bluffing,” Jazmyn trails off, her finger playfully tapping on her chin, “Oh, and you’re hot. I know what I need to know, now let's go?”

You chuckle at her eagerness, “Not all right but I’ll give you props. Not bad.” You begin looking around for Harry, who you find looking at you with an emotionless expression from across the room. “I’ll go get my room key and we can head up,” you wink.

You meet Harry’s gaze and keep it as you make your way across the casino to meet him. “I got her,” you tell him, “I need a key card.”

He nods and scrambles to find one he was given during the briefing, “Third floor, good job agent Y/L/N.”

You fake a gasp as you grab onto the card, “That’s a new one… a compliment?”

“I won’t say it again,” Harry shrugs, watching as you turn on your comm.

“I got her to go back with me. We’re meeting in the hotel room. What now?” you speak to your team.

“Y/L/N, bring her up to the room. We have it equipped with just about everything you’d need. Interrogate her if you can. If she won’t break just detain her and bring her back to us. Styles, you go follow in after ten minutes to help with whatever method is needed.”

You both murmur your agreements and Harry sees you off.

You meet Jazmyn back where you left her but this time she has two large men with her. You smile at both of them before leading the four of you to the elevator, “So you’re an important woman?” you ask.

“Very important. But don’t worry, they’re just here to keep me safe,” she replies, gesturing at the two men’s gun holsters.

You nod, selecting the third floor and waiting patiently as the elevator slowly moved up to the second and finally the third floor.

“Do they have to come in with us?” you ask innocently, hoping you don’t have to blow your cover so soon.

“Is that a deal breaker?” she asks sadly.

“Yeah.. not one for being watched,” you shiver in discomfort. She nods and tells them to wait outside your room and to not let anyone in. They nod obediently and you unlock the door, letting both you and Jazmyn into the large room.

She shuts the door quickly, nearly pouncing on you as you stand by the bed. Her lips meet yours briefly as you pull back in shock. “Would you like a drink?” you ask, turning around and heading towards the mini bar.

She sighs in frustration, “No, that’s okay. Just want you,” she pauses as she watches you bend down to get a drink.

You rise again, holding a bottle of wine. “You sure?” you confirm. She nods in reassurance and you shrug, “Okay, I’m gonna get a glass. Make yourself at home,” you gesture towards the bed.

You leave her and close the bathroom door. You hastily whisper that you are taking your comm off and to contact you through Harry and you detach the harness and tear off the earpiece. You return with a plastic cup, pouring red wine into the cup.

You take a sip, eyeing Jazmyn and you smile at her. You walk towards her slowly, watching as she straightens her posture at your presence. You smile at her intimidation and hold her chin with your forefinger and thumb. “What am I gonna do with you?” you tsk.

She smiles, “Kiss me.”

You set down your cup and lift her chin to meet your height. “No,” you whispered, “Let me please you.”

You were officially worried. It had only been about five minutes. Harry wouldn’t be here soon enough and you really didn’t want to have to do anything with Jazmyn.  

“Okay,” she bit her lip, raising her dress without a second thought.

You hid your fear with a sultry smile- helping her lay down on the bed and kneeling down onto the floor. You began kissing up her legs, her hands reaching your wig. You pulled away abruptly in fear but it was too late. Your wig had come off.

“What the fuck?” Jazmyn asks softly. Her eyes widened as she realized what was happening. “Who are you?” she sneers.

You stand immediately but you’re stopped by Jazmyn grabbing at the necklace you wore around your neck. The braid your hair was put in falls onto your back and she yanks it with her other hand, making you groan.

You growl, launching yourself at Jazmyn. “You bitch!” you scream, unhooking the necklace and using the chain to wrap her arms into a makeshift hold as she thrashes in your hold. You use all the momentum you can gather by a simple step forward and thrust her onto the ground using all your body weight.

You step on her hand with a heel but she sweeps your other leg out from beneath you with a swift kick. You fall onto your back and she untangles herself from your necklace, throwing it to the ground as you instantaneously try to stand up before she can reach any weapon.

You reach under your dress and grab the gun you held under tight with your stockings and you quickly point the gun at her. “Don’t fucking move,” you sneer.

“Shoot me,” she replies with a matching tone.

You lower the gun to her leg and attempt to shoot- but nothing happens. The gun wasn’t loaded. Your eyes widen in disbelief and she lets out a deep chuckle and stands for herself. “Good one, Maggie,” she mocks.

You hear a thud from the door and both of you glance at where the noise derived from. “Harry,” you whisper and Jazmyn lets out a “Fuck.”

You sigh in relief as you see Harry’s large figure make its way through the door, assertively pointing the gun at Jazmyn’s leg just as you did before. She chuckles, “Bet it isn't loaded either.”

Harry smiles in response, “Yeah, I bet.” He shoots her. She falls immediately, surrendering to the ground with a tight grasp on her thigh, as Harry speaks into the comm, “Rowland, wipe the cameras and get up here.”

You walk slowly towards Jazmyn, kicking her in the chest with your arms crossed, watching her head hit the carpet of the hotel room.

“What took you so long?” you asked Harry as you turned slowly, making sure to keep your heel on Jazmyn’s chest.

“Had to take out the guards,” he pants lightly, recovering from an adrenaline rush, “Why?”

“Took your sweet ass time, huh?” you ask, watching him roll his eyes.

“Don’t get pissy with me- you didn’t even go through with the mission. She almost got you and you had a gun,” Harry accesses.

“My gun wasn’t loaded!” you yell out of frustration, releasing the cylinder and removing the magazine. “No cartilage,” you show him.

“How the fuck did you not think to check if the gun was loaded?” he asks, his voice raising.

“Why would I check? When have you ever picked up an unloaded gun?” you defend yourself, your voice raising to match his volume.

“I check every time regardless!”

“I was never given a reason to!”

“You should know to! Come on! You were trained for months on this shit at the same academy I was!” Harry yells, “Do better, it’s your fucking job to work a gun.”

Your eyes meet his, “Don’t tell me to fucking do better,” you beg.

Just as Harry was about to reply, the door opens again, this time revealing Mitch. “You guys good in here?” He asks, immediately heading over to you and leaning down to tie Jazmyn’s hands together.

You remove your foot from Jazmyn’s chest and kick her onto her stomach making her groan in pain, “Fine,” you reply shortly.

“We’ll be down there later,” Harry nods as Mitch hoists Jazmyn up, leaning her body weight onto his. Her head falls down, chin hitting her chest at the lack of blood and energy in her body.

“I’m leaving now to get her back,” he gestures towards Jazmyn with his head, “I’ll send a car, though,” he speaks over his shoulder as he walks out of the room.

You sigh in relief of Jazmyn finally being off your hands. You walk over to the bed to sit down when something catches your eye. The necklace. You kneel down to take a hold of it, dragging it towards you on the ground, watching as the necklace falls into two separate chains.

“Fuck,” you gasp, “She fucking broke it.”

Harry's eyes widened, “So what, she broke your necklace. Big deal, you can get another one,” he shrugs dismissively.

You shake your head no, looking for the two rings you keep on the now broken chain. “No, fuck I need that,” you cry out.

Harry looks at you before asking again, “What's the big deal?”

Your eyes water slightly as you look at him, “They’re my ex-husbands.”

Harry sighs heavily and lets out a quiet, “Fuck, sorry.”

“Fuck’s right,” you chuckle, eyes closing in a prayer as you spot the rings that had fallen beneath the bed. You reach under the bed, retrieving the two rings, placing both onto your hand- yours on your ring finger and your ex-husband- Ryan’s- on your thumb.

“Why’d you keep the rings?” He finally asks.

You shrug, admiring the gems on the rings. You had just recently cleaned them in hopes of preserving their life, as they tend to get dirty and battered sitting on your neck during long missions. “He died on the field,” you swallowed harshly. You had been forced to talk about this multiple times with a psychologist during your preliminary training but it didn’t prove any easier as time went on. “Keep ‘em for luck. He’s the reason I got into this.”

He nods, “That’s nice.”

You let out a sigh and look at him, “Yeah, sometimes. Other times I wish I could forget.”

He watches you carefully as you stand up and retrieve your hardly touched wine from earlier. You drink what was left in your glass with a single gulp. “How can I help you forget,” Harry speaks after a long pause.

You look at him and with a longing glance you tell him, “The alcohol helps.”

“How can I help?” he asks again.

“You don’t need to help. You’ve done enough.”

“I think I could help if you’d let me,” he persists.

“And if I don't let you?” you ask, confused. Every assignment you had with Harry he had been nothing but cold. He spoke when spoken to. He paid no mind to you except when it came time to critique your performance. You didn’t understand why he was beginning to care now, when you already had a foundation of hatred thick on the surface.

“I’ll find a way myself,” he shrugs.

“I’d like to see you try,” you scoff. You had no reason to believe he had spent every mission analyzing you- how you reacted, how you spoke, how you moved. The way you went about your work was inspected to the motive and you had no idea.

Harry watched as you turned once more to the minibar, looking for a stronger alcohol. The mission was over and you were officially off the clock. You felt no guilt or shame and there was nobody in your ear telling you otherwise.

He watched as you turned with a mini bottle of crown royal and a can of sprite. “Come on now,” he said, approaching you with his arm out. “Hand over the bottle. No need to drink that much tonight,” he tells.

You defensively shift so your body is shielding the bottles, “Let me do what I want, I’m not working anymore” you argue, “What does it matter to you anyway, you hate me,” you mumble under your breath.

Harry sighs, “I don’t hate you.”

You look him in the eye before concluding he’s telling the truth. Slowly, you set the drinks down onto the small table beside you, “I don’t believe you.”

“Why not? I think you’re pretty good,” he shrugs.

“Today is the first time you’ve ever said anything kind about my work in this field. Every other mission we’ve been on, you’ve told me where I could’ve been better,” you start, glaring at him with an accusatory expression. “Anyway, what gives you that right? You’ve only been here for six more months then me.”

“Because why be good when you could be great? I might have only been here for six more months then you but my position was higher six months ago then yours is now,” he reminds you. “I work smart. You work more. That’s not good in this field. You have to be quick on your feet.”

You scoff and turn around from him, “Okay so how does that prove you don’t hate me?”

“I want you to be the best. I think you could be.”

“So you’re a pretentious asshole because you think you can fix my performance? Cool.”

Harry lets out a sigh of frustration. You’re never going to understand how he cares for you and he knows that, yet he refuses to outright say it. “I never said that.”

“You implied it,” you argue back. He was getting on your nerves.

“I’ve also implied that,” Harry pauses to swallow the lump in his throat. He doesn’t think it’s appropriate to confess to this now, but as you said, you’re off the clock. “I’ve implied that I think you’re attractive. Why can’t you notice that?”

Your eyes widen in shock, “Stop playing with me. I know you haven’t implied that.”

“I have,” he nods, moving closer to where you are standing, “Like when I tell you I won’t let anyone kiss me but you? I mean it.”

You turn and look at him, “Should–should we kiss?”

“Yeah,” he whispers. Gently, unlike what you would assume, his hand finds your chin and tilts your head towards his before aligning your lips into unity. He shifts you with a grunt to a free wall and pushes you up against it with a thud. His tongue forces its way into your mouth and you let out an elicit moan at the new sensation.

Your hands found their way beneath his dress shirt and crawled at his happy trail. Harry steps back to discard the clothes on his torso and he watches as you drop the slim straps of your dress down your arms, unhooking your bra, allowing your breasts to fall free.

His mouth finds its way to your hardened nipple and he flicked one, then the other, between his teeth and eventually he moved his fingers to help the dress past your hips. You moan softly as his mouth works at a steady pace, making your nipples sensitive and erect in their own capacity.

His mouth left your breast, leaving sloppy kisses down your body. Your hands find their way to his hair as your head knocks back in pure ecstasy. You squirm at the feeling of his lips on your hips and feel his fingers claw at your panties.

“Oh god,” you moan aloud. He looks up, nodding at you in confirmation of what he is about to do. You hastily nodded back and watched as he rids your panties and holds your hand softly as you step out of the clothing that had accumulated at your feet.

He wrapped his arm around your waist as he sponged kisses back up to your mouth, biting gently on your bottom lip. Your hands find their way to Harry’s slacks, working quickly to unbutton and unzip them, pulling them down along with his briefs.

Finally, you take in the sight of the naked man in front of you. You involuntarily let out a gasp and Harry chuckles softly before he pressed his body close to yours again. His lips find yours and his erect cock presses into your stomach as your arms find their way into Harry’s hair.

You held him close to you, tugging him even closer when he tried to step away. That was all the invitation he needed to help hoist you up off the ground. Your legs legs around his waist and he keeps you steady with an arm under your ass, the other in your hair.

You kissed his shoulder repeatedly as he carried you onto the mattress, setting you down fully onto his lap. His hand left your hair to find his cock, pumping it a few times before lining up the tip with your wet entrance.

With short huffs of air out of swollen lips, you slowly lower yourself down onto his cock, allowing for a loud, erotic moan to leave his lips as your hips meet. He falls further back into the bed, stretches a leg out to prolong the feeling of warmth as you slowly start to move up and down on his shaft, releasing an immense amount of pleasure into both of your bodies.

