#anyways morgans been making some perhaps questionable decisions

[spitterskag]

deal with a devil

[readerstories]

I’m sorry- Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

Idk if angry was the emotion you wanted, but for some reason that is what I was feeling like writing this time. Also, I cannot keep stuff with Hotch short apparently. (AO3)

Warnings/tags: established relationship, angst, fighting, hurt/comfort, Hotch being an ass, happy ending

Wordcount: 2696

Request: I was wondering if you could do a hotch x BAU!reader where Hotch says something in the heat of an argument and the reader gets super emotional and Hotch just tries to apologize and make it up to reader. Thank you💕💕

Sometimes, injuries happen at work.

You had done a quick assessment in the field, making a hard decision when you needed to. Going in without much backup had been a risk you chose to take.

Being hit in the head with an old briefcase that has metal edges had not been a possibility you had foreseen, but it happened anyways.

You had rounded a corner in the unsub’s home, gun raised and yelling his name, and he had gotten a good knock on your forehead. You had been dazed for a few seconds, but managed to tackle him and cuff him anyway, reading him his rights as you did so.

The hard edge of the briefcase had hit your forehead, making a small gash, which was not deep, but it was bleeding quite a bit like head wounds tend to do. It’s running down your face as you get the unsub up on his feet, so you have to close your left eye and wipe at it as you lead the cuffed man outside.

Once outside you hand him over to an officer, who gives your head a glance, but doesn’t ask as you turn away from him as he starts to lead the unsub towards a car.

Rossi spots where he’s talking to Hotch and the police chief and points towards the ambulance standing close. You nod, and wipe at your face with the edge of your jacket sleeve, catching Hotch turning around to look at you too, but you don’t catch the worried look in his eyes.

Walking over to the ambulance, you’re guided to sit on the back as one of the paramedics cleans you up.

Even though it looked bad with the blood, the clean up goes quick, and they say you won’t even need stitches.

And luckily no concussion either.

A few butterfly strips get applied to your forehead and you are allowed to go with a promise that you will take it easy for at least a day or two.

You’re asked if you have anyone to stay with just in case and you nod as an answer, the adrenaline of it all wearing off as you stand up and yawn. The paramedic smiles and wishes you good night, you do the same to them.

Joining Aaron at his car, he doesn’t say anything, his mouth in a thin line as he looks at the strips now adorning your forehead. Both of you had agreed from the start to keep PDA to a minimum at work, but you wish he would at least say or do something.

Ask you if you’re fine.

Hold your hand maybe.

Comment on how you should change out of your bloodied jacket.

Something.

Something other than the stony silence that follows you into the car.

It takes a few minutes of Aaron driving towards Quantico before anything is said.

“You were reckless.”

“I made a decision on the spot and it backfired a little, yes, but I was hardly reckless.”

“If he had a gun-”

“I would have disarmed him or shot him first.”

“You couldn’t stop a briefcase, you think you could do a gun?” Getting irritated, you glare at Aaron.

“Yes.” You grit out.

“You sure?”

“Aaron, what the fuck is this?” You see him clench at the wheel, his knuckles turning whiter as he concentrates on driving for a few seconds before answering you.

“You need a debrief.”

“Yes, from Rossi, at the office, not like this.” He scoffs, glancing at you briefly before locking his gaze back on the road. You see his jaw clench, but he doesn’t answer you, so you don’t say anything either.

Neither of you speak again until you’re back at headquarters. Aaron beelines for his office, and you’re hot on his heels, not paying any attention to the rest of the team already gathered at the bullpen.

“Aaron-” You try to speak as you close the door behind you, but he interrupts you.

“You should take a week off.” You stare at him as he rummages through some papers on his desk, not even looking at you as he speaks. “One paid week off should do you good. After all this.” He gestures at you and finally looks away from the papers again.

“Hotch, if this was anyone else, you would let them come back after a day to sleep in.” Aaron sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t have to explain my reasoning to you.” His voice is angry, but simmering with tiredness just beneath the surface.

The silence in the room as you don’t even give an answer to the statement is deafening. There’s a look in your eyes that he never wished to see directed at him.

Ice cold anger. Mixed with disappointment, and something else he can’t quite place. Sadness perhaps?

You unclip your gun from your holster, placing it on his desk with your badge.

“See you in a week, Hotchner.” The use of his full last name hurts, you might as well have used bullets.

You don’t let him give you any response to your statement, opening the door and striding out of his office, not slamming the door behind you as much as you want to. Your steps down to you desk are fast, as fast as they can be without fully running.

You gather your things quickly, ignoring the rest of your team.

Morgan tries to stop you with a hand on your shoulder, but you evade him with a glare, making him back off.

All the things you need on your person, you’re out of the glass door seconds later. You slam on the elevator button, debating on just taking the stairs to run off some steam while also getting out of here.

Rossi joins you as you wait, and you hear him open his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“If you try to say something to get me to stay, I swear to god, I will put you on the ground.” Your words and glare makes Rossi’s eyebrows rise, but he keeps his mouth shut and takes a few steps away from you.

Finally the elevator doors open and you get in, pushing the button for the parking garage and the button to close the door faster in quick succession. With one last glare at the bullpen the elevator door closes in front of your face.

While you try your damnedest to set a new speed record for leaving the building, Rossi goes back to the bullpen, where the rest of the team sends him questioning glances.

“What even happened?” Morgan wonders out loud. “I’ve never seen them so angry before.”

“I don’t know.” Rossi is looking at Hotch, who is moving around in his office, partly shielded by the blinds. Everyone is looking between each other and Hotch’s office, the first one daring to go up there ends up being Rossi.

He knocks softly on the door with a knuckle, making Hotch look up from where he is standing next to his desk and reading some paperwork in his hand.

“You want to talk?” Hotch scoffs, putting the papers down on the desk.

“I’m fine.” Rossi closes the door behind him.

“But they clearly weren’t, so come on, spill. What did you do?” Hotch clenches his jaw, sparing a glance down at the bullpen, where the rest of the team tries to pretend they’re busy.

“I told them to take a paid week off, they protested, I insisted.” Hotch sighs as Rossi scoffs.

“For such a smart man you sure are dumb sometimes.” Hotch’s head snaps back by the comment, looking like he wants to answer and defend himself, but Rossi holds up a hand to stop him.

“You messed up. You must have known telling them to take a week off just for this was a bad call.”

“I didn’t.” Hotch's eyes are like steel, but there’s hurt hiding behind, if it’s at Rossi’s words or your actions he doesn’t know.

“But it was. Fuck Aaron, what are you even still doing here?” Hotch squints his eyes at Rossi, who throws his hands up into the air.

“You should be running after them and begging them to forgive you for doing the wrong thing. Preferably with their favorite flowers and candy in hand, or some sort of gesture, because this-” He gestures at Hotch and your gun and badge on his desk, “Is not good for anyone.” Hotch watches him for a few seconds.

“Rossi-”

“Just go Aaron.” Seemingly making up his mind, Hotch gathers his stuff, only stopping right next to Rossi and giving him a glance.

“I-” Rossi pats Hotch’s shoulder.

“Someone had to knock some sense into you. Go.” Hotch nods, out the door in seconds. The team watches him go, neither of them saying anything before Hotch is gone and Rossi joins them in the bullpen.

“They going to be okay?” Morgan asks.

“Let’s hope so.” Rossi answers, staring at the glass doors.

“I hate when people fight.” Garcia says quietly as Morgan pulls her into a side-hug.

----

You don’t know if you should even be driving right now, but can’t find it in yourself to care or think too much about it.

You just need to get somewhere where you can be alone and clear your head. Somewhere there’s less people and more open space.

And lucky for you, you know just the spot.

Almost on auto-pilot, you drive your truck away from work, heading out on the main road, not driving for long until you turn onto a small side road. It can barely even be called that, small and uneven as it is, but it’s no problem for you truck where you drive it with sure hands.

You end up in a clearing near the water, a small beach barely touched or seen by anyone else, except maybe the occasional hiker. You debate going down to the water, but instead you park your truck with its back towards it, flipping the tailgate down so you can sit on it.

Jumping up to sit on the tailgate, you pull out the newly bought pack of smokes and lighter from your pocket. You had quit years ago, but tonight seems like a good idea for bad habits, you think to yourself as you light one.

Taking a drag, you can already tell you will regret it later with the aftertaste you know it leaves, but you continue smoking nonetheless. 

Turning some old candy wrapper in your pocket into an improvised ashtray and putting it on the right side of you, one cigarette turns into two, soon morphing into a third.

It’s just seconds after lighting your forth cigarette that you hear another car approach. Which is odd, because you were certain few people know about this place, but you’re not too worried, your private gun resting in the back of your pants a comforting weight.

The car rounds the last bend of the small road, coming to a stop not too far from you, lights illuminating your truck and the beach beyond. Turning to look, you’re almost blinded by the lights, but they are quickly shut off as the car is turned off, and you realize you know the car.

Aaron’s car.

You snort.

The trip out here from the main road couldn’t have been comfortable for his car, or for Aaron.

Good.

You turn back around just as the driver door starts to open, and you ignore the sound of Aaron’s steps in the dirt in favor of taking another drag of your cigarette and staring into the water.

Aaron comes around your truck, leaning against your truck’s tailgate on your left, keeping his distance. He places a plastic grocery bag in the space between you. It makes a dull thud and despite you trying to ignore it, you find yourself curious.

“Peace offering.” Aaron explains as you eye the bag. You reach over and push at the top of the bag so you can peek inside. A couple of your favorite snacks, drinks, and a DVD with the logo of a movie you had talked about wanting to see. You push the bag behind you into the truck bed, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“How did you find me?” You don’t look at Aaron just yet, but you can tell he is looking at you.

“You told me about this place a few months ago and how you go here to relax sometimes and I- I just thought with how I acted-” Aaron sighs. He holds out his hand just in your field of vision, gesture clear. You give him your cigarette, watching him for the first time since he arrived as he takes a drag, letting the smoke lazily spill out from his lips with practiced ease.

“Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

“I had a phase in college.” He offers, taking another drag before giving the cigarette back to you. You take a drag yourself, letting the silence linger for a moment before you speak.

“You know you were being stupid.”

“Yes.” You’re just slightly surprised with how there is no hesitation in the one-word answer, but you’re a little content as well.

“If it had been anyone else in the team you wouldn’t have reacted that way.” Aaron sighs, putting his arms back on the tailgate, using them as leverage to hoist himself up so he’s sitting on the tailgate too, still keeping his distance.

“No one else in the team are you.” You wait for him to say more, taking a last drag of your cigarette, putting it out with the three others in the candy wrapper.

“I’m sorry.” Aaron admits, but you still don’t say anything. “I was acting and thinking like your significant other, and not your boss. I let my worry get the best of me, and I tried to find a way to shield you from any further harm in what little way I could by telling you to take a week off.” You nod, at least seeing his reasoning a bit clearer now.

“I’m not taking it.”

“You are but-” He holds up a hand before you can protest and glare at him too hard “-but so am I.” You blink, staring at him for a few seconds.

“You are?” He nods, and you lean forward to place the back of your hand on his forehead. He almost jolts at your touch, but doesn’t move away.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking if you have a fever.” Hotch scoffs, but a small smile peaks through as you let your hand fall down. He felt fine, and other than looking a bit tired and very sorry, he looks fine too.

Hotch takes your hand in his, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles and you can’t help the fond smile on your face.

“I’m sorry.” He offers up again, letting go of your hand in favor of moving closer so he can put an arm around your waist and lean his head on your shoulder as you look at the water again. You hum, turning your head ever so slightly so you can kiss the top of your head. You can’t see the little shy smile on Aaron’s face, but you can almost hear it in his almost hopeful voice as he speaks.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” You hum, moving your hand to rest on his knee.

“Mostly. But you are the only one doing chores this week.”

“That’s alright with me, as long as I get to spend time with you.” His hand on your jaw turns your head towards him, letting him give a brief kiss to your lips, and then a feather light one just below the butterfly strips on your forehead.

“You’re a fool Aaron.”

“I’m only a fool for you.”

“Cheesy.” You roll your eyes at him with a smile as you get down from the tailgate, Aaron joining you, standing close so he can give you another kiss.

“Always.” He says with a grin, making his eyes light up and you can’t help but kiss him.

[juniorgman187]

Things We Know By Heart (Spencer Reid Fluff)

Summary: Reader teaches Spencer how to slow dance in preparation for his wedding. The only problem? Reader’s in love with Spencer, and she isn’t the bride. 

A/N: S/O to Kyla who bullied me throughout all of elementary school. Ik you’ve probably changed since then, but you literally traumatized and tormented me for more than six years of my life. So I felt like including you in this story as, “Kayla,” Spencer’s fiancé. Tehe, I’m petty like that.  Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Fluff Word Count: 6.5k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

I think we’d all like to believe that somewhere out there is our person. And somehow, someway, they’ll get to where they need to go, right where they belong. 

With us. 

That’s what I’d like to believe. 

I’d like to think that no matter what happens along our journeys to each other, we’ll arrive at the same destination regardless. 

But that isn’t necessarily true, is it? 

Because maybe, my soulmate got lost along the way. They met somebody great, someone they think is their person, and they married that person. They had kids and eventually, grandkids with that person, even though, deep down - they knew it wasn’t right. They stayed with them anyway because their fear of being alone superseded their fear of being with the wrong person for life. 

And what am I to do when that happens? When my person finds a different person. 

Am I supposed to believe that the universe will be so kind as to give my soulmate the courage to leave their relationship behind and forge a new one with me? 

Am I supposed to expect that the world will supply me with another person, the person I’m supposed to marry? 

Or do I simply wait for my person to come to the conclusion that they’re meant to be with me after all and my naive entitlement to a soulmate is validated?

Is life really that magical? 

This is the story of what happens when your person loves a different person.

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

With his hand at the nape of my neck to support my head and his other hand flat against the small of my back, he dipped me backward, leaning with me as I arched my back and bent the leg closest to the crowd, pointing my foot to elongate my leg artistically. This was our ending position so I remained in it until the song ended. The two of us bowed to thank the audience and to conclude our performance. Roses fell at our feet while the sound of applause echoed in the room. I was never a fan of being the center of attention, but there was something about this overwhelming praise that was particularly blissful. It was intoxicating. 

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance like that.” I gushed to my partner; my cheeks growing pink from the heat and the head rush I got. 

He positioned his mouth right beside my ear so I could hear his words clearly over the rowdy cheering. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Princess.” said Morgan.

A gauntlet formed to clap for us both when we walked off the dance floor. Hand-in-hand, Morgan led me back to the table through the double file line of people. The team howled with excitement when they saw me and Morgan approaching.