He tugged your hair back, giving his access to your neck and jaw and he sucks harshly as you quicken your pace on his member, pressing down deliberately in an attempt to feel him everywhere.

Trying to keep your clit rubbing on his pelvis resulted in a series of hot and short breaths being released within the next few minutes. The pressure against his body was unbearable and you had never felt so full before in your life.

“I can’t,” you pant out, not slowing down your movements. You hadn’t felt this good in a long time so stopping seemed out of the question. You pushed deeper, pausing for a moment to catch your breath, before quickly moving against his shaft for the second time.

“Me neither,” he replies, just as dazed as you. He groans aloud as you squeeze against his cock, causing it to throb in preparation of its release. He tries to pull out but you push him down further into the mattress.

“I’m on the pill,” you barely get out before you come, shivering at the sensation. Harry followed shortly thereafter. He sighs in pleasure, helping you off his cock and into your lap before wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you desperately.

You watch as he leans back, admiring your body. Your nipples were still erect from pleasure and your breathing was unsteady, short huffs attempting to bring you back to a normal state. There were accidental red marks adorning your neck and a hickey beginning to form on the underside of your chin, “Sorry,” he chuckled, swiping his thumb over the marks he left.

You laugh lightly, “It’s okay,” before rolling over onto your side. Harry stands up slowly, making his way to the bathroom, returning with a towel to help clean you up before he lays back down with you.

“So,” he starts, “We should talk about this…”

[micha-writes]

Day 6: AroAce @spnprideweek (AO3 Link) Full ficlet under the cut :)

Attraction vs. Aesthetics

“He’s pretty hot”

Cas turned his head only slightly to the left, far enough to see a woman standing right next to him. He didn’t know her, had never seen her before. Not that he would have expected to know her, no. Honestly, running into a familiar face while on an undercover hunt probably wasn’t the best thing to happen, and therefore they were always happy to be faced with only people they had never met before. What was irritating to Cas, though, was that this unknown woman felt connected enough to him to start a conversation with that comment and nothing else.

“Huh?” he made. Nothing more than that. He was still looking at her, an eyebrow raised, surprised and admittedly more than a bit irritated by that conversation starter.

“Your friend,” the woman now said, and her head nodded into the direction where Dean was standing, a couple of feet over, talking to some other people in fancy clothes. “I saw you coming in together earlier. He’s quite the looker”

“Oh,” Cas gave a mumbled answer that the woman probably couldn’t even hear, with all the chatter going on around them.

The hall was busy, as they had expected it to be. Lots of rich people in expensive clothes, sipping expensive champagne out of expensive glasses, chatting and laughing, all together pretending to be there for the charity event, but secretly they all knew it was just another opportunity to show off. In the middle of all that, Dean and Cas, chatting to these exact people, Sam somewhere around the round, out of sigh but probably doing the same, and hopefully, a werewolf in disguise somewhere among the guests.

Cas wasn’t exactly paying attention to any of that, though. His eyes had followed the woman’s nod through the room, over the crowd of rich people, and had now landed on Dean.

Dean, who was standing there in a borrowed suit, because none of the fake-FBI ones he owned had seemed fancy enough, right next to a little fake-fountain, having a fake-smile on while maintaining a fake-friendly conversation in which neither partner seemed to really pay attention to what the other one was saying.

He was looking good, that much was true. Cas could definitely agree there with this strange woman. He was looking good in that suit, but Cas found it didn’t make much difference to what he normally wore. Actually, if he was honest, he probably preferred the old jeans with the washed-out parts where the knees were, along with an ordinary shirt and one of those flannels Dean insisted on wearing at every possible and impossible occasion. Cas’s preference wasn’t even about the looks. It was just, that outfit was Dean. It was what he felt comfortable in, what he chose to use to express himself. This suit, on the other hand … Dean tried hard, and he was probably fooling most of the strangers at this weird party, but Cas knew, he could see how stiff he felt in that suit.

And he was looking good, he was always looking good, in Cas’s opinion. Dean was always looking good, at every instance, every second of every day – and night, for that matter. No matter if it was all dressed up and ready, or fresh out of bed with no coffee yet, in his pyjama pants and with ruffled hair and a sleepy face, even after a hunt, with blood and slime all over him, even though Cas had to admit that was kind of disgusting. But an okay amount of disgusting, because it was Dean, after all.

Dean was looking good indeed, as he always was, yes. Looking good. But hot?

He’s pretty hot, the woman had said, and that word …

It was ridiculous, almost. Kind of like a bad joke. An Angel, an actual Angel of the Lord, capable of speaking, of understanding every single language that was and had ever been anywhere on earth, and yet, there were those few words that meant nothing to him. Hot, Attractive, words like those, no matter in which language, no matter where on earth, in hell or on heaven they were spoken, they meant nothing to him.

Maybe one could say that they weren’t even words for him, because per definition, a word has to have some kind of meaning – and words like those just didn’t.

As much as he had seen in his uncountable years of existence, as many things he had learned, words he had spoken, those were the only ones he couldn’t make sense of. He of course knew there was some kind of meaning to them, a meaning that he could piece together from the context he had witnessed others using them in, but that meaning was, as a result, an observed one, not an understood one.

It wasn’t understood, and it could never be, because Castiel simply didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand the thing that was lying beyond, the feeling those words described – because he simply didn’t feel them. He never had, and for quite the amount of time he had thought maybe he would one day, maybe he would get it, maybe he would feel it and then understand, but he didn’t.

It wasn’t like Angels generally wouldn’t be capable of feeling such things, of experiencing attraction – they were, Cas knew that. It was just, that he personally wasn’t. And he had thought – or maybe, hoped – to understand it one day, to see what the fuzz was about, what everyone seemed to be so fascinated by. What that thing about humans and their attraction and sex was that seemed so appealing it had caused several Angels to fall. But he didn’t.

The falling part, he could understand. He saw the appeal in humanity, he definitely did. It would be pretty ironic to claim that he didn’t, considering he had betrayed Heaven, betrayed everything he had ever stood for, just for one human.

And that human, that one silly little human that seemed so unimportant at the first glance, that one single little American man, the one that meant so much to him that words couldn’t possibly describe it – that one had made him understand a lot, almost everything.

But the thing was, almost everything. He understood why others before him had turned their backs to heaven, had betrayed the Great Plan, had betrayed God himself. He understood, because Humanity – or that one single human, in his case – was definitely worth it.

He understood so many human emotions all of a sudden, and he cared. For the first time ever, after millennia of existence, Cas had started to care instead of blindly following orders.

He understood what it meant to care, as he watched Dean care so incredibly much.

And he understood what it meant to love. He understood as he watched Dean do so many selfless things out of love, and he understood even better as he found himself falling in love.

He was falling in love, he knew that. Maybe he had fallen in love, maybe he was still falling. Cas wasn’t entirely sure if this was more a state or an ongoing process, but in the core, he knew that it was love.

So much love, for the world, for humanity, and especially for Dean – love, definitely, undoubtedly love, but no attraction.

Cas’s wouldn’t dare to say that he now understood love, because he didn’t. probably nobody had ever truly understood love. But he was content in saying that the word now had meaning to him. If someone was talking about love, he could definitely imagine something, make out a meaning below the word – no matter in which language.

And that was thanks to Dean, so you would assume that the sight of Dean would have awoken another kind of feeling in Cas, would’ve made him understand attraction. But well, it didn’t.

Cas had expected it to happen, he had been rather sure that as soon as he understood he was experiencing love like that, he would start to understand that other thing as well, sooner or later. But he didn’t.

And by now, after years and years around Dean, by his side, caring about him, loving him, Cas had come to the conclusion that he probably never would.

And that it was okay that way.

Because he felt good that way. He truly did feel entirely good that way, having accepted that this was just the way he felt, the way he was, that this was just him. And there admittedly were many things about himself that Cas didn’t like, some not at all, some he hated with a burning passion, and some he simply wanted to forget about, but this wasn’t one of them.

He was happy with how it was. He still didn’t understand, the words still didn’t carry any meaning for him, but that was okay.

He was aware of Dean’s good looks, of course he was – how could he not have been. But never, not a single time, had he thought of him as hot or attractive. It was rather, beautiful.

Dean was like a fine painting, Cas liked to think. He was so aesthetically pretty to look at, he was like the masterpiece of a hard-working artist, every freckle on his face the result of the well-thought-through tap of a brush, the shape of his face carefully drawn on canvas, every single hair added with a careful movement of hand, and his eyes, his mesmerizing green eyes, the result of long hours of work, with every little variation of colour being carefully thought of and added, colours mixed with the tip of a fine brush, making those eyes as deep and beautiful as they were.

It was almost ironic, if you thought about it. Years back, Cas had thought of humans as an artwork as well. An artwork by his father’s hand, his most perfect creations. Today, he wasn’t thinking that way anymore, he wasn’t praising God for anything anymore, not after everything he had put them through.

But Dean, Dean in particular, he still considered a piece of art. A masterpiece of art, made by the most talented artist in the world.

Cas’s eyes were still on Dean, following him moving around over there in the other half of the room, talking to people with that smile on his face. The face was beautiful, and every time Cas looked at it, he couldn’t believe just how beautiful it was. Every time he looked at it, he was thinking that a masterpiece like that should be put in a museum.

But then, on the other hand, Cas really didn’t want to share the masterpiece. So, he always reminded himself, no museum. Leave him here, with you, in the bunker, and admire this masterpiece at its finest: When he’s just rolled out of bed, in his silly pyjamas with cartoon prints all over, sipping on his coffee, sleep still in his eyes, hair ruffled, but his freckles standing out.

As he was looking over, eyeing Dean from across the room, he still didn’t understand those words the woman next to him had said.

They still carried no meaning for him, he couldn’t make any sense of them or relate to the feeling they implied – But that didn’t matter.

It wasn’t important, not to him, nothing of this was. He was happy as it was, as he was. Oblivious to the meaning of such words, but happy. As happy as it could get, really, as a fallen and rebellious former soldier of Heaven.

Cas didn’t understand the meaning beyond those words, and he never would. But he also had had time learn, and he had acquired a general picture of someone who got attributed the label attractive. And what he had especially learned was that Dean seemed to be considered extremely attractive by quite a number of people.

So, Cas decided, as every so often, to do what he had learned to do, to pretend to understand, to just agree to this definition society of attractiveness that society seemed to agree on.

“Yeah,” he said, still looking at Dean. “Yeah, I guess he is”

[hotchley]

“i’m not a five foot hundred pound girl”

yes i’m using his most iconic quotes as the titles, in my head it was a smart idea

morehotchcontent2020 day one: dad hotch (a lazy day at home with jack)

tagged: @ablogofthecriminalmindsvariety

“don’t give me that look young man, i told you when i bought them that i was going to hide them. you need a break. and i know that you think you can’t take one, but trust me, if you go and do work now, you’re really not going to learn anything.”

jack opened his mouth to protest.

“cheat day,” hotch said with a grin before jack could even formulate an argument.

when upcoming exams cause jack large amounts of stress and sadness, hotch takes it upon himself to make their saturday a little more hopeful and a lot more relaxed

note: I am on season ten, but am aware of certain events in later seasons which may be poorly referenced because i don’t know the actual context, it’s not very relevant to the plot so just go with it it’s fine.

warnings: implied/referenced child abuse

read on ao3!

“You’re up early,” Hotch commented, when Jack entered the kitchen at nine in the morning on a Saturday. He wasn’t trying to be annoying, or make his son feel angry, but he was curious. And a little concerned. He wasn’t an idiot. And just because he’d retired, did not mean he’d forgotten how to profile. Or hear. Jack had been stressed recently. And last night, he’d been pacing his room.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jack said by way of explanation.

Hotch made a non-committal sound. It was one of those moments where he just felt so out of his depth. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, putting his book down.

Jack shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. I mean compared to the things that you must’ve been subjected to as a child, it’s nothing.”

Hotch winced, remembering how he’d wanted to keep certain aspects of his childhood from Jack, which had worked until Jack started high school and wanted to know why there weren’t any photos of him with his family around. Hotch had wanted to lie, but too much had happened and it wasn’t fair of him to do that. Instead, he’d spoken to Jack’s therapist, who said that as long as he kept it appropriate, it would help Jack learn to open up as well.

“Buddy, you know I never want you to feel like that. My childhood was decades ago. If something is bothering you, then it’s bothering you. And you can talk to me about it. But you don’t have to. I just wanted to know, that’s all.”

“I just- it’s the exams. There’s so many of them and there’s so much content and I feel like I don’t any of it and it’s stressing me out because I saw the kind of qualifications you need to get into the FBI and I don’t want to disappoint you but I just feel like I’m going to fail and then everyone will be mad at me because I’m supposed to be smart, and then I won’t be able to do anything in life and I’ll just be a failure,” Jack said, voice cracking on the last words.

“Oh Jack. You could never disappoint me. Ever. I’m your dad. That love isn’t conditional. It never has been and it never will be. All I want is for you to do your best,” Hotch said, setting his mug down and moving closer to his son. He didn’t extend his arms, not yet sure whether or not Jack wanted comfort.

Jack was like his mother: he never learnt to hide his emotions because he never felt he had to. But Aaron was no longer Agent Hotchner, he was Jack’s dad. And that meant no profiling. And whilst he was aware that there was a difference between actively profiling someone and knowing their tells, sometimes the line blurred. He didn’t want it to blur.

“But what if- what if I do my best and it isn’t good enough?” Jack whispered.

Hotch couldn’t take it. He hugged Jack, just about managing to cradle the back of his head. When had he gotten so tall?

“Buddy. Your best when you’re under pressure and in test conditions is never going to be the same as your best when you’re relaxed. But what you do then will be your best in the moment. And that’s enough. I promise,” Hotch soothed.

Jack let out another muffled sob, and the two of them stood there whilst Jack finally let the stress that had been building inside him for weeks now, out. Hotch let his son cry. He needed this. They both did. Jack needed to know he was good enough, and that nothing was going to change that. Hotch needed to know his son still trusted him. Hotch wasn’t an idiot. The anniversary of hard times was coming up.

“I’m sorry for ruining your jumper,” Jack mumbled when he pulled away, wiping at his eyes.

Hotch looked down at it. It was well-worn now, as he had realised that wearing jumpers round the house was so much more comfortable than a button-down, and he no longer had any reason to be parading around in a suit, because all he had to do now was be a dad.

“You haven’t ruined it. You’ve added character,” Hotch joked.

Jack laughed, but it sounded forced.

“I meant what I said,” Hotch said, tone serious.

“I know. I just—I don’t know. Needed to hear that.”

“Do you know what else you need?” Hotch asked.

Jack shook his head. “But I bet you’re about tell me, aren’t you?”

Hotch nodded, walking over to the cupboard full of baking things- yes, he had taken up baking after he retired, and no, he wasn’t proud of himself for googling things to do once you’ve retired from the FBI- and pulling out a packet of chocolate chips.

“Don’t give me that look young man, I told you when I bought them that I was going to hide them. You need a break. And I know that you think you can’t take one, but trust me, if you go and do work now, you’re really not going to learn anything.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest.

“Cheat Day,” Hotch said with a grin before Jack could even formulate an argument.

Every month, Hotch and Jack were entitled to two cheat days each. And on those days, they were exempt from doing any cleaning, cooking, homework, whatever tasks needed doing because they needed a break. All they had to do was remember to take their medication and eat. They also had the power to call one for the other if they deemed it necessary. And sometimes, they would do it together.

Jack rolled his eyes, already feeling a little better now he knew he was getting pancakes. “Fine.”

Hotch smiled. “Why don’t you get out of those jeans and into some pyjamas then?”

Jack ran up the stairs to do just that. In truth, he wasn’t exactly sure why he’d put them on in the first place, but studytubers always said that it was better to study in real clothes so you would actually be productive. That was why he’d woken up early; he could cram more.

When he came back into the kitchen, now dressed in that old worn pair of Captain America pyjamas that still fit him and were the comfiest thing he owned, his dad was already plating up the pancakes. He’d put extra syrup, extra whipped cream and an obscene amount of various candies on the plate he pushed towards Jack.

“We’ll eat, and then we’re going to watch one of those comfort films you love. And then we’re going to do something relaxing, have pizza for lunch because Dave sent me this new recipe, then you’re going to take a bath and have a nap because you clearly need sleep. And then for dinner, I’m thinking mac and cheese. From the box but with the extra cheese, the way you like it,” Aaron said with a grin.

Jack smiled at him, a small lump forming in his throat. Oh.

“Thanks dad,” he whispered, not trusting himself to say any more than that.

After they ate their pancakes- Jack ended up finishing Hotch’s, who had claimed that he finally needed to start listening to the doctor- Jack went to the living room to pick his film, whilst Hotch went upstairs to grab the pillows and duvets from their rooms so they could be as cosy as possible.

It was halfway through Anastasia- they had already watched the original versions of Beauty and the Beast, as well as part of Cinderella before he’d changed his mind- when Jack couldn’t take it any longer. He stopped the film and turned to face his dad.

“Is everything okay?” Hotch asked, eyes bleary as he’d accidentally started napping.

“Dad, I love you. That’s not conditional,” Jack said.

“I know that buddy,” Hotch said.

“And you also know that I was the only senior that got dropped off by their parent this year, right?”

Hotch nodded. “People weren’t rude about that, were they?”

“No. You know why? Because you’re my dad. And I love you. So you don’t need to call a cheat day just because you want to spend time with me. You can just ask. I won’t ever say no,” Jack said.

Hotch rapidly blinked away tears. “I didn’t want to make you feel guilty. And I’m supposed to be your parent. That means not dumping my problems on you.”

Jack laughed. “Dad, we don’t- we’re not normal. We don’t have the same relationships as the other families and that’s fine. I like that. I like that I can just throw a book at your head and you’ll read it to me. And I like that you let me take the bus home from my therapy sessions, no matter how much it hurts you. I don’t like seeing you upset, but I appreciate you being honest and teaching me it’s okay to cry. You’re not dumping your problems on me, I’m asking.”

Hotch pushed Jack��s fringe off his face. “When did you get so wise?”

Jack grinned. “I had some pretty good role models. There was Uncle Spence telling me about constellations, there was Uncle Der telling me about dating, Aunt Em and Uncle Dave who told me what Megan Kane said to you- which was actually pretty funny- and let’s not forget Aunt JJ and Aunt Penny just being cool.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow slightly.

“I’m joking. I got wise because I had you. I know you feel like you failed, but you haven’t. I wouldn’t be here if you had. You know that. So spill, old man, before I call Aunt Penny and tell her that you’re going to make mac and cheese from box.”

Hotch’s mouth turned downwards. Jack was right. It was morbid, but George Foyet would have killed Jack if he’d found him. There was no doubt about that. “I just- I want to give you your space, and let you grow up and become an adult, but I’m scared that when that happens, you’re going to leave and not come back because you’ll stop looking at me like a hero and realise I destroyed everything good in your life. I mean, I’m doing that right now. You’re stressed about exams and I’m making it worse by rambling about my own stupidity.”

Jack’s suspicions had been correct. “Dad, I stopped viewing you as a hero when you had to have surgery for your scars and almost died. That was the moment I realised you were mortal. The moment I realised you were flawed was when Aunt Jess started ranting about how you handled a situation the wrong way. I’m not leaving any time soon. But when I do, I’ll always come back, because this apartment is my home.”

“You’re so much like your mother. She always knew how to calm me down,” Hotch said.

“It’s a gift. Now, that’s enough emotion. Can we please finish the film and make the pizza? I’m getting hungry.”

Hotch smiled, that soft smile, reserved only for his son, and pressed play. Jack shifted so his head was resting in his dad’s lap. Almost subconsciously, Hotch started running his hand through it, mimicking the motions of years ago, when they were running late and there wasn’t enough time to brush it properly.

They ended up burning the pizza because Hotch claimed he didn’t need his reading glasses but then set the temperature to 475F instead of 450F. Jack found it funny, and when he went upstairs to wash his hands as Hotch answered the door for take-out, he texted Uncle Dave, and got a serious of words his dad would give him the Hotchner Glare for in response.

As they sat on the carpet, some old romcom Haley and Aaron had loved as teenagers on in the background, Jack was grateful that his dad was who he was. Yes, there were still nights where Jack woke up screaming and there were mornings where Hotch would have dark circles under his eyes, shaky hands and an aversion to touch, but there were also moments like these where they were just a father-son duo, eating slices of pizza and laughing at some stupid joke they were telling.

Jack’s friends were all out shopping, watching movies, going on dates, falling in and out of love in the blink of an eye, and being teenagers. Hotch had worried for so long that he’d taken Jack’s ability to be normal and do things like that away.

It was that evening, when he saw the way Jack’s eyes light up at the sight of the boxed macaroni and cheese, not burnt but with extra cheese, that he realised he hadn’t. It had been Jack’s decision to stay in that weekend.

Because there was nowhere else he would rather be.

[erin-bo-berin]

Dirty Little Secret

MASTERLIST

New fic time! This was heavily inspired by the interrogation scene from Date Night and Cat in general, except in this world Cat Adams and the network of hit men from the show doesn’t exist. The reader is just like a Cat Adams though and obviously she’s a bit more of a downplayed villain than Cat, but it’s the same kind of idea. You guys will understand when you start reading. Enjoy all the Spencer feels you will probably get from this because I sure got enough just from writing this.

Special thank you to @multifandommandy​ as well for inspiration and ideas that I used in this :)

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (Smut)

Word Count: 3,341

Your hands were behind your back, handcuffed together. A strong hand gripped the top of your arm as the elevator ascended the floors of the FBI headquarters in Quantico.

A normal person would’ve been scared out of their mind at this point.

You?

Well, you were different than most people.

The elevator dinged, coming to an abrupt stop, announcing the arrival of your designated floor.

The crystal clear metal doors slid open, revealing a small group of people standing in the hallway. Clearly, they were expecting your arrival. You didn’t expect anything less.

The agent who’d brought you in stepped forward out of the elevator with you, the grip on his hand not easing any.

“Take it easy, Grandpa, I bruise easily.”

You shot the gray haired agent a withering glare before returning your gaze to the group of people. The majority of them looked at you with contempt, but you noticed something peculiar in the look of the agent who’d initially arrested you.

Interesting, you thought.

His lips were pursed as his gaze flickered down your frame before flitting up to your face again. He pressed his lips together before pulling them inward, his eyes quickly darting away.

Well that could definitely come in handy.

•

You sighed impatiently as you were seated in the interrogation room, your handcuffs being unfastened. It was a small victory as the chains clasped around your waist and ankles were cuffed to a metal bar of the table.

“Is this really necessary?” you scoffed, “It’s not like I’m here to do bodily harm to any of you.”

“You killed four men, Y/N,” Agent Grandpa said, “You really think we’re going to let you parade around here like we invited you here to have brunch?”

“Brunch sounds good,” you tilted your head, “I could go for some bacon.”

He ignored your comment and kept staring at you. You rolled your eyes in response.

“I only killed them ‘cause it was part of my contract. No big deal.”

You had been a new addition to a group of assassins that operated through the dark web. It was a small organization, but it was still a hidden one. Law enforcement wasn’t even aware of the group’s existence until just recently.

There were several different assassins in the group, most of which you’d met. Each had their own specialty and their own clientele. There was one who had a knack for poison, another who was more hands on with their kills—strangulation seemed to be their kink, another that was nicknamed “The Framer”. He could make any of his hits look like someone else did it, usually a close friend or family member. He was one who really believed in his research.

Your speciality was infidelity and abuse, mainly abuse. You were surprised how many women turned to a hit man to kill their abusive husband instead of law enforcement. One of your kills had been a jaded wife of a politician who was tired of dealing with her husband’s plethora of affairs.

So basically, your speciality was assholes who deserved to die.

“You’re aware that murder is still a crime, right?”

You tapped your fingers on the table.

“I thought we were here to interview me for more information on the group? Not to talk about me.”

“Okay, so talk.”

“Nuh-uh. I’d like to talk to Dr. Reid,” you smirked.

He raised one of his thick eyebrows at you, but didn’t say anything in response. He stood for a moment before turning and leaving the room, the door closing behind him.

Now the fun could really begin.

•

You were examining your nails when the door opened again and with it came Dr. Spencer Reid.

“I heard you’d only talk to me. Why?”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his navy suit pants. He stood in front of the table, looking down at you.

“Why don’t you sit down? Make yourself comfortable. It might be a while,” you grinned slyly, tapping your temple with your finger, “You know. Lots of information up here in the noggin to share.”

He pulled out the chair, sitting down in it.

“I’ve got a secret for you,” you said.

“Oh? I have a secret for you too. You’re going away for possibly 25 years to life unless you help us with this case.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” 

You shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’m here to help, but I’d like to do it on my terms.”

You rested your chin in your hand, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah? What are your terms?”

“One, for every few questions you ask I get to ask a question of my own.”

“Why would you-”

You held up a hand, stopping him.

“Ah, I’m not done. Two, you take these chains off me. I’m not gonna hurt you or any of the federal agents I’m sure that are watching. Besides, I’m getting a cramp.”

He watched you intently, waiting for you to continue.

“Three. If I give you everything you need, you’ll have my sentence reduced to ten years, not fifteen.”

“Give me a minute.”

He stood, heading to the door.

“Yes, go confer with the other six little ducklings. I’ll just be waiting here,” you called.

It could’ve been half an hour later, you had no idea, but he finally returned. A thick file was in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. It wasn’t until he came towards your side that you noticed he had the key to your prison chains in his hand.

He bent down at your side, unlocking your restraints. You bit your lip gently, watching him. When he looked up, his face wasn’t far from yours.

“Thank you.” Your voice was a breathy whisper and he quickly cleared his throat, standing back up.

“Whew, I thought I was never going to get blood flowing back into my leg,” you said, stretching it out and wiggling it.

He returned to his seat in front of you, opening the file. You turned in your seat to face him.

“Then again I bet you know all about blood flowing to certain areas.”

It was no surprise when he disregarded your comment and started asking questions.

“I’ll go easy on you to start with, how many assassins were in the group?”

“What a shame,” you tutted, “I’d rather you be rough with me.”

“If you’re just here to waste my time, then we can call this whole thing off,” Spencer threatened.

You studied him for a moment.

“Eight,” you finally answered, “That I know of.”

“And you met them all?”