“So this is what you two were keeping a secret from us? That you’re dance partners?” JJ had to ask. 

“Yep. All those late nights and secret rendezvous.” Morgan said, shimmying his shoulders be suggestive of a sexual innuendo, which I was not a fan of. Out of mock offense, I chucked a small towel at him with a grouchy command to “Shut up!” 

He took the towel to the face like a champ, laughing it off and dabbing his sweat away. 

“I don’t know who was sexier up there - Princess or my Hubba Hubba!” Garcia squealed pretending to claw at Derek, reeling him over towards her. 

“You looked like a natural up there, Y/N. Were you a dancer before?” Prentiss questioned while handing me a glass of water that I desperately gulped down. 

“My mom sent me to dance classes as soon as I could walk.” I jokingly explained after gathering my hair into a makeshift ponytail and lifting it off of my neck, cocking my head to the side and fanning the back of my neck to cool down. 

“Maybe you should teach Reid how to dance before the wedding. He’s got two left feet and I don’t think he wants Morgan to teach him how to waltz.” JJ quipped, making Derek throw his head back in laughter. The thought of Morgan and Reid slow dancing would truly be something - something hilarious. I laughed, too, until Reid’s voice interrupted me.

“Yeah, that’s actually a really good idea. Would you mind, Y/N? Kayla would be so happy.” 

I thought he was joking, but his humorless expression told me otherwise. 

“You want me to teach you how to dance?” 

He pursed his lips and nodded, not understanding why I was so confused. 

“Um . . . yeah. I can do that. Sure.” My tone wasn’t very convincing, but Reid’s optimism made him oblivious to my reluctance. He smiled and hugged me with one arm around my shoulder. 

“I have to call Kay and tell her the good news.” Reid dashed away from the table, pulling out his phone to dial his fiancé. 

I darted toward JJ with fury and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her into the bathroom for privacy. 

“What the hell was that? ‘Oh, Y/N, you should teach him how to dance.’ You know how I feel about Reid!” 

Rather than giving me hostility back, she broke into a smile. “Exactly! If you spend more time alone with him, maybe he’ll finally admit to himself that he shouldn’t be marrying Kayla,”

I rolled my eyes and turned my back away from her. 

“We all know Spence would be happier with you.” 

As JJ spoke, I trudged to the nearest sink, holding onto the sides for stability as the ground below me swayed. She followed me, rubbing up and down my back comfortingly. 

“You know how he is. He keeps things to himself, until eventually they’re forced to come out. If you dance with him, maybe he’ll finally tell you he loves you without actually having to say it. Do this for him . . . and for you.” JJ gave me one last pat on the back before exiting the bathroom to leave me to my devices.

Normally, teaching a friend how to slow dance in preparation for his wedding would be sweet. It’d be a selfless gesture and an act of service for him that would show how much love there was in our friendship. In this case though, it was anything but. 

For the six months that Spencer and Kayla had been engaged, the team was relentless in trying to end it. I tried to stay out of it in case all hell broke loose, but I couldn’t escape it. No - I was at the very center of it. 

Before Reid even knew Kayla existed, he was head-over-heels in love with me. He’d ask me on coffee dates, wait by my desk for me, and he would always try to sit beside me at the round table or on the jet. It was sweet, really, but it could never go anywhere. 

I was in a committed relationship with my high school sweetheart Patrick. (Maybe Spencer had a thing for unavailable girls).

I moved in with Patrick after graduating from college, and after years of working in the BAU (and years of Spencer loving me) Pat proposed. At first, being engaged brought me so much joy, but halfway into our engagement, something changed.

I was in Wisconsin, consoling a grieving widow. She was hysterical after I delivered the treacherous news of her husband’s gruesome murder. She eventually calmed down and proceeded to ask me about my engagement when she noticed my ring. I gave her the bare minimum, fabricated a couple things here and there, but then she asked me the million dollar question. 

“Are you in love?” Her eyes glimmered with hope. 

My immediate answer was a habitual “Yes, of course.” But after seeing how deeply this widow loved her late husband, I couldn’t say in good conscience that that answer was actually true. 

That night I went to the hotel and lied on the bed, praying for clarity. 

Perhaps I wasn’t actually in love with Patrick. Maybe we’d been together for so long that it just felt safe and comfortable and familiar. Maybe it was the fear of disrupting the arrangement of my life that stopped me from ending things sooner. 

The fact of the matter was that I’d only ever known a life loving him, but that didn’t mean I was in love with him. Maybe I was settling for something with Pat, because I wasn’t sure if I could have a better relationship with anyone else. With all these doubts, I needed a sign. 

A knock on the door interrupted my inner dialogue. 

When I opened it, who else was standing there, but none other than Rossi.

“We need to talk.” He ordered. 

He followed me back into the room and sat at the foot of the bed. He said he noticed something was off about me, and I admitted that there was. So that night, I took advice I probably shouldn’t have from the man with multiple failed marriages, but it was a sign - and it was good enough.

When we returned to Quantico, I asked Hotch for some personal time, which he was happy to permit. That same night I went home and broke off the engagement with Patrick. 

I felt despicably cold when I watched him tear up and ask me, “Why are you doing this?” 

There was truly no concrete moment in our relationship that incited my decision, but it was merely the realization that being with him wasn’t right, because how could I stand there watching him beg for a change of heart but still feel nothing? 

Maybe I was much less than not in love. Maybe I didn’t feel a thing for him at all. Not hate. Not empathy. Not love. Just . . . nothing. 

Completely indifferent. 

Within the week of personal time I took, I spent most of it moving into Rossi’s guest house. After I came back from work, it took all of two hours before someone brought up the absence of the ring that I used to never take off, and I’d assumed they’d already noticed it the moment I walked in - they were just too afraid to ask.

“I ended things with Patrick.” I casually stated, not even looking up from my portfolio to give it the attention it probably deserved. 

While the rest of the team’s jaws dropped on the floor, Rossi was fighting a smirk considering this wasn’t news to him and having seen everyone else’s reactions was a priceless moment for him. 

There was a brief moment of awkward silence on the jet as the team processed my information, until finally Hotch cleared his throat and started debriefing again. In the seat next to me, Spencer was very poorly hiding his enthusiasm. Hearing I broke off the engagement was like a green light to make his move. And honestly, it was. 

So I waited. 

And I waited. 

And I waited. 

Then I waited some more for him to jump at the opportunity. 

But he didn’t. 

He never did. 

Instead, he introduced Kayla into our lives, and eventually, they’d get engaged, too. 

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t developed feelings for Spencer while I expected him to act upon his palpable affection for me. And because of my newfangled feelings, I could never tell another soul that I sincerely believed Spencer got engaged just to spite me - to show me just how painful unrequited love was. 

The strangest part of it all, though, was that there was never a moment following the ending of my engagement and the birth of his own that showed me that his feelings went away. He never treated me differently or stopped talking to me. Even in the early stages of his relationship with Kayla, he continued to act like I was the only girl in his life. He was so consistent with his actions that it confused me.

Did he love me or not? And was I in love with him or not?

Evidently, the team seemed to have my answer. 

“He loves you and you love him. It’s as simple as that.” Prentiss explained curtly. 

Agreeing nods came from JJ, Morgan, and Garcia, who’d abducted me as soon as I exited the elevator that morning and snuck me into Garcia’s Bat Cave for an intervention. 

“We need to stop this wedding.” Garcia demanded. 

And since that glorious intervention, the team (minus Rossi and Hotch because Rossi seemed genuinely happy for Reid, and Hotch would definitely tell us it wasn’t our place) began trying to put a wedge in the relationship. I, however, made the smart choice not to be involved. 

If I was trying to get him to love me, why would I do something that would surely make him hate me like breaking up his engagement? Plus, the blind optimist in me believed that if I was actually meant to be with Spencer, it would happen regardless of Kayla. 

So anytime Morgan, JJ, Prentiss, and Garcia suggested something, I refused to participate. I was able to steer clear of any wedding crasher shenanigans up until JJ’s “slow-dance” suggestion. 

If Reid knew the true intentions behind these dance classes, he surely wouldn’t be pleased, but clearly - he didn’t. Because when I walked out of the restroom and back to the table, Reid still had a huge grin that took up half of his face, making his eyes look nearly shut. 

“Thank you again for doing this.” Reid beamed. 

“Of course! What are friends for?” 

Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia exchanged satirical glances at my choice of words. 

What are friends for if not to purposefully set two people up in hopes of ending one person’s betrothal?

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

Later that weekend . . 

“Come in!” I called out, buckling the ankle strap of my heels. 

The door opened partially and then all at once to reveal the one and only. I peeked my head out from behind a wall that was obstructing my view of him, immediately noticing a bouquet of lavender wrapped in twine. 

“Oh my goodness, what is this?” I asked in pure delight as he handed me the pretty purple flowers. 

“It’s a thank-you gift for agreeing to help me.” His lips formed a thin straight line, which was his version of a smile. A smile I appreciated whenever I was lucky enough to have caused it. 

“They’re lovely, thank you.” I told him, hugging him briefly before fetching a vase from the kitchen to put them in.

“Oh, good, I’ll tell Kayla you liked them. She’s the one who picked them out.”

The glass vase nearly shattered the moment he said that, but luckily, my reflex skills spared the vessel.

How big of a fool was I for thinking that he gave me flowers out of the kindness of his heart because he knew lavender was my favorite? But then again I probably needed that brutal reminder of why he was here in the first place - for Kayla.

As I put the vase on the kitchen island, I spun around, brandishing a fake smile. 

“So we should probably get started. I don’t wanna keep you here for too long.” 

“There’s no rush. Kayla won’t be home until late at night.” 

I tried not to think of the potential innuendo that lied within his statement, but Spencer wasn’t type to be disloyal, and I wasn’t going to be the woman to make him such a person.

“You look really nice, by the way.” I heard him say from behind me, catching a whiff of his cologne that was intoxicatingly sweet.

I did my best to not take the comment personally and let it get to my head, but I’d be lying if it didn’t elicit any response. I smiled to myself, which thankfully, he couldn’t see since my back was towards him as he followed me into my backyard. 

“You smell different.” He added. 

“Good different?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Is it a new perfume?”

I furrowed my brows. “No, it’s the same one I’ve been using for years.”

“Interesting,” I could feel him taking in this information, and I could hear the gears in his head turning at an even faster rate to spit out more information. “Did you know that you pick your soulmate by subconsciously reacting to pheromones that transmit their genetic compatibility? Yeah, there’s a relationship between attraction and scent, which dates back to our primal instinct. So if someone smells appealing to you, even if you don’t know it, it could relate to your attraction to them and vice versa.” 

“Ah, then maybe I should consider changing my perfume to improve my love life.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I love the way you smell.”

In the back of my mind lied the unanswered question I neglected to voice, “But do you love me?”

When we reached the backyard, I heard him gasp in awe. 

“It looks beautiful, Y/N. You did great.”  

Nestled in my backyard was a dark wooden deck, surrounded by plentiful greenery. Lining the perimeter of the shiny wooden deck were asymmetrical rocks, while above us hung strands of fairy lights that cast a sheer golden glow on the entire scene. The ambiance was not for Spencer specifically, but I was happy that he appreciated it nonetheless. 

“You ready?” 

He signaled yes by putting his thumb up and so it began.

“Alright, so slow dancing can be broken into four easy steps, but first, you gotta know how to hold your partner correctly.” 

Spencer and I took a step towards each other, and I could feel the nervous energy radiating off of him. I tried not to call attention to it, so I simply continued with my process. Outstretching my arms to form a T with my body, I guided him verbally. 

“So I’m the follower. And you’re the leader. Got it?” 

He nodded. 

“Leader puts their right hand under the follower's left armpit and cups their hand around the follower's shoulder blade.” 

He understood my instructions, and in the most awkward manner possible, he fumbled his way into the right position, albeit, not perfect. 

“Now, hold my right hand as high as my eye level without raising my shoulder.” 

Spencer was glaringly anxious, so I gave him a word of encouragement. “Hey, don’t be nervous. It’s just me, okay? And you’re doing great.”

I could see the nerves beginning to settle, translating into the conviction with which he took my hand, raising it at the perfect height. 

“Great. Just like that.” 

My praise brought out that smile in him that only ever came out on rare occasions. The kind where it’s brief, his teeth showing, a light chuckle escapes him, and he’s looking down as if he’s too shy to look at me. 

“Okay, step two is basic footwork. Leader starts with their left foot and takes a step to the left. And then your right foot is going to meet your left foot and tap. The count is one-two.” 

I watched as Spencer tried to process what I was saying. 

“Do you want me to demonstrate first? And then you follow?” 

He nodded rapidly as if saying yes wouldn’t be enough to communicate how much he needed me to lead. We broke apart so that I could turn my back towards him. I felt a cold draft blow under my dress as I spun on the ball of my feet, making my skirt flutter upwards majestically. 

I felt him watching. 

“Alright, so I’ll start and then you can catch on. It goes one-two.” 

Left foot step. Right foot tap. 

“Then three-four.” 

Left foot step. Right foot tap. 

“Then to the right this time. Five-six.” 

Right foot step. Left foot tap. 

“Seven-eight.” 

Right foot step. Left foot tap.

“And back again. One-two. Three-four. Five-six. Seven-eight.” 

My eight count continued until the click of my heels on the patio was joining by the sound of Spencer’s feet shuffling behind me. I knew if I turned around to check on him, it would only psych him out and make him more nervous, so I stayed facing forward so he wouldn’t feel that I was scrutinizing his technique. 

After a minute or so of following me, I spun back around, catching his lingering stare in the region of my hips. He tried to play it off and pretend he wasn’t, but I felt it. 

“You did really well tonight. I’m proud of you. I think that’s a good place to stop for today.” 

He thanked me with another hug, the kind where we nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck. 

God, I could feel him breathing on my shoulder. 

I tried not to not to let myself indulge in it, reasoning that this was just a way for one friend to thank another, but I couldn’t help myself when the hug lasted longer than it should’ve. I tightened my embrace around him, drawing him in closer, and shutting my eyes as if taking my sense of sight away would heighten my sense of touch and magnify this feeling I never wanted to end.

“You take care, okay?” I said, rubbing my hand up and down his back to signal we should pull away, a signal he understood.

I was the first to walk away, merely because of the worry that I might sooner cry if I had to stay under these lights with him a moment longer. 

I wasn’t sure I could do this again unless he was mine. Otherwise, I’d just be under the stars, dancing with the love of my life that I couldn’t have - feeling that feeling again, and not being able to act on it. 

Is this what happens when your person loves somebody else?

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

I know I said I couldn’t do it, but I did it anyway. 

I guess that’s what love is. Doing things you don’t want to do because your care for the other person surpasses the discomfort. True love makes you do things like that, even if they aren’t in your best interest.