“Those eight, yes.”

“What did they specialize in?”

You yawned, already bored with this tedious process.

You chewed on your lip, pretending to be in deep thought before counting off a few on your fingers.

“Number six did her own thing, but she dealt mainly with drugs. Seven liked to choke and we aren’t talking about some good BDSM play either.”

You smirked as a flush spread across the good doctor’s cheeks. He was so easy to read.

“Eight liked poison. I don’t know their clientele.”

“So what-”

You cut him off yet again.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask a question now.”

He sat back in the chair, crossing his arms, clearly amused.

“Go ahead.”

“How long has it been since you’ve had sex?” you asked casually.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to this.”

“Hmm,” you let it slide without an answer, “I’m sure it will before this interview is over.”

“So when did you join the group, Y/N?”

“A few months ago, around the end of January.”

“You killed a politician and three average husbands. We found out that Johnny Perez and Thomas Mitchell were abusive to their wives. Benjamin Wood abused both his wife and his daughter. Senator Nathan Pearson had many mistresses and affairs. Is that why you killed them?”

“Wouldn’t you?” you shot back.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine,” you retorted, smirking.

He decided to switch tactics.

“Did any of the others ever work together?”

“Not that I know of.”

You crossed your legs, leaning closer to him across the table.

“You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?” you questioned.

He looked up from the note he was writing, looking baffled.

“No, why?”

You hummed, “Explains a lot.”

“Is there a spot where they meet often? Somewhere we can catch the rest of them?” Spencer asked.

“It’s not exactly like we met at McDonalds for chicken nuggets and board meetings.”

You twirled a lock of your hair around your finger, watching him closely. He glared at you, his patience growing thin.

“Was there or not? I’m not here to play games.”

“Oh honey, you already are,” you mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I said if there was, it was probably far,” you lied, “You know far away. They could get paranoid.”

“You knew what you were getting into when you were recruited, didn’t you?”

You sat back in your chair, licking your lips and smiled devilishly at him.

“Yes, Doctor,” you purred.

You could see him tense, his jaw tightening as if he was clenching his teeth.

“Are you always this tense?”

He circled back to you, focusing his questions on you.

“Why did you kill those men, Y/N?”

“Assholes like that don’t deserve to live.”

You weren’t going to deny that you did it because you had and you would again, but you weren’t going to hand them any ammunition to use against you. Being mysterious was the name of your game.

“So you were a vigilante assassin? Hired to make things right?” Spencer questioned, eyes following you as you stood from your chair.

You strolled around the table, fingers trailing along the tabletop.

“People like that deserve the bad things that happen to them, like those men. Imagine if you could right the world, one step at a time.”

“I already do that. I catch serial killers everyday. Killers like you,” he responded.

“See, I’m not like most people,” your hand rested on his shoulder, sliding ever so slightly across it.

“I don’t enjoy killing. I don’t get pleasure from it.”

“Don’t you?” 

He’d gone rigid under your touch. Your fingertips grazed across his back as you leaned down and over his shoulder from behind him. Your hand slid down the front of his dress shirt, across his chest.

“I get pleasure from other things, Spencer,” you whispered lowly in his ear.

You pulled back, returning to your seat, but you didn’t miss the small shiver he’d tried to repress.

“I’m not answering any more questions until you answer some of mine.” 

You crossed your arms on the table, leaning forward on them.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because of that secret I mentioned earlier. Remember that? I know you better than you think I do, Doctor.”

Your voice dripped with seduction and you knew it was getting to him. You could see just how much you were getting under his skin and frankly, it pleased you greatly.

“Is that so?”

He cocked his head, challenging you, trying to call your bluff.

But you weren’t bluffing.

“I’m good at reading men and their signals. I mean,” you shrugged with one shoulder, “A girl has to be in this line of work.”

“Uh huh,” he goaded you.

“I know your dirty little secret,” you faux whispered, leaning closer towards him.

His face hardened in an attempt to not give any of his true emotions away.

“And what would that be?”

“I know you fantasize about me, Dr. Reid.”

Your words hit a nerve. Even though his face showed no change in expression, the slight widening of his eyes gave him away. If you weren’t so good at analyzing, you probably would’ve missed the small movement all together.

“You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but I didn’t think you were delusional.”

“Oh, I’m not,” you chuckled dryly, “I’m not answering any more questions until you admit you’ve had dirty thoughts about me.”

“Then we’ll be here for a long time.”

“Spencer, please. I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’m good at telling when a man is attracted towards a woman. Tell me,” you smirked, scraping your teeth across your bottom lip, “Do you touch yourself while having those thoughts of me?”

He stood, gathering the file haphazardly.

“If you’re just going to waste the FBI’s time, then this interview is over.”

“What, is your ego bruised because I don’t get off to you? Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of fantasies myself. They’re pretty sexy, if I do say so myself, but nothing beats the real thing,” your eyes moved up his body, “If you know what I mean.”

He was out the door mere seconds after your last word was spoken. 

You had him just where you wanted him.

•

“What is she on about?”

Thankfully the observing audience had dwindled down to just Rossi, but Spencer brushed past him, shaking his head.

“Ignore her. She’s full of it.”

He dropped the file on the first desk he saw, walking out the door into the hallway. 

He knew he had to get out of there quickly because the room was suddenly way too warm. He was angry. Angry and unfortunately aroused.

He practically ran into the first available empty room, closing the door behind him. He only needed a few minutes to clear his head before he finished this interview. He leaned against the closed door, stomach rolling in his desire. He swore, the tightening in his pants that much more visible. He knew the moment he felt the tingling in the pit of his stomach that he had to make a quick escape.

Y/N’s words rang in his ears as he closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

I’ve had my fair share of fantasies myself.

They’re pretty sexy if I do say so myself.

The thought of her getting off to him did nothing to help his erection and he groaned. His hand seemed to have a mind of its own and was palming the bulge, making him whimper slightly.

“Fuck it.”

•

The door swung open to the interrogation room with a bang causing you to jump.

“I got rid of the other agents, so it’s just you and me now, no one watching.”

You raised your eyebrow, intrigued.

“How did you know?” Spencer practically growled.

“Know what?” 

He yanked you up roughly by your arm, making you stand to face him.

“How did you know that all I want to do is slam you against this wall and fuck you as hard as I can?” 

Your mouth went dry, all bravado you’d had before suddenly missing. Heat pooled in your stomach. If you could tear off your clothes right now and let him have his way with you, you would.

He didn’t let you answer because he did just as he said he wanted to.

Your back hit the wall roughly, his lips meeting yours haphazardly. His kisses were wild and filled with all the frustration he held against you, emotionally and sexually.

His hands were that much larger against your hips, pulling them closer to him so you could feel his arousal against you. You moaned into the kiss in response.

His fingers threaded in your hair, gripping it, his tongue swirling with yours. He pulled back just the slightest bit, his teeth scraping your bottom lip.

“Fuck, I hate admitting just how wild you’ve driven me,” he groaned, undoing his pants.

You wiggled your hips slightly, trying to push your pants down along with your underwear as he sucked roughly on your neck, his hands massaging your boobs through your shirt. You were pretty sure he could make you cum before he was even inside you.

Barely registering your struggles, one hand yanked down the bottom half of your clothes, kicking them aside with his feet while his mouth still explored yours.

Hooking his hands under the back of your thighs, he hoisted you up, holding you against the wall. Your legs immediately wrapped around his waist as he thrust into you, not giving you any warning.

You moaned loudly. The feeling was better than anything you’d ever fantasized. Your hips thrust outward from the wall to meet with him causing him to growl. You could probably spontaneously combust at this point. You never could have imagined Dr. Spencer Reid had such a sexy, dominant side. If he wanted to fuck you against this wall until you were raw, you’d let him and probably still beg for more.

“Ohhh my god, yes,” you moaned, your head knocking against the wall as he did magical things to you.

His body moved roughly against yours, each thrust harder and deeper than the last, his grunts and groans giving you tingles. You would’ve tried to be witty right about now, but you discovered your brain was nothing but static. Words couldn’t and wouldn’t come.

“You moan this loud for me when you touch yourself?” he grunted, his rhythm purposely slowing down to a snail’s pace.

You were quite amazed that he managed to have enough self control to tease you.

“No,” you whimpered, trying to pull his hips back towards you.

His hands pushed your hips back against the wall firmly, further separating the two of you.

“What’s that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“No, I didn’t. Spencer, please.”

It was almost torture being so close to falling apart and having him stop almost completely. His hand touched your cheek, his thumb moving over your lips, tugging your bottom lip down just a bit before his lips covered yours again. His hips thrust forward against yours once more, hitting such deep spots that your legs were shaking.

He gritted his teeth as he pulled away, clenching them.

“Oh god, it’s so much better than I even imagined,” he gritted out, pulling out of you slowly, to thrust back in harder.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” you encouraged, your back arching, pressing your chest against his.

Your hand tangled in his curls, your moans coming closer together.

“Make me cum, Dr. Reid,” you requested breathlessly.

His fingers expertly reached down to add to your pleasure, fully intending to rock your world. 

Your breaths came in more erratic spurts, mixed with your moans as you came apart, tensing around him.

He came hard too, his groans of pleasure ripped from his throat as his head fell back roughly against the door.

It took a moment for Spencer’s surroundings to come back in focus when he opened his eyes, peering down at the mess he’d made all over his hand. He felt his whole face flush when he realized what had just happened. 

He grabbed a tissue off the table, cleaning up his mess and getting resituated, zipping up his pants properly, buttoning them once again.

He cursed himself for the fact he’d just gotten off to her. Even worse, an extremely erotic fantasy of her. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it. 

“Dammit,” he mumbled.

So, it wasn’t his finest moment. But at least he felt less tense and more relaxed now.

He picked up the file on his way back in to finish his interview. There she was waiting, fingernails tapping against the table.

•

You saw right through him because the moment he walked through the door again a grin slowly spread across your face. His cheeks were still flushed and a slight sheen of sweat coated his forehead. 

Unless he’d just sprinted to and from the nearest coffee shop, you had a good idea what he’d just been up to.

You didn’t say anything while he sat back down in front of you again, opening the file and looking up at you. You motioned him closer with a crook of your finger so he could hear your next words. He obeyed and leaned in close.

“Your dirty little secret is safe with me.”

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[shadow-assassin-blix]

Be Still, My Heart

PART 1

Marcus Pike X Tattooed/Pierced Reader

A/n: So... this has been in my WIPs for a few months. I’m dedicating this to @pikemoreno​ cause its her husband, obviously and @flightlessangelwings​ since this was our Lovechild idea. Both of us are tatted, she wants lots more piercings and it is my lifelong goal to join the FBI and be on the Gang Unit. So this was created. Enjoy!

Taglist: @mikeisthricedeceased​

It has been about month since the dreaded break up between up Marcus Pike and Teresa Lisbon. Marcus, who has not yet transferred to D.C., was still having to work in same space as her and Patrick Jane. And it killed him.

He hated seeing them together. True, he understood that maybe he moved too fast, and that she clearly wasn’t over her feelings for Jane, but it left a bitter seed inside him.

‘Why wasn’t I enough?’

He tried his best not to ruminate on the thoughts, feelings, or memories that would barrage his brain all hours through the day. He tended to run through the motions. His team could tell. His team noticed he was quieter, that he smiled less. There was nothing they could. How does a person help heal a broken heart?

It was about midday when he was informed that he was getting a transfer teammate. They were coming in from the gang unit. So, he got the desk that sat opposite his ready for them.

He was deep into reading a file, vaguely aware that the elevator dinged, when a voice cleared their throat.

He looked up and was surprised by the sight he saw. It was a woman, dressed in pencil skirt and a silk blouse, that fitted her perfectly. She had tattoos up and down her arms, and he could see some on her legs. She had multiple piercings in her ears, and one in her lower lip.

Upon first sight, he expected someone who was going to be gruff and rude but was pleasantly surprised when he heard her speak.

“Hi. Agent Pike? My name is Steel,” Her voice was soft and dainty sounding.

“Steel?” He asked, slightly confused because that was not the name he was given.

She gasped, slapping a hand lightly to her forehead, and gave him her real name.

“Sorry, I’ve been undercover too long. Steel was my nickname,” She apologized by biting her lip softly.

“That’s okay. I like it. Is it because of the piercings or what?” he asked curious, he found her charming.

“That and they said I had ‘nerves of steel.’ I don’t know. It’s silly, but it stuck,” She commented with a shrug.

He smiled and nodded before informing her, “Alright, so here’s where you’ll sit. This pile of folders are all of our open cases so far. Familiarize yourself with them. This isnt the gang unit so it’s not really action-packed, so… sorry if that’s a problem.”

“Not a problem at all. I’m ready for something a bit… calmer. Question though, why is our unit down here? I thought we had an entire floor?” She questioned sitting down.

“We usually do. The floor is being renovated and in a month and a half, half of the team will be going to D.C. so. Kind of just stuck here,” Marcus explained ignoring the pang in his chest as he thought about it.

“Oh. Okay. Would I be included in that half?” She asked quietly.

“Probably. The director will let you know by the end of the week,” He told her before returning to his file.

She nodded her head and took a moment to quietly study him. He was awfully handsome, and she could tell he was probably quite the gentlemen. She knew her body art can be quite the shocker, but his stare never once turned judgmental. In fact, he almost appeared curious about them.

She got to work and slowly met the rest of the team as the day went on. At the end of the day, they offered to buy her a drink, as a celebration. She accepted with a smile and looked over at Marcus who was still working.

“Would you like to join us?” She offered walking over to him.

He looked up at the question and noticed everyone was about to head out.

He politely shook his head, “No. Thank you though.”

She nodded her head once, and gave him a small wave goodbye, as she rejoined the others. They headed to a local pub that was 2 blocks over. They ordered their drinks and were talking amongst themselves.

At one point she noticed, one of the team members, Jack, scoffed quietly. She looked at him confused and followed his gaze over to the table where the other team that they shared space with sat. The others slowly got into a soured mood as they noticed their presence as well.

She whispered, “What’s up? Why are y’all acting weird?”

Amanda, who sat next to her, “So, you were bound to find out. But... the leader over there? Lisbon? Marcus was dating her.”

Chase who sat across from her finished, “He even proposed to her. She accepted but not even an hour later, broke it off to be with the blonde asshat you see with them.”

“So. We don’t like them,” Jack stated rolling his eyes.

Steel mouthed a silent ‘oh.’

“Worst part is, he’s also divorced. He has the worst luck with women and he’s honestly the sweetest guy I know. If I didn’t have a wife, I would take him,” Amanda said with a small sigh.

Steel listened to them, as they told her more stories about their boss. Not one of them seem to have a bad thing to say about him. That night as she went home, she was determined to make him smile again.

It began subtly. She would leave sticky notes randomly on his desk, that told silly jokes/puns or have phrases of encouragement.

His smile would be faint when he would find them. He was well aware of who was leaving them. Only one person had bright pink sticky notes, and she left them sitting on her desk.

Then she began to leave little flowers or candies on his desk. She always acted like she didn’t know what he was talking about when he brought it up. This went on for 2 weeks. When she found out that she would be heading to D.C. with them, she asked Marcus if he would be okay with helping her pack up some things. With it being a month away, most of them had the majority of their things packed up already.

He agreed to help with a smile.

That weekend, they went and got boxes and tubs galore. Her house was two-story townhouse. She fortunately, didn’t have stuff in every room, but she did have quite the library. Which is what he wound up helping her with the most.

They spent a great deal of time talking about books, especially over lunch and dinner. They were finishing up in the library later that evening when Marcus paused for a moment.

“How… how many tattoos do you have?” He asked eventually.

“Quite a few. I plan to get more as well. Piercings is probably easier to tell you,” She mentioned offhandedly.

“You have more than what I can see?” He inquired looking at her closely.

She giggled and cleared her throat before explaining “So I have 5 in each ear. My lip. Umm. This is probably too much info for my boss to know but I also had my nipples pierced anddd.. someplace else.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, his mouth dropping. “Wow.”

“Well, I had to get rid of,” She gestured to her chest. “when I began in the academy, so I technically don’t have them anymore. Uh. Tis not fun to run with them.”

He blushed lightly at that and chuckled softly, looking away.

“And… I think that’s enough on the TMI portion from my end. Um. Do you have any body modifications?” She asked awkwardly trying to get the focus off of her.

“No. I do not. Um. Always thought about getting a tattoo but was never brave enough to do it,” He mentioned as he took a seat on a tub.

“Really? Well. Maybe when we are in D.C., we can go get you a tattoo. I’d hold your hand and everything,” She suggested sitting next to him.

“I’d like that. Even the hand-holding part,” He teased lightly.

They stared at each, looking softly at one another. Her eyes glanced down at his lips briefly, wondering what they would feel like against hers.

He slowly leaned forward, his hand brushing along her jaw. She hesitantly closed the gap, pressing her lips against his. She pulled away slightly, trying to make sure he was okay with this. He pulled her back to him and kissed her more firmly. The passion was unhurried, building up gradually. When they pulled away, they were both breathless.  

“Wow,” She whispered looking down, feeling her cheeks warm up.

Marcus cleared his throat and said, “I really like you… and I’m sure you’ve heard… about my previous relationship. If… if it doesn’t bother you… I’d like to be with you but… if.. if we could take it slowly?”

She looked up at him, stunned. “Honestly… I was worried you were about to say that was a mistake. I don’t mind taking this slowly. I just got out of pretty bad relationship myself to be honest. But I like you. A lot.”

He bit his lip briefly and nodded his head. “If I may, since we only really got a room done… maybe tomorrow I can take you out to lunch as a date before tackling the next room?”

“I’d like that,” She agreed softly smiling brightly at him.

She walked him to the door, and she started to tell him goodbye, but stopped.

“I know we agreed to take it slowly… but can I kiss you again?” She requested, fiddling with a lock of hair nervously.

He stepped forward, leaned down, and pressed his lips to hers in response. She slowly wrapped her hands around his neck, burying them in his hair, as she kissed back.

The kiss was shorter but still just as passionate.

As he pulled away, he quietly confirmed, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She nodded telling him goodbye as he walked out. She locked the door with a sigh. She felt super giddy and couldn’t wait to see him again tomorrow.

Marcus, as he stepped into his car, felt happy. Something he hadn’t felt in a while. He looked forward to seeing Steel again. That night, as he got ready for bed, he realized… that not once that day… did his mind ever think of Lisbon. Even now, as he settled into his bed, he wasn’t riddled with thoughts or memories of their doomed relationship. He fell asleep thinking of woman covered in tattoos and piercings.

[detectiveinchicago]

Sparks Fly: Chapter 8

Chapters list here

Note: Hi guys! Thank u for all the comments and reviews, you are amazing. If you want to be tag in this story please let me know. THANK U FOR YOUR REVIEWS!!! English is not my first language. Enjoy xxx.

DISCLAIMER: GIF IS NOT MINE.

WARNING: Bad language and anxiety issues. 

“They won’t talk” Sheryll said walking into the room “Anything on the house?”

“Nothing on the house” Caitlyn answered

“We are still checking the cameras but so far nothing” Hanna added looking at her computer.

“So basically we have nothing on them” Sheryll concluded.

“It’s hard to say it but yes” O.A answered.

“We will have to release him” Caitlyn said.

“We still have a few hours left” Clinton pointed “CPD is talking to the detectives in the other cases and running some labs on the lipstick”

“This is a waste of time” Kenny said “We have nothing on this guy, nothing, we don’t even know who he is yet”

“Well, start digging then” Jess answered walking into the room “Re-interview some the recent victim’s coworkers, see if they have seen anything suspicious or have anything to say” he explained walking around the room “This guy can’t be invisible, serial killers don’t hide, they like attention and recognition”

“Thing is we are chasing a ghost” Caitlyn pointed

“Not for so long, he must have left behind bread crumbles” Jess answered “If we find them, we find him. Let’s work” He finished coming back to the interviewing room.

The next few hours burned slow, Kenny went through the club cameras where these girls used to work while Hanna checked the cameras in the alley one more time. Jess and Sheryll had to let the gang go and they along with Clinton went to interview some of the girl’s coworkers. Caitlyn went to every pharmacy record or suspicious purchases and O.A was re-reading the files.

“So what do we have so far?” Jess asked entering the room.

“I have nothing on cameras” Kenny said looking at Jess.

“Me either” Hanna added

“No suspicious purchases in any Pharmacy” Caitlyn said.

“The forensic has just confirmed the lipstick clue but it was meaningless since it was a popular brand” Clinton notified “He confirmed we have 55 victims matching this patron in the last six years”

“I have notice something in the files, all the girls have a little or any family circle, he made sure no one would be looking out for them” O.A informed “As we already knew they were all exotic dancers or hustlers with blue eyes and brown hair but three of his last five victims where exotic dancers at Clubhouse”

“He is out of control” Jess said walking around “He is killing almost every day and he is repeating places, that’s unusual”

“At first he used to kill every two months, he was smart by waiting the cases to go cold” Caitlyn added.

“Something must have taken him out of place” Sheryll pointed “He is more dangerous than ever”

“He is reckless” Jess added “He doesn’t care anymore”

“We can give Clubhouse a try” Clinton suggested

“We need eyes on the inside” Jess told them “You are going undercover” He pointed to Caitlyn.

“Why me?” She asked.

"Well you are his type, brunette, short hair, and blue eyes" Jess said “He might bite the trap”

"You want me to go undercover... as an exotic dancer" Caitlyn said “It’s not the usual work”

"You can get some information of their coworkers and then if he bits the trap he might target you and then we will be able to track him you down" Jess clarify for her.

“Why only me? Hanna is brunette too” Caitlyn complained.

“You are more athletic” Hanna pointed with a little smile.

“Shut up” Caitlyn answered “Since I know you guys, I always do the undercover work”

“What can we say? You are talented” Clinton added jokingly and Caitlyn gave him a death look.

“Let’s keep digging but we have a plan” Jess finished.

“I will put everything together for tonight” Clinton added.

Everyone dispersed and Sheryll approached Kenny and leaned on her partner's chair “I saw you”, she said.

“What?” Kenny asked.

“You are stalking her” Sheryll pointed out “You are still in love of her”

"It's been years; Caitlyn means nothing to me anymore” Kenny said without taking his eyes off the computer.

“Why can’t you just be friends?” Sheryll asked raising her eyes bows.

"Most people don't befriend their exes” He answered looking at her “There is a reason why Sheryll”

Sheryll nodded without quite believing him before taking a file and walking to the table.

As if the situation wasn't already uncomfortable enough, his colleagues insisted on raising the issue. Kenny was perfectly aware that everyone was waiting for him or Caitlyn to explode at any moment like a time bomb. However, he knew himself and knew Caitlyn well enough to know what to do in public scenes was not their thing. Was he angry? Yes, he was. But he didn't need people to remind him of Caitlyn's existence any more than he was already aware of.

He had to admit though he was angry that his love was still intact. He needed her, more than he will ever know but he was too proud to admit it. Too much water had passed under the bridge, there was too much history between the two and it just wasn't that easier to fix. He was bereaved, his heart still hurt every time he looked at her, not only because he loved her madly but because his heart had left with Caitlyn when she left him five years ago.

Her blue eyes were a fantasy, she still had those dimples on her cheek every time she smiled and her brow furrowed every time she was focused on something. Those things were just some of the reasons he had fallen in love with her. Of course, she was smart, her sense of humor mixed with sarcasm could drive him crazy, Kenny had learned to ignore her bad mood in the morning and still remembered how adorable she looked every time she watched a hockey game.

"I found something” Hanna said getting up of her chair and interrupting Kenny’s thoughts “He avoids cameras so he should know where the cameras are and study the places for that”, Hanna explained showing the cameras on the TV “This guy was around Amelia's block on Tuesday night, you can't see his face but he is there and then, he is again on Thursday night and then he is gone. He never comes back, on Friday night Amelia was killed"

“Do you have his face on any camera around Amelia’s block?” Sheryl asked approaching to her

“Nothing so far but I will keep looking” Hanna answered.

“We know that Amelia and Sienna, our Jane Doe, where killed probably at the same time so they should have been together when he killed them” Sheryll told her.

“They worked together so maybe they went home together and he took them from there?” O.A asked.

“Kidnapped two at the same time without anyone noticing it?” Kenny said “Does the club have any cameras apart from the ones pointing the entrance?”

“The detectives were on their way here, I will tell them to go back and check it” Hanna said referring to Hailey and Jay.

Caitlyn had to admit that she liked being back with her team, it was like going back to the old days. She had to admit that over the years her FBI coworkers, first the Most Wanted team and then the New York team had become her family. In the absence of her true family, she had created bonds with everyone, had spent Christmas with Clinton, Jess and Tali, thanksgiving with Sheryll and Charlotte, and even once Kenny and her went to Florida to spend a New Year with Hanna. Then, in New York, almost the same thing happened, her first Christmas after breaking up with Kenny, she thought she was going to spend it alone in her apartment, but Jubal took her to meet his family. The last Christmas she had spent with her siblings and her parents was before her mother got sick.

"God, I'm almost naked," Caitlyn said to herself, adjusting her suit, Clinton got her a "suitable" suit, but that suit was many things, but adequate was not one of them. She was practically naked, it fit her perfectly anyway. She took off her suit and put it back in the bag, she was supposed to enter as a new employee, the owners of the club were not very friendly when they interviewed them so she would go completely undercover."I guess exotic dancers don't wear a lot of clothes" Caitlyn thought to put on a sleeveless shirt and taking the outfit that was hanging on her locker door.

When Kenny entered the locker room holding the microphone in his hand, Caitlyn was finishing putting on her jacket.

"I need to wire you up" Kenny said quietly.

"Go ahead" Caitlyn said accepting the necklace she was offering her.

"That's your camera and this is your microphone" he said handing her the microphone and placing the microphone on the neckline of her dress "Sorry"

"Stop" Caitlyn answered putting the necklace "Nothing you haven’t seen or touched before"

However, Kenny chose not to answer and continue adjusting the microphone.

"What? You came here and you were very quick judging me but when you can finally say something you choose to shut up and be condescending to me?" Caitlyn said frowning "Are we going to tiptoe around and play cat and mouse?”

“You broke it” Kenny said simply looking at her after finishing with the microphone.