When he came over the next night, we danced again. Undoubtedly, he stumbled - even came close to falling - and yet, I fell in love all over again. After that, it got harder to separate dancing from my feelings. 

The next day, we had a case. He came to my hotel room and we danced in the dim golden light of the hotel room’s chandelier. God, it was so ambient and romantic, I think I fell even harder for him - if that was even possible. 

From then on, every time we were in the same place, he leapt at the opportunity to dance with me. 

“Guys, look what I learned last night! Come, Y/N! Come on, come on.” 

He waved me over eagerly with his hand, even helping me out of my seat in the round table just to speed up the process. All too excitedly, he assumed the leader’s position, and he danced me around the entire conference room in front of our coworkers. He spun me around the table, he dipped me in the doorway, he held me in his arms by the glass board. 

Can you really blame me for falling in love? 

“Wow, Y/N! I’m impressed. You really whipped him into shape.” JJ remarked with a clap. 

I hid behind a faux smile, but Spencer was too elated to recognize the deceit. He was like that now. Maybe love made him more of a fool, more naive and blissfully unaware, whereas love made me more devoted and cognizant. 

It went on like that for weeks. Practicing whenever and wherever we could. 

He’d pull me into the hotel lobby at midnight to dance - not even batting an eye at the looming presence of the receptionist. 

He’d ask me to come to his apartment and we’d dance in his living room or in the narrow hallway, just for fun. 

When we were at Rossi’s, he’d drag me to the kitchen, with Rossi’s gentle music playing in the background, and we’d sway by the fireplace sometimes. 

We danced once in the elevator when it got stuck. I never thought he’d be so fearless to do that, but he looked like he was genuinely enjoying himself, almost like he didn’t even notice we were stuck in an elevator. 

While we waited for the jet, we’d danced on the tarmac, looking like a moving bundle of clothes, our movements stifled by our thick peacoats, layers of clothes, and scarfs. 

After a dinner during cases, when we’d split a cab back to the hotel, he’d get me to dance on the sidewalk, even convincing me not to pay attention to the onlookers on the street, the honking cars, or the confused pedestrians. I was always embarrassed to be in the spotlight, but somehow with him, it was easy. It felt like it was just the two of us, dancing under that streetlight. 

I never understood why people wanted to live in a moment forever, but for the first time that night, I did. That was a moment I wanted to freeze in time. I wish I could’ve stayed there forever. There in that moment, it really felt like it was our own little world. It was easy to believe we’d end up together, and we were the ones getting married, and we were in love. 

But again, that was in that moment. In that singular, fleeting moment. And then life moved on, whether or not I was ready for it to. 

The day of rehearsals inevitably came, and I wasn’t originally supposed to be at the wedding rehearsal since I wasn’t part of the ceremony, but Spencer asked me to be there, deliberately neglecting to tell me that the reason he wanted me to come was so that I could fill in for Kayla, which had I known that, I would’ve certainly declined. 

When I walked in, the team was all there, sitting in the pews, with their heads turning to me where I was standing at the entrance of the church. It felt like an eerie nightmare that I was living out where I was Spencer’s bride walking down the aisle, and this was our wedding. I couldn’t tell you what was so nightmarish about it - probably because none of it felt right - but I was sick to my stomach when Spencer gestured for me to meet him at the altar. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Kayla had a last minute dress alteration in Norfolk and got stuck in traffic. She won’t make it for this rehearsal, but she’ll be there in time for the dinner rehearsal.” 

“So why am I here?” 

“I wanted to practice my vows on you, if that’s okay.” 

I gulped hard, trying to swallow the lump in my throat to open up my suddenly-closing airway. 

“Um, I don’t really know if -”

“Please, Y/N. I’m just nervous that I might mess up-”

How could I say no? True love makes you do crazy things, even if they aren’t in your best interest, right?

I reluctantly agreed. 

Spencer’s hands were trembling and I could see it by the way his notecards were shaking, even from the fact that he brought notecards alone, and that he didn’t already memorize his vows. I wanted to put my hands around his and hold them to settle his unsteadiness, but I knew that wasn’t my place. I figured my words would do a better job at not crossing a boundary that was already crossed.

“Hey,” I comfortingly whispered. “It’s just me, okay?” Calling back those words from the first time we danced months ago. “You don’t need those notecards. Just speak from the heart.”

And sure enough, his heart spoke. 

“When people used to tell me stories about what love felt like and what is what, they always said they fell in love with that person. Like it was sudden and all at once, but with you - I walked into love with you. With my eyes wide open, choosing to take each and every step along the way. I never believed in fate or destiny, but after I met you, I finally believed. I believed that we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway. And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality. I’d find you and I’d choose you.”

My breath hitched as I got lost in his eyes and how they were looking right at me, completely unmindful of the way everyone around us saw how he spoke to me. 

I think he even got lost too, because what he said next, didn’t even seem to register in his mind before it came out of his mouth. 

“I love you . . . Y/N.” 

Gasps rang through the church, ricocheting off the high ceiling, and in that moment I knew, I knew he was going to kiss me. 

He lunged forward in the heat of the moment. Clearly not thinking straight, he held my face in his hands, and I swear to God, I could’ve kissed him back. 

I would’ve. 

“Spencer?” 

Every single head in the church turned toward the small voice, too distinct to misplace. 

“Kayla, wait!’ 

And there I stood, alone at the front of the altar, watching him run after her. 

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

I sat by my phone the entire afternoon, waiting for someone - anyone - to update me. No one ever ended up texting or calling, so I figured the dinner rehearsal wasn’t cancelled. At least, in that case, my dress didn’t go to waste. 

After spending an ungodly amount of time curling my hair and putting on my makeup, even achieving a smoky eye look, I finally slipped on my navy-blue, satin, floor length dress, donning nude heels and a dainty gold necklace with a single diamond pendant that laid right on my sternum. 

It was a shame that this was a moment where I should’ve felt at my prettiest, and yet, I’d never felt so ugly. 

I was riddled with the guilt of knowing I would’ve kissed Spencer if Kayla hadn’t walked in. I felt even worse that I was so consumed by his speech that I didn’t even hear her come in. 

How long had she been standing there? Long enough to watch what I knew everyone else saw? These questions never left me. Not even when I pulled into the site of the dinner rehearsal. 

Clutching the front of my dress to walk without resistance, I came to the entrance, and opened the door to reveal . . . nothing.

Staff was removing chairs and tables. 

Waiters were collecting plates and utensils. 

And Spencer was standing in the very middle of the empty room, watching it all happen silently, like he was just the shell of a man. 

“Spencer!” I called out from the entrance, in no hurry to meet him at the middle of the room. He turned on his heels, with his hands sheepishly shoved into his pockets. 

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve called to let you know it got cancelled, but um, Kayla broke my phone.”

“Well, it’s time you got a new phone anyway.” I chuckled, which thankfully earned a chuckle from him, too. 

“What happened, Spencer?” My voice was quiet, as if it was any decibel higher it would sound more like a scold than genuine concern. 

“She, um, she told me she needed some time to think. And I, I told her to come to the rehearsal dinner if she still wanted to get married and,” He mirthlessly chuckled. “Well, you already know.” His words were chosen carefully to deliberately avoid what he hadn’t yet come to terms with. 

She didn’t come. 

I wasn’t yet sure whether or not to console him or to berate him for what he almost did, but I chose the former. 

“I’m so sorry, Spence.” 

He looked up from the ground, still managing to avoid my gaze, by looking up at the ceiling, and pretty much everywhere my face wasn’t. 

“I understand if you want to leave right now. I just need to pay the owner and I’ll be out of here.” 

I shook my head instantly. “No, I’ll be right here. If you want me to be.” 

He bit his lip to stop a sob from escaping. “Yeah,” He nodded, cowering his head. “I’d like that a lot.” 

As soon as I saw his cheeks get red, I took it as a cue to approach him and hug him. He was grateful for my compassionate touch, immediately opening up his arms to hug me back. His embrace around me was needy and desperate, and it felt like he was clawing at my dress, acting out of anger that the fabric was stopping us from being that much closer. 

With his shoulder digging into the spot right underneath my chin, it was hard to utter the words, “You look really handsome, by the way.” I said, finally acknowledging his light beige suit and white button up shirt. 

“Thanks.” I heard him mumble into my shoulder. 

“Kayla doesn’t know what she’s missing.” 

To my surprise, he didn’t recoil, flinch, or so much as react to her name. Instead, he simply pulled away, wiping the moisture under his nose, and straightening out his suit. 

“We should . . . we should probably talk about what happened earlier, right?” 

I sighed and shook my head. “Not if you don’t want to. We can save that conversation for another day.”

He looked appreciative of my avoidance, but I knew he wanted to talk about it. 

“Hey, excuse me,” He stopped a staff member by clutching their arm gently. “Do you mind, actually? Leaving two seats behind.” 

The staff member complied, doing as he said, and leaving two chairs behind, setting one right across from the other. I took my seat, and Spencer took his.

“I probably shouldn’t have spoken from the heart, huh?” He joked, finally seeing the humor in his situation. 

“No, it was good that you did.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely. I think Kayla would’ve appreciated it.” All too quickly he responded with, “I wasn’t talking about Kayla.” 

I was talking about you, his somber eyes said. 

I looked away from his gaze immediately, trying to find a reprieve from the conversation that I was doing my best to avoid. 

“It was a really good speech. It sounded so natural. Like something you knew by heart.”

“Something I knew by heart?” He didn’t seem to understand what I meant. 

“Yeah, some things we just know by heart. Like the lyrics to our favorite song, or a recipe, how to dance,” We both chuckled at the reference. “Or . . . how to love.” 

“Do you think we know who to love by heart or do you think we make that choice ourselves?”

“I think it’s both. I think we can’t control the person we’re meant to love. That, by some miracle, we’re handed this person that complements us better than anyone else. But I also think it’s our choice on whether or not we pick them. Maybe we aren’t willing to stand the test of time and wait for our person, so we don’t pick them and settle for someone else. Or maybe we do pick them and we live out the rest of our lives together. I think that’s what makes love so special. It’s a person choosing you over and over again.” 

Isn’t that what we all want? To feel chosen?

“And what if we make the wrong decision? What if we’ve met who we’re supposed to love, but we chose to love another?” His eyes were searching within mine for the words that I wasn’t saying out loud. Out of fear that my eyes might expose me to Spencer, I looked away. 

“I think -”

Spencer cut me off. “Look at me.” 

My head didn’t move, but I shifted my gaze just as he wanted.

“When two people are meant to be, nothing and no one can end them. They may get lost a time or two on their journey, but true, real love will always conquer. Nothing can compete with them. Others can only attempt to fill a void. And eventually, the two will be reunited. That’s the beauty of true love; you always end up with the right person, at the right time, regardless of any other factor.” 

Quiet fell upon us two after I said my piece. My breathing slowed down and the knot in my stomach came undone. The lump in my throat disappeared. 

All my bodily barriers broke down. There were no more emotional walls up between the two of us anymore. I was completely vulnerable - nothing to hide me. Not even my eyelids could hide the windows of my soul. Spencer had already seen into them. 

He saw my soul, my secrets. 

“Dance with me.” He extended his hand in the air between us two. With no hesitation, I accepted his offer and followed his lead. He’d never danced so naturally before. Somehow, his stiffness had withered away. The thick tension that used to loom in the air above us two dissipated. Something new replaced the contents of the atmosphere. 

Love. 

Unbounded. 

Unrestrained. 

Unbridled. 

Limitless love. 

Spencer drew me in closer so my head could lay on his chest. Previously, I was looking at his face, but now the view was of our connected hands. My fingers were intertwined with his, and I didn’t even notice how his thumb was rubbing small circles on the back of my hand until I saw it with my own eyes. 

Had he always done that, but I couldn’t feel it until I saw it for myself? If so, what else had he been doing that I couldn’t feel?

“Loving you.” 

I removed my head from his shoulder after hearing him answer the question that I pondered silently, wondering if suddenly just acquired the superpower of telepathy.

“What?”

“Loving you. That’s all I know how to do by heart.” 

A wave of relief came over me when I realized he hadn’t read my mind, he was just simply adding to our conversation from before. 

“That’s not true,” I mirthlessly chuckled. “There’s lots you know how to do. You know thousands of chess permutations, you know how to geographically profile - you know how to dance now.” I countered playfully.

He shook his head. “I know how to do those things, but sometimes, none of it makes sense. I used to lose matches against Gideon, sometimes the comfort zone is inaccurate, and until today, I couldn’t dance very well,” He chortled. “But loving you. That always made sense. It never failed me or disappointed me and it’s so all-consuming that if I try to love anyone else - it just doesn’t make sense.”

Of all the words in my vocabulary, each of them were failing me. I was rendered speechless. Spencer cleared his throat and looked away for a moment, before finding the nerve to say it. 

“I choose you.” He proclaimed. 

So, I was right. 

There are some things we know by heart. 

Lyrics to our favorite song.

A recipe. 

How to dance . . . how to love.

And who to choose. 

“I choose you, too, Spencer.” 

. . . So to answer my question from before, is life really that magical? . . . 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

[sodone-withlife]

icarus fell, and blood stained the ground

i'm back!! (but not really—the new school year literally starts in an hour and it will be back to my pathological dependence on academic validation. at least i can say i've technically published another fic before summer break ends)

anyway, here's the fic in response to part 1 of sumayyah's post. i published a companion poem for this some time ago. as per usual, i gave up on proofreading so hopefully any mistakes don't detract from the story. also, i hope the formatting and jumping back and forth between italics makes sense—let me know if it doesn't, though it might be easier to read on ao3 (it should go up on there by 4pm PST because school)

warnings: murder, major character death (may potentially be classified as suicide-by-proxy, depending on your interpretation), guns, canon typical violence, slight gore at the end, mentioned substances

word count: 1.9k words

The damned man thought of everything, Jessica thought as she scowled at the damned folder that sat innocuously on the large mahogany desk.

The desk that would soon be cleared, all traces of the previous owner gone.

She lifted a shaky hand and brushed it through her hair, shuddering at its greasy and unkempt state that hinted at the state she had been in recently. Weary to the bone, she forced herself to sit back up and grab her phone, dialing the number that was written on the sticky note placed on the inside cover of the folder. It didn’t surprise her to hear an unfamiliar female voice answer the phone with a “Ms. Brooks?”

He had thought of everything, after all.

Really, the only thing she was surprised at was the sheer extent of his connections—but thinking back to her phone calls with Haley back when he was still practicing law, the talks about extravagant offers from top corporations and firms, she really wasn’t surprised. Thus, it made sense that her call to the top law firm in the state would be answered within two dial tones and by someone who already knew who she was.