“I don’t want to blame you but let me remind you that you broke our relationship, Kenny” Caitlyn pointed adjusting the necklace.

“You left me” Kenny answered starting to raise his voice.

“Our Marriage was way broken before that and you know it!” Caitlyn shouted “Nevermind I had the guts to walk away!”

“You’re right but you didn’t have the guts to say goodbye so don’t expect me to play nice after all these years” Kenny answered shrugging “I don’t know who you are anymore, beautiful angel” He added before walking outside the room.

“I don’t even know who I’m anymore” She answered overwhelmed by the old nickname.

"Beautiful angel" That's what he used to call her, especially when they started dating but sometimes he just dropped the nickname in a casual conversation like: "How did my beautiful angel get up this morning?" or "What is my beautiful angel cooking?" He just dropped the nickname out there naturally and Caitlyn had to admit that he managed to speed up her heart. The nickname brought back fond memories she must admit.

----flashback----

“What are you doing up so late?” Kenny asked walking into the living room “It’s 2 AM Caitlyn”

"I can't sleep yet" she answered looking at the TV screen "I watched the NBA Finals and then I was hooked watching the replays"

"Tomorrow we have to go to Sheryll's house for Anais' birthday" Keny remembered her

"Yeah, I know" Caitlyn replied getting up from the sofa and walking towards the kitchen "I'm sleepy"

"Then come to bed with me" Kenny replied walking behind her.

"I need jellybeans" Caitlyn said checking the kitchen drawers.

"Caitlyn, jellybeans are not going to help you sleep" Kenny pointed out "They are pure sugar"

"I know, there are no more jellybeans anyway" Caitlyn answered opening the refrigerator

"What are you doing?" Kenny asked

"I have late-night anxiety" Caitlyn explained "I need sugar or something to eat to kill it”

Kenny knew it, eating was a way for Caitlyn to keep at bay the anxiety caused by certain situations but what he was wondering was what had caused it this time.

"So ... are you going to tell me what's going on, or will you make me guess?" Kenny asked leaning on the counter.

"Nothing is going on, Kenny" Caitlyn answered with a bad mood.

"Let's pretend I believe you" Kenny replied, surrounding her and opening the freezer "Here you go, beautiful angel" he said offering her banana ice cream.

Caitlyn was a fan of jellybeans and banana ice cream and sometimes had a soft spot for popcorn and wine.

"Than...?" Caitlyn asked looking at her with raised eyebrows

"What can I say? I'm always well prepared" Kenny replied jokingly before Caitlyn climbed onto the counter with a spoon and the ice cream pot "So what's going on?"

"My father" Caitlyn replied "I hate to say it but today's case left my head spinning"

"So..."

"Then then it took me back to when I was a teenager and my life was a complete mess" Caitlyn added, "Today's case showed us that there are shitty parents everywhere". They had caught a man who since his wife had died not only He beat his children until they broke their bones, but starved them so much that they ended up dying of inaction, they stumbled upon it by accident while investigating a trafficking ring.

"You know Jess also had a father who was far from ideal" Kenny replied standing between her legs "Maybe you can talk to him about it"

"I don't want to talk to him about it" Caitlyn said "I just want to bury him and stop the pain, even when I left home he keeps coming back to haunt me"

"Beautiful angel, our personal experiences are what make us good agents and even better people" Kenny said to her "Your father is a son of a bitch, you know that"

"Yeah, I know," she replied with a sigh.

"C'mon, don't be sad," he whispered, stroking her cheek. "Changing the mood," he added with a playful smile before taking the ice cream and leaving it on the counter. He picked her up and carried her over his shoulder.

“Stop Kenny, stop” she said laughing “Put me down”

"Ok but promise me that you are going to sleep" Kenny replied going to the bedroom "I don't want a sleepy and grumpy girlfriend in the morning"

"I'm not grumpy" Caitlyn retorted hitting him in the back

"Yes, you are" Kenny replied turning off the television before heading to the bedroom "You are the grumpiest person I know in the morning"

Kenny tossed her onto the bed while Caitlyn giggled "Stop, I will go to sleep"

----flashback----

“Ready?” O.A asked her.

“Yes” Caitlyn answered getting up from the bench.

--------------------------------------------

Tag list:

@proceduralpassion @lovecatystuff @bethii1 @give-jack-a-lightsaber @thevelvetseries @lovingfanofupstead @thetwit @anotheronechicagobog @sadsot @chicagogirl2019 @cpdfan231 @bxrgesses @onechicago-upsteadrhekker @dethaileyupton @itsdesiree86 @halstudandruz @hereforthedale @cactiem @nhcwdw @anotherfan07 @pinkrockstar19 @rochyu

[notgonnarememberthis]

today (of all days) - pt 5

Surprise!!! Through encouragement of friends I’ve decided to release one chapter a day to finish this story off the day before prodigal son returns! So the next one will be the plus one coming out tomorrow and a bonus chapter coming Monday. Hope y’all like this one! 

The knock is soft and hesitant, Gil almost misses it while he’s combing over files. He checks the time with a huff, he should probably get dinner soon anyways. Maybe he’ll roll by Malcolm’s and make sure he’s eating, knowing all too well that he’s throwing himself into this case just as hard, if not more, than he is.

He stretches himself out before walking to the door, mindful of Icarus who has half the mind to trot beside him to try to dart out the door if he opens it too wide. He opens it slowly, foot placed in front of the ginger cat to keep it back.

Jessica stands in front of the door, a bag in one hand and a drink tray balanced on the other. She sucks in a breath and he can see her carefully planned speech falling apart. This was the first time he’s seen her since that day in the station, when she admitted she was talking to Martin again. When he offered to be her ear again. She swallows heavily only able to get out, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” He nods. “Of course.” He steps aside letting her slip by with ease. She smiles down at Icarus who takes the opportunity to rub along her legs. He knows if she hadn’t had her hands full, she’d be scratching his head right now. “Is that?”

“Mel’s diner, yes it is. I got the cherry pie too.”

“How’d you know, I was just about to make dinner.”

“You and Malcolm have remarkably similar eating habits. Meaning it’ll be the last thing on either of your agendas until either a case is finished or someone snaps you out of it.” She settles everything on the table, pulling the food out of the bag with an almost robotic motion. He recognizes it, her mind and body has flipped into pure survival mode. She’s able to mask it when talking but her body language gives it away.

He sits on the couch next to her, eyes trained on her face the entire time. “Jess?”

She tenses, her eyes closing as she’s found out so quickly. Her posture deflates and she drops her head into her hand. “Please.” Her voice comes out more tired.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” She tries to hold him at arm's length, instead focused on her food but he takes her hand in his. She may not have come with the vintage bourbon like usual but he can see through it all. Mel’s is her comfort food. After a rough day, they’d bring Malcolm and Ainsley there, enjoy the atmosphere of anonymity. The noise of the customers was always enough to drown out her own demons. He’s more than able to see through it all. 

“Talk to me.” He says, his voice soft as he runs his thumb along the back of her hand.

She sighs, tipping her head back. Her jaw clenches, emotions bubbling to the surface that she forces back down again. “I’m writing a memoir.” She doesn’t look back at him, she knows what his reaction will be, or she thinks she does.

“A memoir?” His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. “You said you’d never give in. That they could say whatever they wanted but they wouldn’t get a word from you. What changed?” She sighs, in the way she did any time they were brought up. “Birdie.” He nods in understanding.

“She’s been cut off. She’s emptied all her assets and she came to me… to publish her own book.”

“Why not just pay her off?” She’d done it before. Paid reporters, journalists, and other nosey bastards for her family’s privacy. She paid good money so that it was never leaked that Malcolm had changed his name. As far as the public knew Malcolm Whitly had faded into obscurity. 

“They were going to publish with or without her. Another author would take helm. We’d be exposed. I checked the information and it’s true. The publishing company is desperate. They’d already been looking for a writer who would take the chance for years.” No doubt, any writer who stepped up that would risk Jessica Whitly’s wrath would be one without good intentions. The book would be a slander on her family. No amount of burying the story would protect her, Malcolm, or Ainsley from that blowback. And Martin would revel in that chaos.

“So you’re taking the reins.”

“I don’t have a choice.” He wants to argue with her. That there’s always another choice but here, he finds it difficult. With Jessica writing it she’s telling her story, It’s not going to be tampered with by a second party. When it hits the shelf she’ll only do interviews with people Ainsley trusts, no Barbara Walters situation ever again. No second hand writers will hound Malcolm or Ainsley for their comments, knocking down boundaries that her kids aren’t even aware exist most of the time. It’s not about them. It’s about controlling the narrative.

The words feel awfully familiar. “Do Malcolm or Ainsley know?” She doesn’t even need to answer by the look that passes over her face, fond exasperation with some worry. 

“No, and I intend on keeping it that way for a while.”

“Jess.”

“Ainsley will just talk about how this is a good thing. She’s always excited about stories. Having them read mine is,” She lets out a bitter laugh. There were aspects of the aftermath that she kept from them. How it tore her apart more than she would ever admit. It was only recently that Ainsley got a peek past the incredible intricate persona Jessica put on for others. “Then Malcolm, he won’t like it at all. He’ll worry. He has enough on his plate right now. I’m not going to pull either of them into this if I can help it.”

“They will find out eventually.”

“I’ll keep it a secret as long as I can. I would appreciate it if you would too.”

“I won’t tell. But I think you should.”

“Not,” She shakes her head and he can see she’s trying to blink away tears. “Not yet.”

“There’s something else, isn’t there.”

Jessica laughs but nods, “The publisher pitched a name today. He wants to call it The One Who Survived. Bullshit, if you ask me.”

“Jess,” He moves to place a hand on her shoulder but she stands, anger flaring up with the movement.

“Why does it always go back to him?” She asks, he’s not sure if she’s looking for an answer but she continues before he can make a sound. “I raised two children. Both of which were stellar students. My son went to Harvard, worked with the FBI. My daughter is a critically acclaimed journalist and a newscaster.” She rakes both hands through her hair pacing across the living room. Atlas watches from a perch, his tail flicking with interest. “I have contributed to hundreds of foundations, I am a businesswoman. Why, why am I only the ex-wife?”

Gil steps up, his hands settling on her shoulders. She stops her rant, eyes falling on him in the same shocked and vulnerable gaze when he holds her. They haven’t been this close since… He pushes that to the back of his mind. “This is your memoir Jess. Not theirs. You’ve got the control here. Use it.”

“But-”

“But what? They’ve been asking for 20 years and you’re finally giving them what they asked for. It’s your story.”

“Where do I even start?” 

“Wherever feels right.” She lets out a slow breath and for a moment they stay like that. Standing in the remains of a connection that never dies. Her movement is slow, when she finally does, making sure that he stops her if he wants to. Her arms wrap around his torso and she tucks her head into his chest. He returns the hug, holding her close with his chin resting on top of her head.

“Thank you Gil.” She mumbles into his shirt. He runs a hand down her back in a comforting gesture. Having her this close makes his heart race and he’s certain she can hear it too. They’ve missed out on so much time. But for now he’s just happy to have her back again.

“Always.” He whispers, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part thirteen Word count: ±3280 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part thirteen summary: The three hunters have unraveled the truth, but need more details to close this case once and for all. Time to break the news to the Shire family. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​ and @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​​​. Thanks, girls! Gif does not belong to me, but I was unable to track down the creator. Is this your gif? Let me know.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     The ‘67 Chevrolet Impala rolls onto Lake Front Drive, a street where along both sides beautiful large homes are situated. On the left of the road they find a gorgeous house with blue woodwork, a big driveway and a nice yard, located right next to the lake. It’s the perfect picture of a family home, right out of a real-estate commercial. A dock runs out into the silent waters, geese bob at the surface as guardians of the deep.

     Sam is waiting in the shadows of the streets on the side of the road, blending into the darkness, but his brother spots him, however. Through the window he has been watching Mrs. Shire, who is currently tidying the kitchen, while her son is out on the dock, absently bouncing a basketball on the wooden planks. When his brother’s car slowly moves past and comes to a stop, Sam emerges from the black shade. The tall guy crosses the street with his hands shoved in his pockets.

     “Right on time,” he comments, when Dean gets out of the classic car.      “I don’t know who is in that grave, but it isn’t Laura,” Zoë fills in, emerging from the Impala with some difficulty. “The bones showed no signs of healed fractures.”      Sam sighs; great, another curveball. “So where could she be then?”      “We have a hunch,” Dean says, nodding his head at the waters. “Remember that she was soaking wet?”

     Stunned, his younger brother turns to watch the shimmering surface, huffing when the pieces of the puzzle come together. “She travels through water,” Sam realizes. “It’s an awfully big lake, though.”      “There isn’t a lot of current, so that at least helps. We need to figure out where Shire dumped her. That should narrow it down,” Zoë contemplates, glancing at the reservoir as well.      “Let’s wrap this up, shall we?” the older Winchester suggests, ready to close this case.

     He strides towards the Shire residence, but notices Zoë isn’t directly behind them. Dean glances further back and spots her. She got only several feet from the car in the timespan he reached the house, limping towards the men with her hand on her waist. Apparently the stiffness got worse after the car ride.      “Comin’, Speedy Gonzalez?” he mocks.      “Shut up, assface. I’ll be there before Christmas,” the wounded huntress bites back.

     Fighting an amused grin, Dean climbs the stairs to the front door and pushes the bell. Before Mrs. Shire answers, Zoë joins them.      “So what are we? FBI? State Police?” Zoë leafs through the several ID’s she’s got in the inner pocket of her leather jacket.      “Just follow my lead,”  Sam says without any further explanation.

     Before she can ask about it, the door opens. A chain prevents the door from swinging out entirely; seems like the homeowner took precautions after the attack. Completely useless measurements of course, they need a lot more than a little chain to stop a ghost from entering. A tired and worried face of a woman in her late forties partly shows.      “Can I help you?” she asks gently yet careful.      “Yes, we are--” Zoë automatically takes the lead and is about to flash her badge, when Sam intervenes.      “I’m Sam, that’s my brother Dean and this is Zoë. We’re here to help.”

     Perplexed, Zoë stares at Sam, but recovers quickly. This is certainly not the approach she expected or would have chosen herself. He’s actually going to tell her the truth? She exchanges looks with Dean, but he doesn’t seem worried. Apparently he’s used to this tactic and has confidence in his brother.      “Help me with what?” Mrs. Shire returns, puzzled.      “We know what happened to your husband. Our sympathies,” Sam continues compassionately. “But there are some things we need to talk to you about.”

     Doubtful, Mrs. Shire looks from one to the other. They can’t blame her, after the unexplained murder of Ronald, it’s only normal to mistrust anyone to show up at her doorstep, especially three complete strangers.      “I don’t know who you are, but I already talked to the police,” she claims, after which she intends to close the door.      With a quick movement, Zoë places her hand against the varnished wood to prevent it from locking. Her piercing brown eyes look straight into those of Mrs. Shire.      “We know who killed Ronald,” she states, straight to the point.

     The woman’s eyes widen as she freezes on the spot, shocked by the reveal. The widow is not the only one who is staring at Zoë. Sam doesn't seem pleased with her angle at all; talking about the direct approach.      “Smooth.” Dean clears his throat while pronouncing the word.      Normally Zoë would have glared at him, but this time her piercing gaze remains on Mrs. Shire, trying to get through to the woman. It seems to work, because she takes off the chain and steps back.

     The hunters enter the house calmly. Zoë looks around like she always does when she’s someplace new. It’s a common household, the homey 90’s decor inviting. Pictures of the happy family fill the walls, portraying an illusion. She glances into the kitchen, spotting the dinner table she saw the family seated at in her flashback, the image exactly the same.      While they walk in the living area, Sam hastens to the back of the house. “I’m gonna make sure her brother is okay,” he notifies, before he leaves the room.      Mrs. Shire’s eyes dart to Dean and Zoë in confusion. They can read from her facial expression that she’s worried and suspicious; two words in that sentence raise a big question.      “Her brother?” she repeats, dazed. “Is this about Laura?”      “It’s about both your late husband and daughter,” Dean explains as he sits down.

     Hesitating, Mrs. Shire settles on a comfortable chair opposite Dean. No one asked her to take a seat, but apparently something inside her tells her it might be wise. Zoë, on the other hand, remains standing. The only man in their company leans forward and rests his arms on his knees, forking his hands together. He pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth before he starts off; this is gonna hit hard. But before he can speak, the mother across from the table does.      “Did you go to the police?”

     Zoë can’t help but to raise her eyebrows. They are about to tell her who killed her husband and she’s worried about the police? Dean and Zoë exchange a look, after which Zoë answers.      “No, we haven’t,” she states. “They usually don’t handle things like this that well.”      “Things like what?” Mrs. Shire wonders, unable to follow.      Dean sighs and glances up at his hunting partner; here goes nothing.      “Things like ghosts.”

     Flabbergasted, the woman across from the table observes them both. Then she starts to laugh nervously.      “You’ve got to be joking,” she scoffs.      But both Zoë and Dean keep a straight face.      “Do we look like we’re joking?” Zoë returns the question.             The tense smile slowly disappears from Mrs. Shire’s face as she gapes at them. These two people who invaded her house are dead serious. Nevertheless, she refuses to believe it.      “This is outrageous, I can’t believe I’m still listening to this.” She gets up as the anger sets in. “Get out of my house.”      “I don’t think you want to be kicking us out,” Dean shoots her a penetrating glare. “Sit down, Mrs. Shire.”

      The widow holds his gaze, but the anger is replaced with a hint of fear. No wonder, because Dean’s order sounded intimidating, making it very clear that they won’t be leaving anytime soon. A necessary evil that sometimes is needed to get shit done, and for once Zoë appreciates the older Winchester’s angle. His stern message does its job, because Mrs. Shire settles on the chair again and places her hand on her lap, anxiously pulling her skirt down.

     “Like I said, we know what happened to your husband,” Zoë says, her voice somewhat softer now. “But we also know what happened to Laura.”      “I don’t know what you're talking about,” the woman claims.      “That’s funny, because Laura was pretty precise on the details of how you were very much aware,” Zoë returns.

     Bug-eyed, Mrs. Shire stares up at the young woman - who is still standing next to the couch with her  arms crossed in front of her - then her gaze shifts to Dean, frantically searching for answers. Zoë suppresses a sigh when the widow keeps looking at him like a deer in headlights. This is taking too long, and it’s not like the huntress has all the time in the world. Annoyed, she glances at the backdoor, wondering how Sam is doing.            “We know what Robert did to Laura. There’s no use denying that; we know everything,” Dean makes clear.      Not believing what she’s hearing, tears well up in her eyes. She swallows apprehensively. “H-How could you possibly know?” she stammers.      “Take in consideration that ghosts are real and I believe you can answer that question yourself,” Zoë enlightens her.

     Speechless, Mrs. Shire’s eyes drift off as they shimmer, then she closes them and tears roll down her face, mourning silently. Now Zoë too looks down at her shoes, not sure how to deal with this. She isn’t the type of person who puts her arm around someone to comfort the grieving, especially not to someone who looked the other way while her daughter was being abused. Dean doesn’t undertake action either and so they let her be. After a while, she starts to talk.

     “Ron always had an unstable personality. He could be a loving guy and just like that--” She snaps her fingers, “- he could change into this bad-tempered, aggressive man. I hoped that having a family would change him.”      She shivers during a short pause as she wipes at her tears. Dean observes the mother, as Zoë leans on the back of the couch. The sympathy they have for Mrs. Shire grows, now that they learn that Laura wasn’t the only one Ronald used to beat up when he was in a bad mood.      “When Tom was born, it seemed like something inside him did shift. Tommy meant everything to Ronald, he never laid a finger on him. But then, when Laura came...” Mrs. Shire closes her eyes as teardrops find their way down her weary face. “He never meant to kill her, he just lost it that evening. She was stubborn and he lost it.” Whimpering, she buries her face in her hands. “He had to cover it up. Tommy and I and even Ronald, we would have lost everything. Our home, Tom’s school, what was left of our family, everything. We just didn’t want to make it worse.”

     Son of a bitch, Zoë mouths without making a noise. Dean notices her expression and shakes his head himself. He could give Laura credit for what she did to her father, but this has to stop now before it spins out of control.      “Mrs. Shire, I know this is tough, but we need to know where Laura’s body is,” he confronts her.      She sniffles. “She - she’s buried at Linwood Cemetery.”      “No, she’s not,” Zoë immediately cuts in.

     Bewildered, the woman opposite of them glances from Zoë to Dean. The huntress can see from the look upon her face that this time, she genuinely doesn’t have a clue what they are talking about. As Zoë observes her response, another theory starts evolving in her head; what if Laura’s mother never knew about the body swap? What if she thought that she really buried her daughter at Linwood Cemetery? Maybe the only people who knew about the switch were Ronald Shire and Dr. Hughes.      “Where else would she be?” Mrs. Shire utters, staggered.      “Don’t play tricks on us,” Dean warns.      “Dean, wait,” Zoë interrupts. “Was the coffin ever open during the ceremony?”      The hunter looks over his shoulder; just like Mrs. Shire he seems disoriented. The only man in their company gives her a questioning look; where is she going with this?      “No, Ron insisted it was closed. Why?” Mrs. Shire replies.      Zoë sighs deeply and rubs her face, then she turns to the woman in front of her again.      “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Laura was never buried in Linwood Cemetery.”

     Overwhelmed, Laura’s mother stares at the young woman in her living room. That’s truthbomb number three they just dropped on the widow who also lost her child. Mrs. Shire is being hit in the face with information that is almost impossible to digest, and it is starting to show.      “W-what? But - but I stood at her coffin at the funeral. I - I visit her grave every day,” she whimpers. “Where is she? Where’s my Laura?”

     Damn good question, Dean realizes. But he also knows that if Mrs. Shire doesn’t have a clue where her daughter is, they might be on a very dead end, literally.

     “We believe she’s in the lake. We hoped you could tell us where exactly,” Zoë admits disappointedly.      Out of pure desperation, the woman huffs and looks away. Dean can see she’s about to break, and decides to fill in the blank lines for the poor mother. Having answers is usually more comforting than being left in the dark.

     “We believe your husband and a friend inside the hospital switched Laura’s body with a Jane Doe of the same age, because Ronald was afraid someone might start talking and kick off an investigation,” he explains. “He could forge documents and her medical records as Chief of staff, but if this had become a case, forensics would’ve noticed the many healed breaks and injuries that are consistant with child abuse if they had found Laura’s actual remains. He would’ve faced jail time.”

     “I can’t believe this is happening,” Mrs. Shire whispers, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. Unable to swallow back the tears, the poor woman glances at Dean, a question dawning on her. “If - if what you just said about Laura’s… ‘ghost’ is true, why didn’t she tell you where her body is?”      “Laura isn’t exactly cooperative,” he tries to explain. “She doesn’t want to be found. The hate and frustration she feels right now is driving her to get to the people who never helped her, while they could have.”

     “The murders, first Ronald, then her principal Mr. Van Dyke, after that her teacher and a colleague of your husband, about two hours ago. They all knew about her situation, but in one way or another failed to do anything about it. Laura’s taking revenge for that,” Zoë fills in.      “She would never do that. She’s ten, she’s not capable of murdering people,” her mother claims in disgrace.      “I think she’s more than capable of violence, after what her father did to her,” Dean brings to mind.

     “As a spirit, she doesn’t think or act rationally anymore. All she feels is rage, sadness, and frustration. She’s out of control. That’s why we have to find her and stop her. Otherwise you and your son will be in danger,” Zoë tells her.      “She’ll…” Scared blue eyes dart up at the huntress. “She’ll come after us?”      “You listened, you saw, but you didn’t act,” Zoë says, harshly yet truthful. “You didn’t stop it.”

     For a moment, Mrs. Shire is able to hold the young woman’s gaze, but before Zoë’s eyes, the mirage of the perfect mother begins to falter. What started the day when Ronald struck his wife the first time and escalated when Laura lost her life, has left this family in ruins. The middle-aged woman begins to quiver, unable to keep her emotions at bay, and breaks down completely.

     Zoë, not being the most patient of the three hunters, looks down on the woman who did nothing, and yet had such a big part to play in Laura’s violent death. Although she sympathizes with her, the tears aren’t helping anyone. Time is ticking and they have nothing besides a lake the size of multiple football fields.      Also growing slightly impatient, but able to hide it, Dean gives it one last try. “Don’t you have any idea where he might have hidden her? Any clue at all?”      “I know where she is.”

     Surprised, the older Winchester looks over the back of the couch while Zoë turns around, both facing a young boy. He’s about thirteen years old and has blonde hair, with the same blue eyes as his mother. Sam’s standing behind him, a hand on his shoulder.      “Tom? What are you talking about, honey?” his mother asks, concerned, trying to compose herself in front of her son.

     He looks up at Sam, who puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, you can tell her now,” he ensures.      Anxious, he turns back to his mother and takes a moment before he starts talking. But when he does, he stuns each and everyone in the room.      “That night, when Laura…” He swallows apprehensively and takes a breath, then continues. “I saw Dad at the lake. He rowed the boat out and dropped a big bag in the water. When he came back, I pretended I was sleeping.”

     Astounded, Dean and Zoë take in the brave little kid, who just stepped forward and gave them the break they were desperately looking for. An eye-witness, one whose voice was taken away by years of seeing so much brutality, that it left him petrified whenever he came close to telling. All this time, the little fellow knew, but couldn’t speak, knowing that he could quite possibly suffer the same fate as his sister.

     “Oh, Tommy…” Mrs. Shire whimpers, as she walks up to him.      The mother folds her arms around her son, who hugs her back while tears start rolling down his cheeks.      “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Mom,” he cries, holding her tight. “I knew Dad would have been furious if I had.”      “It’s okay now. Don’t worry, it’s alright,” she whispers while laying her hand over the top of his head, caressing his hair softly, yet she is barely able to hold it together herself.

      The three hunters exchange a look, silent witnesses to the embrace, the last shards of this family mended before them. The truth has been revealed, offering them a strong chance to solve this case. They need more details, though, and the only one who can provide them, is Tommy.      Zoë concentrates on the young boy, once he slips from his mother’s arms. “Tom, do you remember how far your father went out?” she asks, kindly.      “Not that far, he didn’t pass the goose nests,” the teenager tells her.