And within minutes of talking with the woman who introduced herself as Ms. Stevens, Jessica became even more aware of just how prepared her brother-in-law had been before he walked to his dea—

Not an in-law anymore—her brother. He had long since earned that designation, that spot in her broken family, no matter how much self-flagellation he put himself through in regards to her sister’s murder and no matter how much abuse her father hurled at him in the years before the man who once viewed him as a son succumbed to dementia.

Hours later, despite having already reached her limit twenty minutes into the call, she finally hung up the phone with only funeral arrangements as an immediate concern. Slowly, she stood up from the chair and mechanically made her way into the tiny bathroom that had once been a familiar sight, when her nephew was still a child—

She forced her mind away from that minefield; she wasn’t willing to spend another sleepless night thinking about what had gone down in the past month, what had happened a week ago in that apartment, what her nephew was doing and thinking in the cell that only seemed to become colder and crueler the more she thought about it.

How many prisons had he visited? How many interrogation rooms, holding cells, general population cells, max security cells, death row cells? Did he ever get used to it? Could he allow himself to get used to it, to forget that these people are also human no matter the crimes they’ve committed?

A careful hand fell onto Jessica’s shoulder, and she shuddered under the warmth that seeped into her body, a warmth that had been lacking from her life for a long time now. She turned to see Morgan staring back at her, concerned.

“You didn’t pick up your phone,” he explained neutrally, flicking his eyes towards her phone—and sure enough, there were ten missed calls, each from a member of the team. She looked back up but avoided his concerned gaze only to latch onto her reflection in the mirror and internally winced at her haggard appearance.

“Did you—“ she coughed, clearing her throat, “have you figured out what happened?” Morgan’s unspoken question about her well-being went unanswered, and she continued to avoid looking at him.

She watched the man shake his head through the mirror, unsurprised and once again cursing her brother for his incessant habit of playing his cards close to his chest, especially when it came to personal issues.

How else is—was—he one of the best at poker in the bureau, often even beating Reid?

“He hasn’t talked, either,” Morgan informed her quietly, saving her the pain of asking the question herself. “Forensics is still struggling to put together a cohesive picture. To be honest, I doubt we’ll ever find out what actually happened in that apartment.” He shook his head, frustrated at the man he considered his brother.

If either of them bothered to ask, they would have found that both were truthfully unsurprised at this outcome, given what they only recently learned about the factors and circumstances that led to it. The few established facts about this case in addition to speculation based on systematically organized notes left in an even more meticulously organized folder painted a clear enough picture of the events preceding the fall.

But it wasn’t really an accidental, flailing fall.

In all truthfulness, he didn’t fight it.

Icarus let himself fall to his death in an attempt to compensate for his hubris, to suffer the consequences of his mistakes, and it was both a cowardly attempt to escape the hellish burns caused by the boiling, melting wax and a selfless attempt to teach posterity to avoid ending up like him.

Jessica remembered the warmth of Morgan’s embrace when he ignored all protocol and took it upon himself to inform her of what had transpired in the past two months, regardless of the still-ongoing investigation. It didn’t do much to soothe the cold that had threatened to swallow her whole as she listened to the details in silent horror.

He had sat her down in her apartment, the one she had taken care of her ailing father in before he finally died and the one she couldn’t bear to move out of for all of the memories that had been formed inside—with her father on his good days, with her brother, with her nephew

“A week ago, we were invited by MPD to consult on a series of killings that happened over the course of a month. We had an eye on the situation since the second murder, and there were two more victims in the span of a week before we were finally called in,” he began quietly.

He had suspicions as to what was happening by the time the team was invited in on the case at the personal request of the MPD chief. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had come across this profile before, but there were simply too many puzzle pieces with matching edges for the connections to be brushed off as a coincidence.

“Based on the rate at which bodies were popping up, we anticipated another one within two days of us being called in, but the killer had gone suspiciously silent. We went through crime scenes, forensic reports, and things weren’t adding up.”

"It’s a local case and we’ve coordinated with MPD multiple times, they know the drill. I’d like to take a personal look as well, the brass has been all up in my business about this case given its proximity to the Hill."

That’s what he said to the team regarding him suddenly taking the initiative to go to the crime scenes despite his responsibilities—it had been a while since he last went out to crime scenes, often taking care of the office politics and coordinating the investigation back at whatever precinct or office the team had taken over.

“There were odd inconsistencies, missing pieces of evidence… There was evidence to show that the killer was an amateur, but ultimately the profile we ended up building was nowhere near as detailed as we hoped it could be—but it ultimately went a long way in helping us figure out what was really happening.”

Old case files going missing from his home office, growing interest in his job, sudden mood swings happening long after the worst of puberty, increased isolation, dropping grades…

Absentee fathers of Georgetown students being stabbed and shot to death as if the killer was unsure about what to do, an innocuous Jack-in-the-Box takeout bag sitting near the last three bodies…

Numerous signs, and yet it was the outwardly irrelevant piece of trash, perhaps a sign of the killer’s gluttony—a sick joke that only he could have recognized—that led him to put all of the horrifying pieces together. It’s been over a decade, and yet the memories of that damned day remained as clear as ever, dogging his every footstep. Nightmares in which the worst happens still often visit him in his sleep, sometimes even combined with the effects of Peter Lewis’s drug concoction, effects lingering even after all these years.

“Somehow, we completely missed the fact that he fit the victimology. Maybe it was because of his efforts to distract us… If we had put it together earlier we might have been able to figure it out much earlier, and maybe everything could have turned out differently.”

Only after intensive counseling and careful editing of his case reports was he allowed to continue in the bureau after Lewis and his targeted attacks, and yet he knew he was still being watched. It was with that thought in mind that he made a decision on how to handle the situation. Either way, his life would be irrevocably changed, and there would be casualties alongside him.

All he had to do was figure out how to minimize them.

“He never came in that morning; Reid was the first to notice the lights off in the office. We were headed towards his apartment complex as soon as we saw a cleared-out office with a retirement letter being the only thing left on the desk. All of the pictures, trinkets, law books, messy stacks of paperwork—gone.”

A retirement letter for formality's sake, one copy emailed directly to the director and one printed on his desk, to simplify some things for the bureau and to ensure that Jessica and his son get his pension should the worst happen. All of his decisions, meticulously recorded and justified, except for this last one to protect the team from the consequences of his choice. All of his notes, all of the claimed evidence, carefully stored in the file box he left next to the retirement letter back in the office. Favors accumulated since law school called in, contacts throughout the local justice system ready to step in and deal with the fallout.

All of this, an attempt to compensate for the mistakes he’s made over the years and his hubris, to protect the remnants of his family and the team.

Morgan couldn’t finish telling Jessica what had happened, voice somehow caught in his throat and refusing to cooperate. He simply shook his head, and she folded in on herself, the weight of the last week too much for her to hold up. Slowly, he pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back but not doing much more to soothe her.

This is a wound that wouldn’t ever heal.

The story ends like this:

Icarus burned, and Aaron Hotchner said nothing as the hand that held the gun against his temple shook with uncertainty. Everything he wanted to say was written—one might call him a coward, but writing had always been so much easier for him—and he knew that he would be the final casualty, that the killings would stop after tonight.

Icarus fell, and Aaron Hotchner was flung sideways, the unyielding bullet from his gun fired by his own son shredding the brain that thought had of everything but the emotional and psychological effects his final decision would have on his family and friends.

Daedalus grieved over his son’s crumpled form, and Jack Hotchner would be found with his father’s dead body in his shaking arms as he stared blankly at sights unseen to the team, who had come hours too late.

Blood stained the ground, seeping into the cracks and crevices of grasping fingers, and nothing would ever be the same.

[am-imagines]

Forever//Over. - Alex Morgan Imagine.

This was requested by an anon:  Maybe some really angsts long distance relationship but with a fluffy ending.

I took a different approach with this prompt than what you’d probably expect, but I hope it’s angsty and enjoyable enough. I ran away with it and the over 6k words prove it. If it’s as angsty as it can be, I don’t know. You must want to ask @worms-and-jan​ She knows my angst-meter better than myself. But hey! It has a fluffy ending! Kinda.

I hope y’all enjoy!

***

You never believed that loving too much could hurt like this. You never longed for someone until air escaped your grasp and you weren’t able to breathe. And yet, here you are.

The darkness consumes you like a thousand questions you can’t answer. The walls of your room almost collapse over you and you need to get out of there. It doesn’t matter where as long as you’re not there: in the place that reminds you so fervently of the person you’re trying to forget.

The salty air of the beach helps you calm down; you breathe in and out but that doesn’t stop the deep ache in your chest. The music blares through your headphones; loud and yet unable to drown the cruel, mocking voice of your doubts.

The sky is dark, full of stars in the quiet autumn evening. And perhaps you’re not completely alone with the night sky watching over you even if the moon is missing. Even if she’s missing. You really want to believe it’s better this way, but it still hurts like hell.

You’ve called and texted her perhaps a thousand times since she disappeared from your life. And that’s the thing you can’t understand. How can the same person that proclaimed her love just turn her back on you like that? She was gone without a word or warning. It makes no sense no matter how much you think about it.

One day you’re enjoying life, trading kisses and “I love you”s while the world kept spinning. The faint light from the tv was the perfect halo for her beauty. The next day she’s gone. Your worry is met with silence and only a trail of media posts let you know she’s safe.

For so long you’ve believed that love shouldn’t hurt, and if it does, then it’s time to move on. That’s your plan now; put a sea between you while you try to forget.

Except you’ve never been good at that. You don’t fall in love often, but when you do then it’s the all or nothing kinda love. Sure, you’re willing and accepting of letting go when love dies, when the timing is right and when a relationship becomes full of bullshit. But here, everything is different and you’re not quite sure how to let go.

Hence why you’re at the beach; trying to figure out how you messed up, where things went wrong for Alex Morgan to stop loving you so abruptly.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t your fault at all.

That, however, would make her a fucking asshole. And that’s a tag you’re not ready to pin on her just yet. After all, you love her too much.

Still, there’s a party you must attend in less than an hour. You have a chance to be with the National Team, say your goodbye for the near future. And you gotta put the last period on a love story she can’t give you.

Next week your life starts in Europe; you have a club, a place and a dream to chase.

Sadly, there’s a missing piece in the puzzle you envisioned as your future. But her prolonged silence is a hint that you must reconstruct yourself and find another version of yourself. All in all, it’s better to move on now. Sure, the pain is there but won’t last forever.

Making the decision to leave wasn’t easy. You’re grateful for the chance the Pride gave you, but with the U.S. Soccer’s approval, you’re ready for a new horizon. There are plenty of challenges overseas that will help you discover a renewed version of yourself.

There are many things you leave behind, but ultimately, there’s nothing for you to stay.

This party is a chance to see your found family until next camp a few months away. Granted, you’re going to miss them terribly, especially Ash and Ali. They’ve practically taken you under their wing in Orlando. In camp you gravitate more towards Tobin and Lindsey as if they were all siblings.

The entire National Team is your family in one way or another. And it helps that some of them have experienced life in other countries before. They know that even with all the hardships of moving to another country; every moment playing soccer there is worth it.

This is an opportunity for growth. Now it’s your chance to discover more about you as an athlete and a human being.

It takes you another moment to collect yourself, to stop panic from overtaking you as you stare into Orlando’s beach one last time. This is the right decision, it has to be. Because right now your only plan is finding your future in Europe, and plan B is pretty much dying by Ashlyn’s hands if you don’t make it to the Harris-Krieger household in time.

The walk back home is quite enjoyable; the evening is warm and you’ve made peace with this, even if you’re not willing to put the blame on Alex. Sometimes things are just not meant to be no matter how hard you try to make them work.

What really works is your outfit as you make it to the party about an hour later. The music is already going, alcohol flowing and twenty three other women are causing havoc already. It’s twenty three because of course she would be there. After all, Alex Morgan is part of the National team.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, her presence hurts way more than her absence. It cements the truth you refused to believe; it’s not like she’s too busy to leave you aside, she just doesn’t care. It was far easier to question the darkness of your room than daring to do so when her eyes land on you.

In that moment you want to run away; turn on your heels and escape from all the pain and disappointment. Realization hits hard and deep, it makes your lungs burn all over again and you practically choke on the words you can’t throw at her face.

But this night isn’t about her. She isn’t the only person that matters in the world, not tonight. If she doesn’t care, you’ll pretend not to care either. You can do it for a night. You can do it for forever. Fake it till you make it, right?

“Damn, girl!” Ashlyn calls as she pulls you into a hug. “Looking fine.”

“Watch it, Harris. You’re a married woman now.”

“Excuse you, happily married.”

You nod at her statement because it couldn’t be truer. You’ve never seen a couple look at each other like that. You hope to have what they do one day. Even if it’s not with the person you thought for months. A mistake on your part, perhaps. Maybe one of many.

No. You’re not going to think about her anymore. She’s not going to ruin this night. There’s plenty of girls to keep you company, to laugh with and enjoy your last hours in the country. There are a million stories you haven’t heard yet. Hundreds of dog pictures to be exchanged like trading cards. You enjoy a drink, laugh and dance until you’ve almost forgotten her.

Almost.

Despite your best efforts, you can’t ignore the weight of her gaze for long. Just as you can’t ignore the way she keeps avoiding you even when you’re confined to the same place. You never considered Ash and Ali’s place to be extremely big, and yet Alex is never in the same room you are for long.

The sadness and hurt turn into anger then, and you wonder why the fuck she can’t speak her mind once and for all? She’s a coward.

Still, you’re too tired to keep chasing her, and instead stick by Lindsey and Rose. At least until Ash pulls you into the kitchen with a lame excuse of refilling drinks. That didn’t seem to be a problem thirty seconds ago, but you follow anyway.

You know Ash and Ali maybe as much as they know you. It’s only normal for her to do something like this every so often, either there’s some sort of gossip or a new cocktail you have to try. It’s no big deal.

“Okay, spill. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“What?” You parrot back, utterly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Y/n, I know you. So don’t start that bullshit with me. You’ve been holed up at your place not talking to anyone since the end of the season. And I know this because everyone has been texting me, concerned that you’re not in a good place. I don’t know what happened between you and Alex, but...”

“Nothing happened!” You finally snap. “Nothing happened.”

Repeating the words doesn’t make them true, and the look on your face is one of defeat. You know it. Ash knows it. And so does Ali when she joins you at the kitchen with a worried look. This is not how things were supposed to go, but now you can’t really backtrack.

“I’m leaving,” you blurt out suddenly.

Except that you make no move towards the door. There’s no way you can drive like this; not when your hands are shaking and your vision is blurred by tears.