     They remembers the birds on the lake. Good, they have a marked area now, something to go on. Zoë straightens her back and glances at the boys.      “Seems like we are taking a swim,” she comments.      “You’re going to bring her to the surface?” Mrs. Shire swallows with difficulty, both upset and relieved that they might be doing so.      “It’s the only way we can lay her to rest,” Sam answers.

     “There’s diving equipment in the boathouse. Tom and Ron used to swim in that lake all summer,” she offers.      “Thanks, that might come in handy,” Zoë takes it as she checks her watch. “It’s gonna be completely dark in about a half an hour.”      “Okay then.” Dean sets his shoulders, glancing between his brother and Zoë. As much as he likes a good hunt, he’s not fond of the fact that he’s on the menu of this nasty little spirit. Seems like they will be done with this case by tonight, though. With strong words he finishes.      “Let’s do this.”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page). 

Read chapter fourteen here

[danadeservesadrink]

Do You Believe in Fate Chapter 6

Are You Free On Thursday?

Read on AO3 here 

Tagging @today-in-fic @baronessblixen and @suitablyaggrieved

“Dana Scully speaking”

“Are you free on Thursday?”

“What’s Thursday?”

“Well Thursday really could be anything you want, but I really could use another tour of the town, and I believe I still owe you a trip to your favorite restaurant…”

“Oh, so Thursday’s a date?”

“Yes”

“I really, really would love to, but my car is in the shop and I don't want to have to make my mother drive me all the way to the city, could we do Saturday?”

“I can pick you up.”

“Mulder that's silly, you’d be driving all the way here and back and I have to be in the city the day after anyway, early too-”

“You could sleep with me?”

“Mulder!”

“Not like that. I can take the couch and you can have the bed. It’ll be like a sleepover. You can stay the whole weekend”

“I have a hotel room already. I just can’t check in until Friday night.”

“Oh.”

“But I suppose a ride to the city and comfortable accommodations are too good of an offer to refuse”

“Don’t forget the free dinner”

“How could I? You’ll have to meet my mother when you pick me up. Think you can handle that?”

“ Scully , meeting the parents already? Should we be picking out china patterns?”

“Don’t make that joke in front of her, she’ll take it seriously”

“Trust me, I’ll be ok. I met your sister and that went well”

“On the taxi ride back from the bar she discussed repeatedly the ways she would have taken you down had you not been so charming”

“See! She likes me.”

“Mhmm”

“I promise. Best behavior, cross my heart”

“Alright Mulder. I’ll see you Thursday”

“See you Thursday”

Mulder was nervous. Probably more nervous than their first date. How was a second date more nerve-wracking than a first?

Because you’ve finally convinced her that you're a half decent man worth spending her time on, and if you mess this up that will most certainly be the nail in the coffin for any form of a relationship with the incredible Dr. Dana Scully. And also you’re meeting her mother.

The entire drive up he had been focusing much less on the road and mostly on the thought of the visit that was to come. It felt like he’d been in the car for eons when he finally pulled up the gravel driveway to the Scully household.

The house looked like a home. It looked lived in, with the various shingles tilting down at an angle and toys strewn about the front yard. There was a garden containing marigolds and tulips, but wildflowers sprouted up between neatly planted rows. A small red tricycle was left abandoned next to the spot where he had parked. He left his car and walked up the front porch, observing dolls, shovels, and magnifying glasses left on the staircase like an archaeologist. If he wasn’t mistaken there was a plastic pizza pie slice wrapped in the tendrils of a morning glory plant. He found himself thinking about how Little Shop of Horrors would have been a lot funnier if Audrey II preferred pepperoni as he rang the doorbell.

He was hoping Scully would answer but instead he was greeted by the one Scully he hadn’t met yet.

She was just as short as the rest of them, but instead of the red hair usually accompanying the Scully women, her hair was a curly brown, tucked behind her ears as she watched the child pressed to her chest fuss. When she saw him she beamed and he recognized the Scully smile.

“Dana, your friend is here!” She shouted back over her shoulder, and then turned back to Mulder. He grinned back sheepishly as he extended a hand. She shifted the child on her hip and shook it warmly.

“Fox Mulder” he didn’t know why he sounded so formal, but she chuckled anyway and it reminded him of Scully.

“Maggie Scully, dear. Come in, make yourself at home.” He walked into the house, hands in his pockets and took in the warm chaos of the Scully household. It looked just like the outside but more clustered. Toys littered the floor and he found himself watching his step as he navigated the room. The living room had a large fireplace surrounded by bricks, the mantle decorated in family pictures and wooden statues. Maggie bustled about, picking up a stuffed duck off the couch and handing it to the baby, who immediately cooed and wrapped its arms around it.

“Sit” she insisted, pointing at the leather couch, so Mulder sat and sunk deep into the comforting cushions. “Did you want anything to drink dear?”

“No thank you” he replied, and watched as she headed into the kitchen, still taking in every element of the Scully household. It was in stark contrast to the household he grew up in. His childhood halls had been decked with wax fruit baskets and wine cabinets, shelves stacked high with glass teacups that he was not permitted to run near, the tinkling of their dainty handles alerting his mother to any misbehaving. His mind wandered to thoughts of a little red-headed Scully running through these halls.

Maggie returned sans baby and began picking up more toys that he hadn't even seen under the coffee table.

“Dana’s upstairs getting ready, I’m sure she’ll be down in a minute. So tell me Fox, what do you do?” He chuckled to himself hearing his name spoken aloud. When it came from the mouth of a Scully, the typical disdain he felt for it was absent. Perhaps it was because of the genuine warmth with which she said it, warmth he was unfamiliar with coming from even his own mother, that he didn't correct her. Instead he simply grinned back and answered.

“I work at the FBI.” She raised an eyebrow and he could tell she was holding back a comment. He hadn’t expected to make it through the day completely unscathed. He felt more like he was picking up his date for prom now.  

“I see. I assume you went to a good school then.”

“I went to Oxford. Got my Ph.D there as well.” That seemed to impress her more than it had impressed her daughter. Delighted at the change of subject, Maggie began to ramble.

“Oh England is just beautiful isn’t it. I’ve always wanted to go, but my husband never had the chance to take me before her passed, and now with Emily…”

“Emily?” Mulder was confused, forgetting momentarily about the infant in the next room.

“Oh did Dana not tell you?” Maggie looked genuinely concerned as she spoke, glancing over his shoulder at the staircase Scully would presumably be coming down. He was quick to correct.

“No no, I’m aware, I just… I never knew her name” He stared down at his shoes, feeling remarkably embarrassed that he had never asked. Maggie considered him for a moment then rose from her seat.

“Well I suppose you need a proper introduction then. Come on.” She walked back into the kitchen and Mulder followed her, feeling more like he was meeting a new boss than a baby. The disorder of the house seemed to be contained in the living room, the kitchen seeming far more clean. He noticed pencil scratches on the side of the doorway, making a mental note to check if Scully had always been so little.

Inside the kitchen was one of those toys that looked like a space shuttle control board for children, with a little girl bouncing inside, pressing buttons and spinning plastic rings to launch what he imagined were very adorable space ships. The girl upon spotting Maggie, babbled and raised both arms, bouncing up and down causing the toy to rattle and shake.

“Up, up!” she bossed, and Mulder could see the resemblance. Maggie bent and hoisted the little girl out of her play station, and walked over to Mulder.

“Emily, sweetheart, this is Fox. Can you say hi to Fox?” Mulder offered up a little wave, stooping forward to be on eye level with her. Emily decidedly did not like him, and buried her face in her grandmother’s neck. He chuckled and Maggie rolled her eyes at the little one. She turned to aim the baby’s face at Mulder, and her eyes briefly locked onto his, bright blue and quizzical. He waved again and smiled. She didn’t break the gaze, although she still clung to Maggie like a life preserver, so he took that as a victory.

“She doesn’t like strangers” came a voice from the doorway, and Mulder turned to see Scully leaning on the frame, her height almost matching up to one of the scratchy little marks. He beamed when he saw her and she stared bashfully at the ground, attempting to contain the smile on her lips. Maggie noticed and smiled herself.

“Well it's never too early to learn stranger danger” he crossed the kitchen to stand close to her while Maggie placed Emily back into her seat. “You look beautiful”

She smiled and looked back up at him. She was only in a sweater and jeans but she still took his breath away.

“Do they teach stranger danger in the FBI academy Mulder?” she quipped, and he was filled with the urge to bend down and kiss the smirk off her lips. She saw it in his eyes and glanced over at her mother in silent warning.

“You two should get going, it's a beautiful day out and Dana hasn’t been outside all week.” Scully looked embarrassed as Mulder chuckled and mouthed “All week?” at her. She swatted him away but he saw her grin.

“I’ll get her some sunshine, don’t you worry. You ready to go Scully?” Scully nodded and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, then followed Mulder back out of the house.  

He opened the door to his Ford for her and she thanked him.  They buzzed in impatient silence until Mulder had backed out of the driveway. He didn’t hit the bike on the way out.

“Your mother is nice” Scully smiled and Mulder was just so relieved the meeting had gone well.

“She can be a handful sometimes but she takes good care of us.”

He nodded, unfamiliar with what it felt like to be satisfied with a parent. He decided to try his luck.

“She’s a cute kid, Emily.”

Scully nodded, and he noticed she was staring out the window. Typically when he complimented a baby, the mother would begin to gush. One of the women in the bullpen had a kid and hasn’t shut up about it, plastering the kids face all over her cubicle, talking about how well he was eating his Cheerios and counting his toes. But Scully just stared silently. He noticed how Maggie seemed to be the only one to hold Emily. He wondered how long it took Scully after her return to pick her up. He thought about the cognitive psychology behind the mother-child connection and how its best formed in the early months after the birth.

With a thousand questions pinging around in his brain, he decided instead to turn up the radio. He turned back to the road just as she turned to look back at him, their eyes never quite connecting. He let his hand rest over the center console and he felt her pinky nudging his cautiously. Their hands did a little dance and with a flutter in his heart he gently interlaced their fingers, eyes still stuck on the road in front of him.

“So what do you have planned on this sunny Thursday afternoon?

-

It was a picnic. He had planned a picnic, basket and all and her heart was beating out of her chest with feelings for him. He had refused to tell her in the car so she was bursting with anticipation by the time they arrived in the city. He drove past all the restaurants, much to her confusion, and straight to a rolling park she had never had the chance to explore while she was living there. He popped the trunk and pulled a picnic blanket and basket you and her heart melted. She watched him carefully navigate the sandy path down to a lake, spread the blanket out with a flourish, and gestured like a magician at the ground for her to sit.

She obliged, and he followed suit shortly after.

“So I’m hesitant to ask, but please tell me you brought actual food in that basket. I’m starved”

“Scully you wound me. You think I would take you out on a lakeside picnic and fail to serve you any food?” He reached around her and brought the basket between them, coming close enough where she could smell his cologne.

“I didn’t know you cooked”

“I didn’t.” He opens the basket to reveal 4 takeout containers and a small bottle of white wine with glasses.

She was absolutely and completely charmed.  

In between bites of sweet and sour chicken she talked about her job, about how Missy is moving apartments, about everything and nothing all at once. She talks with such passion about her job, about the kids she treats. He has no doubt she has memorized each and every one of their names. She tells him how Joseph has been doing so well lately, and how she hopes he’ll be home by the end of the month. He can see the glow of pride in her cheeks when she tells him how she received a letter from one of her older patients telling her she just graduated high school. With every story and anecdote Mulder could see truly how much love Dana Scully had in her heart. He found himself desperate to hear her talk of him in the same fashion.

He studies her lips as they wrap around the final bite of rice. He hasn’t gotten the chance to kiss her again since their last meeting. That kiss was all passion, his lips fuzzy from the liquor, a kiss meant to show gratitude, to convey belief. Her receptiveness was everything he needed and more. His dreams were now grounded in the solidity of her lips on his, and when he woke from them he could still taste the honey sweet beer and salt.

He wanted to taste her again. He wanted to kiss her with spice and wine on her lips. He wanted to taste her with nothing but chap-stick and her sweet, intoxicating scent. He had never wanted anything more.

She noticed him watching her and raised an eyebrow. He leaned over and took the wine glass out of her hand, placing it safely on top of the basket. She was about to question his actions but he leaned over on all fours so his hands bordered her hips and any complaints she had were sucked back in with a gasp. He smiled at her as she stared into his eyes and hoped with every fiber that she could somehow understand everything his eyes were saying.

He closed the gap and pressed his lips into hers, almost knocking her backwards, but she snaked her arms around his neck and clung to him. This kiss was about passion, but not the desperate, I need you to believe me , kind. This was the kind of passion shared between two souls who have been intertwined for millennium, like comets in orbits destined to crash into each other. In a park neither of them had never been to, under the sun and God and whoever else was watching he made a promise to her that he would never leave.

She understood. He knew because of the way her hand caressed his back, dipping under the collar of his shirt. He knew because of the way she arched into his chest, pulling him closer yet never breaking their kiss. He knew because she whimpered in his ear when he moved on to sucking the skin around her pulse point. He knew because they threw all of the empty containers and dirtied glasses haphazardly into the basket, and she pulled him towards his own car and insisted he drive them home.