“I’ll take you home,” Ali offers; a hand resting on your shoulder.

“No, I...” You hesitate under her gaze, under her touch. It’s now or never, and it’s too soon to say goodbye but you have to start somewhere. “I’m leaving the Pride. I had some offers to play overseas, and I accepted. It’s a chance to start over, you know?”

“I’m going to kill a bitch, or break her legs.”

You gotta laugh at Ash’s words as you wipe the corners of your eyes. Of course she would understand more than you’re actually saying. Ali, well, she looks at her wife frowning in confusion.

“What are you talking about? Break whose legs?”

“There’s only one person that would make her want to lea-”

“No,” you interrupt, “listen. This was my decision, my choice, and only mine.”

“Yeah, sure.”

There are only three people in the entire world you cannot fool no matter how hard you try: Ashlyn Harris, Ali Krieger and Megan Rapinoe.

You’re starting to believe is some sort of superpower from the Lesbian Gods.

For a moment you try to hold eye contact with Pinoe but in the end, the woman quirks an eyebrow and you give up. In all honesty, you never had a chance to win here.

Fuck you, Artemis.

“Okay,” you relent. “She had something to do with it but...”

“What happened?”

The look in their eyes tells you that if you don’t tell them, there won’t be mercy for Alex. And yet, if you talk, you’re not sure if it’ll make things better or worse. There’s no escape from this situation; you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Ash, Ali and Pinoe are the three women you trust the most in the world. You’ve bottled your emotions over the last weeks and it obviously isn’t helping.

You can try. You can pretend. But you still find it hard to breathe. You still feel the world crashing over you while you scramble to find some answer among the rubble. They’re offering support in the best way they can; worried more about you than anything else.

“I...”

But it’s still hard to find your voice and put everything into words. They’ve never been your forte. If you’re searching for a clean slate, then it’s best to leave this behind.

“It’s a long story.”

By the end of it, you’re unable to look at any of them, and stare at the floor instead. There’s a moment of charged silence while their anger grows. You’ve cried enough already; the tears won’t come anymore, but even then your pain is there for them to see.

“Son of a bitch!” Ash yells, banging the counter in anger.

She’s angry with herself for not seeing this earlier, for not reaching out. It isn’t her fault. No matter how good she is detecting your bullshit, you’re good keeping secrets. She can’t see right through you when you don’t let her be close enough.

You would’ve been better at hiding this if it didn’t tear you apart as much as it did. It’s far easier to pretend when your heart isn’t broken. It’s easier to conceal anger under calm, and mask emptiness with a smile.

You never loved so deeply. You never hurt so harshly. It’s just like they say: there’s a first time for everything.

“I’m really going to kill her.”

“No, no. Ali, please.”

You hold her hand, pulling her into a hug she answers by tightening her hold on you. Ash and Pinoe join the love pile not too long after although you can see the tension lingering on their shoulders. You know they’re angry, but you won’t let them act on impulse.

“I don’t want a confrontation, okay? I...it won’t solve anything. Not anymore. I came here to have a good time, not to spend the night talking about her.”

“You need another drink then,” Pinoe says breaking the group hug.

In a matter of seconds there’s a full glass in your hand. The weight pressing down your chest has eased enough for you to breathe normally, for you to smile as bright as ever.

Who needs Alex Morgan when you have this incredible group of women?

“For an epic last night?”

You raise your glass for a toast, but instead of joining your cheer, they glare daggers behind you. Looking back is unnecessary to know who is standing behind you.

“What do you mean last night?”

Thankfully, she’s not the one talking, and you turn to face Kelley instead.

“Europe is calling, baby!” You exclaim cheerfully.

Intentional or not, your voice is loud enough for not just Kelley to hear. Every other girl in the next room hears too. Suddenly, all of them try to make their way into the kitchen; asking as many questions as they can while you try to answer them all.

They’re like an excited pack of puppies, walking you to the living room where anyone left out can join too.

Even among a sea of soccer players, her gaze cuts through it all. She follows you like a distant shadow, but you make your best to ignore her.

She has no right to stop you now. She has no right to act hurt when this is the aftermath of her actions. Everything has a consequence, and if she thought you would wait forever without an explanation, she’s wrong.

“When are you leaving?”

Her words are quiet but you hear them thunderous. They zap you as if they were lightning, and your eyes snap up to meet hers. It’s hard to describe what you see there, then again, you don’t try too hard to understand.

“Next week.”

Just like that, you move onto the next question as if your mind wasn’t troubled.

You laugh with the others showing none of the struggle you’ve gone through. You don’t tell them about the sleepless nights where you wondered what to do next, which direction to follow. You don’t say a word about your phone’s unlit screen and the hundred unanswered texts.

Somehow, when your eyes meet Alex’s again, she has the decency to look ashamed. She knows. She knows and still didn’t give a damn.

“You’re staying, right?” Ali asks once the party starts winding down.

“Until you kick me out.”

The woman huffs in mock annoyance before pinching your cheeks. If that’s the price to pay for her friendship, you’ll take it with only a tiny bit of whining. After all, you have to put up some kind of resistance even if your smile betrays you.

Half an hour later everyone is ready to leave; including Pinoe. She fetches her jacket while they all wait for their Lyft, Uber or whatever service they called.

Megan looks at you and then at the only other person sitting on the other side of the living room. A silent question being asked here:

Are you going to be alright?

You nod, getting to your feet for one last hug.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whisper.

“Why’s that? Phones don’t work over there or what?”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Language,” she admonishes, earning her an eye roll. “Call me, text me and if it’s four am, I’ll respond once I actually wake up.”

“You are officially the worst. But I’ll do my best for you there.”

“Nah. You’ll do your best because that’s how you are. Take care, Y/n. Don’t make me go across the world to kick your butt. You know I will.”

“I promise nothing.”

With that, she’s gone and so are the rest of the girls with one exception. The one exception you don’t want to face. So, while Ash and Ali are getting the guest room ready, you decide to start the cleaning process.

Bypassing Alex, you make your way into the kitchen to load the dishwasher.

The sound of her footsteps is quiet, and yet too loud in the overall silence of the house. You’re between shocked and unsurprised. You wondered if staying behind had anything to do with you, but didn’t want to get your expectations too high.

She hasn’t talked to you in months, what makes this night special?

“You’re leaving.”

Right. That. That’s the big revelation of the night, but doesn’t really make a difference.

“Yes.”

With the dishwasher running, your next step is to gather all the trash scattered around the place. At least that was the plan. Alex has other ideas as she stands in front of you, effectively blocking the door. Sure, you can make your way around the kitchen isle, but you’re not feeling up to play stupid games.

“Why?” She asks.

Isn’t that the same thing you’ve asked yourself endless times? It absolutely is.

The whole thing is so ridiculous that you almost laugh. Except it’s not really funny. In a moment all the hurt turns into burning anger. It boils and swells, rises like the tide when the moon illuminates the sky.

You look at her and don’t recognize the woman you loved not so long ago.

“Why what, Alex?”

There’s a fierceness in your own eyes that is so unlike you. Sure, you’ve been angry before, who hasn’t? But never like this, never to the point of quiet rage.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You laugh then; an empty sharp sound that is far away from being happy. It’s the irony of it all, the nerve of Alexandra Morgan to sputter those words acting confused and hurt.

“I fucking tried!” You shout, and once you start everything else comes pouring out. “Or did you forget about the texts you never bothered to answer? Or the calls? I tried to reach you so many times, in so many ways, and you made it clear you didn’t want me around. And I just don’t understand...”

“Y/n-”

“No, I’m not done yet, “You cut her. ”You left me, Alex. The last words you said to me were “I love you” and then you were gone. You’re a liar, playing with my feelings when I gave you everything I could. You were the one that kissed me for the first time, the one that asked me out, for what? For the thrill of having a stupid girl you could toy with?”

“Of course not!”

“Then answer your own question. Why?”

Here you are, having a conversation you didn’t plan to have but wanted. No, it’s not really going as you envisioned. Mostly because you pictured yourself crying your heart out and begging her to come back. You deserve better than that.

“I...I’ve never felt the way I do for you.”

You raise an eyebrow, motion for her to continue cuz that’s not going to cut it. Not after weeks of going radio silent even when you let her know there was something important to talk about. Not after nights where you doubted your own worth.

“I got scared.”

You look at her in disbelief. That’s her reason; the only one, for running away without looking back. And somehow, you what, have to take it in stride? Hell, no.

“That’s bullshit.”

You’ve never been so in love either. And it’s scary; opening up and showing every flaw and vulnerability while expecting to still be enough. It’s bound to be scary, to be overwhelming at times where you can’t believe life and love truly feel like that.

That’s love for you, at least.

It fills your body, carves your bones until you feel weak at the knees. But you grow stronger until the weight of the world falls from your shoulders, until gravity doesn’t affect you anymore and you swear you can fly.

Love shapes the world, makes you find little hints and signs everywhere. The world reminds you so strongly of them that you wonder how you didn’t see it before. It makes you feel invincible, like your life has reached that perfect pinnacle of serendipity.

And that’s just the beginning.

Loving someone shouldn’t hurt. It’s supposed to be a celebration to life and the victories; big or small, found through the days. Sometimes that means a world cup. Sometimes it means buying a house. Sometimes it’s just being able to survive the hardship and exhaustion of a long day.

Love is the backbone of support, it lifts you up when you can’t stand on your own. It’s the quiet whisper in the back of your head reminding you to breathe when your head is underwater. It’s the knowledge that yes, life is not a utopia, and there are battles you gotta face on your own, but that you’re not alone nor lonely.

It’s supposed to be scary; terrifying even. But it’s also supposed to be filled with joy, and wonder. A mix of awe and euphoria that settle into calm. Because in love you can be yourself; the one version of you that the rest of the world doesn’t get to see.

And all of those emotions should make it worth it.

“Do you think I wasn’t scared too?” You finally ask. “I know there’s a lot on the line for you. I knew the terms and conditions of dating you since the beginning. I agreed to keep it a secret until you were ready. If you needed time to figure it out, to come to terms with who and what you are, I would’ve understood. Listen, even if you weren’t ready for a relationship at all, I would have understood. But not like this.”

“Please, Y/n. I’m trying to make things right.”

“Alex,” you say tiredly, rubbing your eyes in the process. “It’s too late. I’m leaving.”

“Don’t go.”

You can say the desperation in her eyes, can hear it in her voice. Still, that’s not enough.

She had a chance, more than one if you’re being honest, to make you stay.

Instead, she’s one of the reasons you’re leaving.

You deserve more than fear or reluctance. You deserve dreams that come true, to find true happiness. You deserve someone that will talk to you when things don’t go as planned; not shut you out completely. You want someone that looks at you with that happy light in their eyes instead of leaving you in the darkness of uncertainty.

“Why does it matter?” You ask with a hint of frustration. “You’re the one that left me! You walked away from us without a word! And I’m not going to be the girl you play with while deciding to pull your head out of your ass or leave it there. I deserve to be happy too. And right now that means being away from you.”

“I’m sorry.”

You feel a rush of everything; anger, sadness, frustration and perhaps a hint of relief as well. It’s hard to decide if you want to slap some sense into her or cross the distance between you just to feel her arms around your waist again.

In the end, you simply shake your head.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I wish there was a way to go back.”

“You can’t unbreak things. You can learn and do better.”

There’s nothing left to be said, not on your side. And for now, you don’t really care about what she has to say either.

You make your way upstairs to where Ash and Ali are waiting for you. It’s not hard to eavesdrop on an empty house, but they respect you enough to give you space. You’re not a kid; you know how to handle your own battles although the moral backup is always appreciated.

“You’re going to be okay?”

Ali looks deep into your eyes in concern, but her worry is met with a shy smile.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

For the first time in the last few weeks, you are able to breathe with nothing weighing on your chest. Closure is exactly what you needed. Facing her after the prolonged silence was perhaps one of the hardest things you had to do, but now the future seems a little brighter.

*****

Playing in one of the most competitive soccer leagues in the world is far from easy. Even the style seems different; play harder, faster and smarter. But you’ve done great, put your name up there among some of the best.

What some considered potential was polished into talent, although that had more to do with your discipline and hard work. Of course, the press wasn’t so kind as to enlighten that.

At the end of the season you have a championship and a new shining contract waiting for you. All it’s missing is your signature, but there are things to consider still. You miss home. You miss the crazy 23 women you call family.

Hopefully the upcoming USWNT camp will clear some of the doubts.

Maybe seeing them all again will give you the strength to extend your life in Europe. Maybe it’ll make you realize it’s time to go home.

There are many clubs interested in you which is not a surprise after everything you’ve done in a matter of months. Europe has catapulted you to another level, and it’s true there’s so much more to learn. Still, feeling homesick can be one hell of a bitch.

You could always move back to Orlando. Maybe you could move with Tobin in Portland. Tagging along Press with the Royals or go to Chicago for a change. The world is yours if you want it, and Heavens, you absolutely do.

“Why is something telling me you won’t come to stay?”

You glance at Pinoe on your screen while you finish packing. Sue and her are keeping you company as you get ready. Traveling always makes you anxious no matter if it’s just a couple of states over or halfway across the world.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Does this have to do with Morgan?”

“What!? No! I haven’t talked to her.”

“Maybe you should.”

You glare at your screen suspiciously because this is Pinoe of all people; telling you to talk to her. Megan Rapinoe; the woman that knows the ins and outs of your relationship and feelings for Alex. It doesn’t make sense unless something happened.

“Okay, fess up.”

“About what?”

The smug look on her face tells you that your mighty glare isn’t working.

Fuck you, Artemis. Again.

“Don’t worry, kid.” Sue intercedes with a gentle albeit playful smile. “You’ll get it soon enough.”

“Get what?”

They don’t answer your question and you don’t have much time to keep asking as they excuse themselves to end the call. Technically, it’s almost time for you to leave. However, their intentions are pretty clear. In the end, you groan in annoyance as they manage to dodge your question multiple times before the call disconnects. Alas, there’s nothing you can do.

It doesn’t take long until you’re on the airplane waiting to take off.

Your leg bounces nervously while you’re torn between looking out of the window or closing your eyes. It’s practically a miracle you decided to move so far, considering how much you hate flying. To be honest, the flight itself isn’t the problem.

Feeling the rumble of such a huge thing, it always makes you wonder how it can actually fly. You’ve seen documentaries and read articles but that fear comes every time you get into a plane. Besides turbulence, lift off is the worst part.

“You can hold my hand if you want.”

Your head snaps up towards the person standing next to you. Even now, after months since the last time you heard that voice. You would be able to recognize it from a million others. That doesn’t take away from the surprise of seeing her  there.

“What...” you start, trying to find your voice, “what are you doing here?”

“Taking a plane back home.”

“No, I mean-”

Her chuckle makes you realize she’s teasing. Partially, at least. She sits next to you, ready to go back to the USA. Which doesn’t really explain what she’s doing in the same country as you.

“Alex,” you try again, “why are you here?”

Your time away from her has been odd to say something.

You’ve missed her, she was your best friend even before things escalated into something else. She was the person you trusted the most before everything came tumbling down. And yet, over the last few months you’ve done your best to not think about her too much.

You limited your social media activity mostly to club related posts. Mostly accessed to catch up with some of your other friends, but being careful not to dwell on any of her posts. You scrolled past them in a hurry or got out of the app as soon as possible.

Unfollowing her would have been the smart choice, if you were someone else.

Being under the spotlight it’s great, but it also means everything you do is a clue for something. Unfollowing her would bring up more questions than you were, or still are, willing to answer. It was easier to pretend and move on.

“I got it out.”

Her words catch you by surprise and you shake your head trying to get back in the moment.

“What?”

It’s hard to make sense of any of it when she’s right there. Maybe it’s the shock of seeing her after so long. Maybe it’s hard to pay attention to her with the plane rapidly filling. It feels like you’re running out of time even when there’s nowhere else for you to be.

“You were right,” she says instead.

“Alex,” you warn, trying to get her to the point.

“I got my head out of my ass,” she finally answers with a half smile. However, her eyes remain serene, telling you she’s taking this seriously. “I was an idiot, and I’m sorry. Even then, when I discovered you were leaving, I could only think about myself. I can’t ask you to forgive me. We both know I don’t deserve it after everything I did to you. But you deserved an apology. That’s why I’m here.”

“You came all the way here for that?”

There’s more surprise in your voice than anything else. Sure, you appreciate the gesture but it seems a little overboard. Then again, you’re not sure of the result if she had called. Maybe you wouldn’t have picked the phone to begin with.

“I wanted you to know I mean it. I didn’t feel like words would be enough. Besides, I know how much you hate flying, so coming here just to go back, it’s worth it if it’s for you.”

Against all your common sense, you forgave her long ago. More for your own sake than hers, but all the anger and hurt are gone. The love you felt for her is not what it used to be, and neither is the trust. But in that moment, you’re glad she’s there.

Without saying a word, she offers you her hand.

This is something you’ve done several times, holding her hand during a flight, and you accept her offer just as the plane starts moving. If your grip is too tight, she doesn’t complain. She keeps her eyes on you; making sure you’re alright and damn those blue eyes.

“So, how did Pinoe know you were coming?”

“Did she tell you?”

“Not really,” you answer truthfully. “She said I should talk to you and that I would get it. You know her and Sue, they can be cryptic. Still, never expected to find you here.”

“Yeah, well...” She shies away from your gaze for a second but meets your eyes again. “Once you left I realized my mistake. I mean, I did before that. Guess it was easy to justify everything with fear. Then you weren’t there and the fear of losing you forever was bigger than the one of losing everything else.”

No, you’re not going to fall in love with her all over again. Not after you spent months getting over her. Even if she looks at you and you feel like she can see right into your soul.

“Alex, I can’t-”

“Hey,” she softly interrupts. “I’m not asking anything from you; I messed up. And like you said, I can’t unbreak things, I can only try to fix them.”

You can extend her an olive branch; a start. You’re not sure whether this is a good idea or not. It’s hard to tell where this is going to tell you. Still, you beg to the Lesbian Gods to guard your heart.

For now, you’re glad the 10+ hours journey back to America is not a lonely one.

*****

“Everything ready?”

You look over your shoulder to face some of your teammates.

You’ve decided to go for another year in Europe; extending your stay with the club you love while trying to win another chip and extra hardware.

“Almost.”

“I knew you wouldn’t stay,” Pinoe claims.

“But you sure wish I did.”

Her shrug confirms your suspicions because hell, you’re going to miss them too. It’s weird to be in a similar position as you were last year, and yet, everything feels different. You’re still at camp instead of sharing a wonderful evening at the Harris-Krieger household, but everyone that matters is there.

Last time it was a hundred percent your decision to leave although there were motivations besides soccer. This time your terms are different, you’re chasing a dream instead of running from a nightmare. You want to keep learning, growing and being the best you can be.

“You’ll come with me again?” You ask Alex teasingly.

“Not this time. But,” she pauses for dramatic effect. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

There’s some kind of promise there that you refuse to fully believe. It wouldn’t be the first time you get your hopes too high, or the one where you crash down in free fall with no parachute.

Camp has served you right, both of you. And maybe you stopped Ash from killing Alex when it was known you two would share a room, but things are...better.

“You can always visit.”

All eyes fall on you, trying to decide what is going on in your mind. To be honest? You’re not quite sure either. But you feel that pull towards Alex, daring you to allow her in.

You tell yourself this is a mistake. There’s absolutely nothing stopping her from doing something stupid, from leaving you hanging while you doubt yourself again. Everything could play out exactly like the last time, except something is different this time.

You’re not quite capable of explaining. You’re not gonna dive without testing the water either. So there’s another year overseas with some distance to keep your head clear. Whatever happens in that lapse, it’ll be the answer you need.

“Call me if you get homesick.”

“Except if it’s three am?” You ask with a sideways glance to Megan.

“Even if it’s three am,” Alex corrects. “Can’t promise I won’t fall asleep on you tho.”

“As if you didn’t do exactly that already.”

“Hey! At least I would pick up.”

“Fine. I’ll take it.”

There’s a small grin in your lips while you pack the last of your stuff.

You look at your friends and family one more time knowing they’ll be there when you come back. And looking at Alex you know there’s a chance home will be waiting for you.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

[eunoiaflow3r]

Slow Dance

A/N: based on the song Slow Dance by AJ Mitchell and Ava Max.

Warnings: fluff haha, there will be mistakes. fem!reader.

Requests:

Hi! Could I request Spencer Reid fluff? Spencer and the reader have hidden feelings for each other and his team manages to get him to tell the reader? Thank you :) @hahaboop​

I have a request for Spencer Reid! One where the reader is the youngest member of the BAU (maybe she could be like 22, just graduated from college) and everyone is really protective of her. So, Spencer has a crush on her but doesn’t know how to tell her because all the members in the BAU are too overprotective and the rest of the building flirts with her or something like this. @always394patronus​

Word Count: 2.3k

~~~~

If you stay for this minute, girl I'll never let you down...

The team had just gotten back to the BAU after a long case a few states away, and everyone except you and Spencer was out of the door. You were stressing out because yet again you were being paired with either Morgan or Hotch on every single case you’ve been given the past few months. At first you had hardly noticed, but with every passing case and every, “young one,” comment, you have grown more and more furious.

Spencer understood completely. Having been a twelve year old highschool graduate, he’s gotten his fair share of the “being young,” comments and teases. He could only imagine it was probably considerably worse for you since you were a woman, and women are commonly misconstrued, as the, “weaker gender.”

You were everything but weak though. Over the past few months, after you had joined the team, he and pretty much everyone noticed that you are incredibly smart, head-strong, honest, and ambitious. Perhaps this is why the team felt the need to protect you.

Sure, there have been plenty of new members, and new people and faces and scents, but you were different. In this case, different wasn’t terrible, it was just - unexpected. You were the youngest there, and with you being another woman added to the team, everyone kind of looked at you a little differently. It wasn’t that they doubted your profiling skills, oh no, you were, “damn good,” at your job as Morgan likes to say, and it wasn’t the fact that they thought you couldn’t handle yourself because of your age, but they were trying to make it so that the cases wouldn’t get to you.

Because of your age, they felt that after a while maybe the cases would get to be too much for you, and they wanted to prevent you from a world of confusion and hurt.

That is what hurt you the most though. Why couldn’t you just be treated like everyone else here?

And Spencer listened to anything and everything you had to say. He had become the closest thing to a best friend you could have, but sometimes it just didn’t feel like you were meant to be just friends.

Sometimes he’d catch himself staring at you a bit too long, or wanting to come up with anything he could to talk to you, or maybe even go as far as staring at your lips when you were talking, but he digressed, and tried to suppress anything he might have felt for you.

And you did as well.

All the time you had caught yourself wanting to just pull him into a hug that lasted forever, or hold his hand, and maybe even kiss him, but he was your coworker. Not only that, but on top of all the field limitations, those same limits seemed to be in office as well.

We ain't off the limit, I could hold you after now. No more talking, I don't know what you wanna do with that?

A few bold interns from a couple of floors down had tried to ask you out on a date, and maybe even a few more, but as soon as they had or even had the thought to, Morgan, Hotch, and sometimes even Garcia would give you a disapproving look, glare the guy down, or maybe even go as far as shut the guy down verbally for you.

Afterwards you’d always apologize to the guy, and you always felt bad for having to do it. Well, not really. Of course it made you upset that they never seemed to want you to live your life and actually find love, but the only one you wanted to go on dates with anyway was Spencer.

You knew your jobs, and the fact that you worked together could be a problem, but you couldn’t help but wonder if you could actually be something. Or maybe you misinterpreted the looks he gave you, and he actually doesn’t like you that way at all.

That night, Spencer had gotten home and went straight to sleep. Usually he’d dream of his mom, the cases, or maybe even some of the plain rides, but tonight's dreams seemed to have been filled with you. You were on his couch, in one of his cardigans, reading a book, eating some kind of fruit. He came in, sat next to you and handed you a cup of coffee after placing a quick kiss to your lips.

In the dream after that he had woken up, and you were snuggled in beside him. He had his arm wrapped around him, and your legs were tangled with his. The sun had barely risen, and the comforter was twisted in a weird way between the two of you, but when he actually woke up the next morning, he couldn’t help but noticed it felt so normal, and he wished it had been real.

He ran his fingers through his tangled curls, and scolded himself for those dreams. How was he going to look at you the same in a couple of hours when he almost-knew what it felt like to kiss you, and he almost-knew what it felt like to be so close to you?

_

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” You cringed at the nickname Rossi used towards you, but you answered him anyway.

“Nothing, just tired.”

He shook his head and laughed to himself. You gave him a ‘what?’ look.

“You’re not tired Y/N. You’re distressed.” He nods towards where Reid is sitting. “You haven’t stopped staring at him, care to talk about it?”

“Not really.” You sighed, spinning your chair around so now you were no longer even facing Reid - that way you wouldn’t be caught staring again.

“I say go for it.” You give him that ‘what?’ look again waiting for him to elaborate. “It’s obvious you two like eachother. Take it from me, don’t wait before it’s too late.”

“But the team -” You argue.

“At the end of the day, the team doesn’t matter. Just you and Spencer.”

And with that, Rossi walked away leaving you to think about what he said, and if it was even really possible for you two to be something more than friends.

It feels good, why you even wanna hold it back? We just work and I know there's no coming back.

“Awe, would you look at them!” Garcia gushed, watching you laugh at something Spencer said across the bullpen.

“Look at who?” Morgan asked clearly oblivious to the two of you.

“Spencer and Y/N.” Garcia answered pointing slightly in your direction so that Morgan could see too.

Morgan looked over and saw that you were sitting on your desk, and Spencer was standing in front of you with a cup of coffee in his hands. You were giggling like crazy, and Spencer smiled too although he wasn’t quite sure what the joke was.

“Y/N! Tell me what’s so funny! All I said was cassava!”

This only caused you to laugh even harder. There was this trick in elementary where you would ask someone a series of easy math questions very quickly, and then on the last question you’d ask them to name a vegetable. The trick was that usually the participant would say the basic vegetable, “carrots,” but no, Spencer Reid answered, “cassava.”

Once you stopped laughing, you explained it to him, and he didn’t find it as funny as you did, but nevertheless he started laughing too because your laugh seemed to be infectious. _

“I didn’t know which you liked better, so I brought both.” Spencer said, smiling behind bags of chinese food and two boxes of pizza.

“Oh my God Spencer!” you gushed, grabbing some of the bags and one of the boxes.

He closes the door behind him and puts all the food on the table.

“What are you even doing here?” You ask giving him a quick hug.

“Well, I know you’ve been a little down lately, and I just thought I’d help in any way that I could.”

You almost cried. He was so sweet to you, and you had no idea how to react. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and show him how much you appreciate him with a passionate kiss, but you knew that you probably shouldn’t.

_

Spencer invited you over for a movie marathon, and you’d be there any minute. He had made sure his apartment was flawless, and everything was perfect. Sure, you’ve been to his place before, but lately, things have begun to feel...different.

There was this one time at work where you two had gotten so close that he had just almost kissed you, but he had chickened out, and he had regretted that decision ever since.

When you got there, you both ended up staying up until three in the morning watching your favorite movies.

_

“Do you wanna go catch some lunch?” Terry from downstairs asks you.

“She likes someone else, sorry my man.” Morgan answers for you resting his arm across your shoulders.

Once the guy was gone, you turned to him with a frown.

“Someone as in who?” You ask.

“Uh uh,” he steps away. “Don’t play dumb with me Miss Lady. You know exactly who I’m talking about.” You rolled your eyes and walked over to the elevator.

Once you had entered the bullpen, you noticed Penelope and Spencer in a corner - except she looked to be giving him a pep-talk of some kind. _

“Spencer I’m telling you, you NEED to make a move.” Penelope practically whines. “I am tired of seeing you two pine after one another.”

Spencer shakes his head and sighs. “We don’t know if she even - and the team. The team practically throws the guys who even look at her out of the window.”

“You’re different, you know it’s different with you.”

Spencer wasn’t so sure. He’d hate it if he were to kindle something with you, and the team was unsupportive. _

A couple of days later, Spencer had walked by your desk and noticed a bouqet of roses in your wastebasket.

“Who were those from?” He asks half curiously, half jealousy (although he’s not willing to admit that.)

“Some guy named uh- Dylan, but I uhh, I’m interested in someone else.” You looked everywhere but Spencer’s eyes, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, you do?” he asks wearily, not quite sure where you were going with this. “Do I know him?”

“Oh yeah.” You smile. “You guys are practically like this.” You twisted your middle and pointer finger together to show the closeness.

He smiled down at you catching on. “Don’t tell me it’s Morgan, Y/N.”

“Nah. This guy likes to read. I don’t think Derek’s ever picked up a book in the last five years.”

_

It was late one night and you and Spencer were the only ones left in the office. You walked over to his desk where he was reading the newspaper, but when he noticed you his head immediately picked up. “Remember when I told you that you know the guy that I’m interested in?”

“Mhmm yeah, I think I remember.”

“He’s you. The guy is you.”

“Could have fooled -”

And you leaned in capturing his lips in yours. He tasted of coffee and bubblegum, which isn’t as bad as it might seem. He kissed you back and you forgot everything for a moment - forgot you were at the bullpen, forgot he was your coworker, and forgot the team's reaction actually might have meant something to you.

They meant nothing now when he’s pulling you down to straddle his lap and deepening the kiss. When you felt his tongue along your lips you opened your mouth a little wider so that he could kiss you just a little bit harder.

You both pulled away at the same time but stayed close, as he was running his hands along your sides.

“Me. You could have fooled me.” he finishes. You laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his lips which he returned before climbing out of his lap and steadying yourself on the ground.

You were going to walk away, until he grabbed your hand and pulled you back.

“Hey,” he practically whispered. “Go to dinner with me tomorrow night.”

_

I wanna slow dance if you’re feeling me now If we don't hold hands you'll be killing me now

Spencer had arrived at your apartment with a bouquet of wildflowers.

He had knocked, and when you opened the door, he was absolutely shocked.

“Wow, you look stunning.” He lets out.

“As do you.”

You grab the flowers from him and place it in a vase before grabbing your jacket, his hand, and heading out of the door.

The night went smoothly, and the dinner was great, and it couldn’t have been more perfect.

“Spence?” You asked, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. You were holding the hand he wasn’t using to drive.

“Hm?”

“Have you ever seen The Notebook?”

“Actually...no.”

“Okay.”

“Why?” he asks looking over at you. You couldn’t have been more beautiful in his eyes.

“You’ll see.”

When he pulled out in front of your apartment, and you were out of his car, you took his hand and led him to the middle of the street - the only source of light being the street lamp hovering above the two of you.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Slow dance with me.”

“I can’t dance.”

“That’s alright.” You stepped close to him and guided his hands so that they were resting on your backside, and you brought your arms up to wrap around his neck. From there, you led him to step with you to a nonexistent rhythm.

You two weren’t really worried about any cars, this wasn’t a busy street.

“Tell me about The Notebook.” he says, pulling your body closer to his.

“Well Noah actually laid down in the street, not danced and -”

I need a romance, one chance I just wanna know, will you slow dance?

[aperrywilliams]

Letters to me (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

———————

Summary: What happens when Reader received some love letters?

Word Count: 7436

Rating: All Audiences. I would say “Fluff” enough.

Warnings: Some curses, that’s all.

A/N: Anderson deserved better :)

——————–

If I said my life is boring working at the BAU I would be outright lying. What more exciting than chasing serial killers across the country? For real, I’ve seen many horrendous things thanks to this work, but good overcomes the bad one and at the end of the day you realize something good you are doing in this world and it gives a different taste in life.

Even though much of the time is about work, there are things even more important in this place: my friends whom are my family too. When I joined the team 5 years ago I couldn't be more grateful to the people who received me with open arms. In those years Hotch was the unit’s chief. With his always appropriate posture he was warm enough to make you feel welcome immediately. As well as JJ, García, Morgan, Rossi and the good Dr. Reid. All of them had known each other for many years, so I was the “new” one and, therefore, the team's reason for concern from then on. Despite my 27 years old they felt urge to take care of me like a little girl. It didn't bother me much, I knew it was genuine concern, but sometimes it was frustrating. I must admit it. Perhaps the only one who understood how I felt was Spencer. Sure, for many years he was the BAU's baby. Until I arrived, in fact. When we talked about it, he told me several times I was destined to be the protégé until someone new and younger arrived, he even joked about felt somewhat displaced since I came to the team.

Thanks to hours we spent working late, traveling on the jet and the hallway conversations I came to love them all as if they were my own family. I cried a lot when Hotch left the BAU, as well as when Morgan made the decision to leave as well. Of course we all understood. But feeling that nothing is forever began to provoke anxiety. It made me wonder where I really wanted to lead my life. I never doubted about  my job, of course not, but I did doubt about my personal life. I needed more things in my life and I felt like I suspended this needs because I believed the BAU was everything for me.

One day in lunch time, I told Spencer about my fears. I wasn't expecting to be very exhaustive and I wasn't expecting very elaborate advice, maybe some statistics on how people change as they get older, but just that.

“It is very common for people turned 30 to feel doubts about the decisions they make in life. There are studies that point out people who have stressful jobs delay these questions for a couple of years due to daily pressure, but it happens anyway. Even so, this type of situation is much more common in women than in men, given their state of reproductive maturity…”. This was the analysis Spencer shared with me after telling her how I felt.

"Spencer, my problem is not my reproductive maturity, if it's what you are suggesting...". I said laughing and trying to relieve the atmosphere I had caused with my questions.

"No. I didn't say that. I only said the 30-year crisis could be more acute in women given their hormonal status… ” he replied very seriously.

"So is it true I'm in the 30-year crisis?... Hell, it wasn't what I wanted to hear, but you may be right. Did this happen to you when you turned 30?" I asked to him.

"Ehhh, yeah. I think so. Back then my conflict was about the things I had accomplished at time. It is true, I had many doubts too, so I think the theory of 30s crisis is correct” he confessed.

I like talking to Spencer. Over the years we managed to establish a very close friendship. Perhaps because we are the closest in age within the team. I don't know. And even though sometimes his impulse to have data for everything despair me, his genuine concern for those around him make Spencer adorable and an impossible not to love. What I like the most is over time he also trusted me enough to speak open about himself. Sure, it doesn't something he do spontaneously, but whenever I asked him how he is or how he feel, he answers with complete sincerity. Spencer even listen to my advices and take it seriously, which I don't even do with myself, I must confess.

"And what is exactly disturbs you? What your doubts are about?" Spencer asked me. The truth I didn’t expect to development more this subject, so his question took me by surprise.

"Ehh... well, what I was saying. I don't know if I'm doing things right... or if I should make changes in my life...". Sure, but I had already said that and it was nothing specific. He knew it.

"Ok, but… what do you think you need to change (Y/N)? What do you think is missing in your life?" he asked without losing sight of my gaze. I knew the answer. But at that point I felt a little vulnerable and I didn't know if I was willing to be more detailed on the subject. And of course, it's not I didn't trust him, it's just this topic was more uncomfortable to talk about during lunch time. But… it was Spencer, my friend. Why not trust him?

"Ok. Truthfully?... Although it sounds strange, I feel I lack emotion. I mean, it's exciting to go after serial killers and all that stuff. But it’s my job. In other aspects, I feel my life is quite 'simple'…”. Spencer studied my body language closely and tried to assimilate my words. I tried to help him by digging deeper into my thoughts. “For example, my love life. It is quite simple. I've had some relationships, but I can't say I've ever fallen in love and felt reciprocated in a special way. In other hand, I know men are simple, no offence, but I’d like to find someone who is really interested in me. I don't know, having romance, something exciting, something different from the relationships I've had before…”. Spencer looked at me weirdly.

"Like… in the movies…? I didn’t think you are the type of women who like romantics fantasies..." he told me with curious eyes even after my explanation.

"No, it's not I like romantics fantasies per se... but... I don't know. It's just sometimes I don't feel wanted, do you get it? And I don't speak about sexual side. I'm talking about love, feelings, whatever that means after all…”. Spencer nodded as if he understood what I was talking about. Frankly, I don't know if he understood, but I was already feeling uncomfortable talking about this, so I didn't want to continue my explanation. I decided the topic ended there and started talking about something else for the rest of the lunch.

The weeks passed and due to the amount of cases we had, I suspended my questions and doubts for a while. We just returned from Alabama. It's was already night and I just wanted to go to my place and sleep. I was exhausted. We got to the 6th floor to collect our things. At that time there was no one left in the BAU. Just dragging my feet I managed to get to my desk site.

When I looked over my desk I saw something different: there was an envelope with my name in handwritten. I took it and opened it. Inside was a piece of paper, also handwritten, with meticulous calligraphy. That is the first thing surprised me, because I never was able to write like this. I didn't be able to do it even in school.

"Dear (Y/N). After all these years, I finally gathered the courage to send you this letter. I must first apologize myself for this boldness of mine. I do not mean to bother you but I can’t just not express how I feel about you. It’s impossible for me not to put into words what my heart is feeling at the moment. The first time I saw you, I felt like I was out of breath. Your natural beauty stunned me from the first day. Look at you walking by hallways of the FBI makes my heart pounds faster and I think every day I fall more in love with you. Yours. Anon"

My first thought was this was a joke. I gazed everywhere and only saw my colleagues with whom I had just arrived from Alabama . No one was looking at me. I felt my cheeks redden and there was nothing I could do about it. A secret admirer in the FBI?... a secret lover? I scrutinized the envelope again for any indication of the sender. Nothing. I had been working here for 5 years and something like this had never happened to me. I was speechless and didn't know what to think either. I wanted to stick with the idea it was a prank. But who would want to do me something like that? Spencer noticed my shock and asked me what was going on. I was not able to tell him what I had just seen and read. I just said "Nothing, I'm fine. Just a bad joke. Good night Spencer”. I took my belongings and left the BAU towards my apartment. That night I fell asleep thinking it must be a joke and I would have to find out who is ruthless enough to do something like this.

When I got to work the next day I immediately glanced my desk. Everything was as I left the night before. I tried to relax and even dismissed my initial idea of chasing after the person responsible for the prank of day before. I went to take my usual morning coffee and started working. It was not until after we returned from lunch when I looking over my desk and saw another envelope with my name written on it. My heart stopped and I think I stopped breathing too. Emily and JJ noticed my stupor because they immediately asked me if I was okay. I just nodded and took the envelope opening it and taking out its contents: again, a piece of paper written with perfect calligraphy.

"Dear (Y/N). I dare to send you a new letter. You should know every day passes I fall more in love with you. It's only fair I declare this because my heart would explode if I couldn't. Oddly enough, looking into your eyes I feel as I can see your soul, your beautiful soul. The one that deserves to be loved utterly, the one that deserves to be treated with all the veneration and grace in the world . If I had the courage to approach you and if you let me love you, believe me I would never could let you down. Yours. Anon"

"What the fuck ...?". It was the only thing I could say as Emily took the piece of paper in my hand and began to read it. Then she passed it to JJ to do the same. Both of them didn’t know whether to laugh or not, but when they saw my daze they chose to debrief me.

"Since when do you have a secret lover in the FBI?" J.J. asked.

"Not just any secret lover, is a lover who ‘can see her soul through her eyes’" Prentiss teased looking at J.J.

"It must be someone's prank...". I tried to reason with them.

"Why a joke? It is perfectly possible you have captivated the heart of an agent on these sides..." argued J.J.

“But in these 5 years , nothing like this has ever happened to me!” I said with stupor.

"There is always a first time..." Emily said with a shrug.

"It must be someone new..." J.J. reflected

"I don't think so, the first letter makes me think it has been here for a while...". I said as I took the first letter out of my purse and handed it to them to read.

"Years... eh?... this is new. I think someone is burning inside of love for you (Y/N)”. Emily said laughing.

For the rest of afternoon I couldn't focus on any of my tasks. All the time I was thinking about the possible men who could have written these letters. Maybe letters was not too sophisticated but to think someone from the bureau was in love with me, and for so long, did nothing but widen my heart... and my ego, by the way. I was pondering on that when Spencer peeked around my desk.

“You cannot tell me nothing is wrong with you, because you have hardly worked today (Y/N). You've been contemplating the nothingness for hours”. Again Spencer took me by surprise.

"It's just... I’m... I don't know how to say it… I’m surprised?". And without saying anything else, I handed him the two letters I received. He quickly read them and frowned.

"What really mean this about ‘looking into your eyes I feel as I can see your soul'? That is physically impossible..." he stated in a seriously tone.

"Spencer, it's a metaphor. You are a genius, I think you know what a metaphor is…”. I said with a bit of annoyance. Of course, Spencer wasn't seeing the same as I in the letters.

"Ok. Metaphor or not... it doesn't seem very sophisticated to me". Yes, he had a point. These aren't great love letters, but for me the effort could balance the lack poetry talent of my secret lover.

"Ok. Maybe he isn’t a poet after all, but I think I like it..." I said a little embarrassed to admit I was flattered. Spencer smiled.

"Maybe you really have more action in your life after all..." he told me, giving me the letters before he returned to his desk.

Two days later I got another letter. This time I saw it over the desk just arriving to the office in the morning. After grabbing my morning coffee I proceeded to read it.

"Dear (Y/N). When I saw you yesterday I felt like talking to you, but I didn't dare. I have to admit that I am too shy to approach you. I always have been, but when I fall in love is when my shyness plays against me the most. Maybe I shouldn't tell you these things, but I also want you to know me more, even if it's through these letters. In the depths of my heart I have the hope that perhaps one day we could be together, and one day I could kiss those beautiful lips. Did I say to kiss?. And what is a kiss, specifically? A pledge properly sealed, a promise seasoned to taste, a vow stamped with the immediacy of a lip, a rosy circle drawn around the verb 'to love.' A kiss is a message too intimate for the ear, infinity captured in the bee's brief visit to a flower, secular communication with an aftertaste of heaven, the pulse rising from the heart to utter its name on a lover's lip: 'Forever'. Yours. Anon".

Dammit! The bastard just quoted one of my favorite plays? Shit!. Maybe he isn’t illiterate after all. Another thing I noticed: in this letter he dared to reveal a little more about himself. Something I could not see in the previous two. Would this be more than platonic?. Throughout the day, as I walked through the corridors of the FBI, I couldn't stop looking at all the men I came across. Some of them didn't even look at me while others looked at me and some even smiled at me. I hadn't realized how many people I passed through the corridors of the FBI on a daily basis. "You work doing profiles, how can you not make a profile of your secret lover?". I told myself. Well, this was already an intellectual challenge, but I needed help. That afternoon, as we were in the jet on the way to a case in Houston, I approached Emily and J.J. showing them the third letter and asking them to help me discover who it was. They were more fascinated with the challenge than I was.

With the little evidence we had, all we could say he is an agent, who works for the FBI since at least a few years, probably suffered more than one love sorrows, and this is the first time he dared to do anything like write a love letter. And of course, he knew one of my favorite plays was Cyrano of Bergerac, or at least he suspected it. So it had to be someone I talked to more than once or knew something about my life and my past. It couldn't be someone I only crossed in the hallways. His calligraphy indicated dedication, organization and emotions contained.

"I think this profile outlines 50% of the bureau officers, except for the calligraphy and the play (Y/N) likes..." Prentiss said huffing.

"Ok. And in this 50%, how many of them have spoken with (Y/N) in these years enough to know things about her? Assuming he is not someone who takes risks…” added JJ. I just shrugged and started making a list of agents I remembered having spoken more than one word in these years and who were still on the bureau. I was surprised myself how friendly am I. The list was not short.

I kept receiving letters from my secret lover. In all of them he let a little piece of his heart escape, not only screaming his love for me, but his doubts about himself. That broke my heart. Was he so afraid to talk to me? Days later I received the last letter.

"Dear (Y/N). You may have noticed my early letters were more fearful. I was afraid you would be intimidated by my boldness. Now I feel a little more confident about you at least read my letters and motivates me to write more. I never thought I was going to confess my love to a woman in this way. And it's not I have fallen in love many times before in my life. To be honest, I think very few times indeed, and to be honest, never with someone like you. You’re a very special woman (Y/N). When you started at the BAU you immediately radiated all your energy to those around you. Always gentle, with a smile on your lips. Willing to help and do your job in the best way possible. You are so understanding, you care about the rest and this quality makes any man can fall madly in love with you, like me now. Always yours. Anon"

Wait… what?!, have I known this man for 5 years? I mean, he was here when I started working in the BAU. This fact shortened my initial list a lot. I told Emily and J.J. about my new findings.

"So... who is on this short list?" Emily asked.

"Well... according to my evaluation this leaves us: Stevens, Rogers, Martinez and Anderson". I said, going through my list. And I wasn't considering just the singles mans.

"I don't think be Stevens, he's a narcissist. He's not the type to send letters. He would just come up to you and to invite you out…”. Emily said, dismissing the first suspect.

"Rogers is a shy guy. But I think hopefully he read an entire book in his life. He is more RPGs type and that kind of nerdy stuff. The writing style doesn't reveal that kind of man…” said J.J. , rejecting the second suspect.

“Martinez is recently married. I know it doesn't mean anything, but according to they said around here, he was dating his girlfriend for four years until she said yes to the question, so it would be premature to think he is thinking in another woman…”. With this statement Emily dismissed the third suspect.

"And Anderson... well, Anderson got divorced a year ago. We never knew very well what happened. I once heard Morgan to say he married her because she was his high school girlfriend, but he was never very in love with her…”. J.J. explained.

“He is a very sweet man, without a doubt. Is shy. I always see him with books walking for the hallways, it seems he likes to read… it could be someone who can write letters…”. Emily indicated.

"Maybe love letters... yes... it is possible" added J.J. Both looked at each other as if they had discovered the Holy Grail. "It's Anderson!" they exclaimed at the same time.

"Fuck..." was the only thing I could say, also noticing and reviewing all my interactions with Anderson in the past years.

It’s true what Emily and J.J. said, Anderson is a very sweet man. Always considerate, giving you a smile. Very shy, no doubt, but sweetly shy. Of course he wasn't my type. I had never seen Anderson with different eyes. And to be honest, I had rarely seen other agents with different eyes. Of course, my job is more important. I tried to go over things I've talked to him in the past, and of course, except for some social meetings in Rossi’s house, our interactions had been quite limited. But it was a fact we saw each other regularly on the BAU. And surely he had found out things about me. It had to be him.

I didn't know much what to do with this information. Well, if it was him, what I’m going to do now? Confront the poor man? I wouldn't dare. Besides, what I could to tell him? I couldn't be in love with him, however to much romantic his letters were. My heart has already an owner even if I wanted to deny it to myself. And although many times I shouted to the four winds I was looking for the love of my life, the truth is I had already found it. The problem is this love would never be corresponded. Of course, the good Dr. Reid was just my friend and I chose this before doing a stupidity and showing other feelings towards him and ruining our friendship. I was pondering about this while we were on our way to the jet for another case out of town. The same voice Spencer pulled me from my thoughts.

"Still thinking about your secret lover?" he asked sarcastically. I didn't like his tone, especially after what I was reflecting.

"Yeah. And so what if it were?". I replied abruptly.

"Nothing. It's okay. You don't have to be mad at me” he said, noticing my defensive tone.

“You men are incredible. To be honest. How a man can be so blind, so clumsy, so shy when he shouldn't and so bold when nobody asks to. A real disaster!”. I exclaimed with my arms up.

"Hey, I didn't do anything to you...". Spencer protested. I just shook my head and kept walking towards the jet.

"Well, at least now I know who is he". I mumbled dryly before boarding the jet without waiting for any response, not even hoping Spencer had heard what I said.

*******************************************

Was it true what she said before boarding the jet? Did she know who was sending her the letters? Is the reason why she was mad at me? But how can I be so stupid?, how I didn’t think she might find out at the end? Sure, I could defend myself, saying it was a joke. But it was it? I mean, at first, when the idea appeared to me it was just because I wanted to cheer her up a bit. (Y/N) looked so confused and sad. I never liked seeing her like that. Of course, my genius neurons sometimes doesn’t work in the way I would like. I thought writing her a letter and making her think she had a secret lover could get (Y/N) out of the lethargy in which she was sinking with her doubts and anxieties.

Apparently it had worked. After first letter, it was evident her mind began to wander and that cheered her up a bit. I didn't think it was a bad thing, but of course, she thought it was some kind of prank. Of course, she didn’t think someone in the FBI could fall in love with her. Why not? How about a second letter to make it clear to her? A little more bold than first one. And surprisingly to me, it seemed it was easier for me to put words on paper for her than I had thought myself. The goal was accomplished: she no longer believed it was a joke, but I had forgotten how obtuse and obsessive (Y/N) could be at times.

When I savored the pleasure of just write about my feelings for her, I started to do it with more enthusiasm. In several letters I let myself go enough to show how truly I see her. And yes, even if I had been tortured, I would have denied it to death. I wasn't going to admit I was hopelessly in love with (Y/N). Why should I? We are friends. Very good friends. She trusts me and I trust her. Why ruin our friendship for something I knew was never going to happen?. It wasn't even worth the try. After 5 years everyone assumed, and so did I, that we were meant to be friends forever, and just that, friends.

And now, after a series of letters I wrote to her, this friendship was about to break. I’m a real idiot. But before taking my responsibility in this disaster, I needed to find out more about what (Y/N) knew, because maybe only she assumed things. No one says she actually knew who was sending her these letters.

Cautiously I sat in one of the seats of the jet and began to scrutinize how (Y/N) was speaking with Emily and J.J. , all over the trip. (Y/N) looked annoyed. Damn it! Precisely that was not my idea! Just the opposite. She almost never made eye contact with me. And the time she did, her eyes revealed more annoyance. So apparently my suspicions were accurate. At moment I saw (Y/N) get up with Prentiss and go to talk to Tara and Luke. I had to find out what was going on, so I went to sit in front of J.J. to try to dig a bit about it.

"What's it Spence?" J.J. asked me once I sat and looked at her with my hands crossed on the table in front of us.

"I wanted to ask you about (Y/N)... is something wrong with her?". I asked in the most innocent way I could. She, however, raised an eyebrow and looked at me curiously.

"Why do you say something is wrong with (Y/N)?" She asked.

"Ehh, well... when we were boarding the jet she looked annoyed and she didn't want to tell me what was happening... then ...". I said trying not to stutter.

"You are worried" she interrupted. I nodded immediately.

"Is it all because of her secret lover?". I dared to ask.

"Do you know about that?" J.J. asked me. She not quite sure what I knew or didn't know.

" Yes, well... she showed me the letters...". I lied, of course.

"Well, I think we found out who he is...". I felt like I was having a hard time swallowing and some air was missing from my lungs.

"Ahhh, yeah?... wow... that's... interesting...". She nodded. "And... who is it?". I asked with fear of the answer.

"Anderson" she said confidently.

"What?, Anderson?... no way!...". I couldn't help but say it out loud. J.J. looked at me with 'shut up, they'll listen to you' eyes. (Y/N) believed Anderson sent the letters to her. I didn't know whether to feel relieved or defeated. "And how does she know it's him?"

“We discarded all the suspects from our list and we got to him. It has to be Anderson” she concluded. I swallowed harder than before and I could see she was analyzing my reaction. I tried to stay calm so as not to create suspicions.

"And... what is she going to do about it?" I asked, trying to keep my composure.

“That is what confuses her. I guess she is pondering what to do about this. So don't bother her, Spence. The poor girl is a mess of nerves” suggested JJ. I just nodded, got up from the seat and went where I was previously.

My head started to spin. (Y/N) thinks Anderson is her secret lover, and they have hardly spoken in all these years! Was I even on her list? Despite being partially relieved, my heart broke a little more. But it’s ok, it was confirmation of I already knew: 'ours' could never be a reality. Maybe it was better she thinks it was him.

*******************************************

The case was being quite demanding to get me out of my thoughts. But I still felt upset. Not with poor Anderson, not even Spencer anymore. With me. This matter was killing more of my neurons and nerves than it should. And, what would I do? Nothing, there was nothing I could do. I would just let time pass and if he didn't get close to me, I wouldn't. That would stopping letters at some point. I decided passivity would be the best strategy and I would let everything cool down.

And so I ceased thinking about it too. It was our third day in Texas and we had managed to locate our unsub. With part of the team we went to make the arrest: Luke, Emily, Spencer and me. When we arrived at the place, we noticed something strange was happening. There was no electricity in the house where our unsub was supposed to be. We had to get in, so we made pairs to cover two entrances. Prentiss and Spencer took the front door and Luke and I the back door . We got in with our lamps and scanned the place, there were no traces of our target. I noticed there was a door leading to some kind of basement, I motioned for Luke to come down with me. I was up front and he covered my back. What didn’t expecting was when I was in the middle of the stairs a hand took my foot making me fall down. Obviously I dropped my gun and the flashlight I was holding. Luke started down and before he got to where I was, I felt a strong blow to the head. After that I don't remember anything else.

*******************************************

With Prentiss we heard (Y/N) yelled from the back of the house, as well as Luke's voice shouting at someone to stop. We both ran to a door that led to a basement, we heard Luke fighting a man under the stairs. Emily immediately went downstairs to help Luke reduce the unsub, who was already badly hit so it wasn't difficult. I looked with my flashlight where it was (Y/N). Suddenly I saw her lying on the floor, unconscious. Luke yelled at me "call for an ambulance, this motherfucker hit her in the head". I froze for a second. I ran outside to alert paramedics who came to the aid of (Y/N) who was still on the floor and was not reacting. I panicked. They took her to the ambulance. In the already lit street I could see how her head was bleeding profusely. They put her in the ambulance and without thinking I got in with them. I wasn't going to leave her alone now. I held her hand. There was no reaction yet. Arriving at the hospital, I could only come with her to the emergency room entrance. From there she disappeared along with a whole medical team monitoring her vital signs. She was alive, but no one knew the severity of her injuries.

Sitting on one of the benches in the waiting room, panic didn’t leave me. True be told, it was not the first time (Y/N) had been injured during a case. But this was the first time I felt real fear for her health condition. More knowing we were not on good terms and she was possibly mad with me. I hated that feeling. I hated the feeling of knowing after all this mess my emotions were finally coming out stronger than before and maybe I wasn't even going to have a chance to open up to her about it.

I was deep in thought when Emily arrived with the entire team. They looked at me asking if there was any news. I just shook my head. Nothing was known about her yet. We all remained silent, waiting.

After what seemed like an eternity, a doctor came to talk to us.

"Family of (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?". We all stand up and approached to him. Emily spoke first seeing his visible confusion.

"We are her coworkers. How is she?" Prentiss asked.

“The hit to the head was quite strong. Fortunately, there is no major damage, except for an ugly bruise. But with painkillers and rest, she should get better with the days”. I felt my chest release from the tension. I was really relieved. We all were, really.

"Can we see her?" J.J. asked

"Yeah right. She is wake up. Follow me if you want” doctor said to JJ, but she didn’t move and on the contrary, looked directly at me.

"Spence, you should go first". I looked at her confused. She approached me and whispered in my ear: "I think it would be good if you saw her first, so you can explain to her about the letters...". I froze. How…?. I stared at her in a stun, trying for the millionth time to pretend I didn't know what she was talking about. “Don't ask me how, but I know. It's you. Don't torment her anymore, or torture yourself more with this” she said to me and went to sit where the rest was. In silence, I followed the doctor to the room where was (Y/N).

*******************************************

I love painkillers. They give you a feeling of relief and you think everything is fine, even though you know you are hurt and eventually you’ll feel as if a truck has hit you. But I didn’t care in that moment. Now I just enjoyed not feeling pain in my body. When I woke up in the hospital, I had a hard time remembering what had happened. With an intense white light blinding my eyes, I could only feel the beep of the machines and an intense pain dissipating as medicines were injected to me. There I realized what had happened. The entrance to the basement, the fall down the stairs, the knock to the head. ‘Damn bastard’ was all I thought.

In my medicinal lethargy, I had my eyes closed. My senses were lost in a parallel dimension where I could hear things around me, but without the need to be alert. That situation suddenly changed when I felt someone took my hand. I opened my eyes and saw Spencer looking at me very closely. You could tell he was inspecting my wounds. Hell, I bet I looked horrible.

"Hey ..." said Spencer when he saw I opened my eyes and was looking at him. I couldn't say anything, I just returned a smile. The truth is I was glad to see him. Plus his concerned face made him look more adorable than usual. "How do you feel?" he asked.

“At the moment… I don't feel any pain. But I know it’s going to hurt tomorrow". I said with a grimace.

"We were worried ... I was worried ..." he said muttering but in a level I could hear.

"I’m sorry it was not my intention…". I said.

"It's okay. It's not your fault. It is good to know that… you are ok”. His words were cautious. Apparently I did give them a hard time, I could guess. I also felt bad. I was aware I had treated Spencer harshly throughout these days. I had barely spoken to him, and that was unusual for us. I know he felt it too.

"Spencer... I’m sorry, ok?". He looked at me curiously.

"Why do you say that?"

"It’s I have treated you awful these days. Even before we got on the jet. Sorry, I didn't want to be mad at you"

"I’m the one who should apologize... I’ve been insensitive to you in this whole letters issue. I haven’t behaved like you needed"

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. I don't want to talk much about it, really. But it's not your fault…"

"Yes, it is…" he said with his usual stubbornness.

"Are we really going to argue over this?... no, stop it. Look. Furthermore, the matter is resolved. I know it’s Anderson who sends me the letters. And while I find it adorable, there's nothing I could do about it. I feel sorry for him, but it's not enough to… ”

"Falling in love with him...?" Spencer interrupted me.

"I was going to say it was not enough to tell him about this... but yes, I suppose there is implicitly the fact I’ll not fall in love with him". I said laughing. But my words didn't find any resonance in Spencer. On the contrary, he just stared at the floor. That was odd.

"But did you like the letters...?”. He asked in an almost inaudible voice.

“Yes, I liked them, they were very flattering, indeed. Yes, my ego went up. Yes, I found it exciting. But that’s it. I don't know if I can say much more about it. Is something wrong with you?". I saw how his hands trembled. What was wrong with him? I had never seen him like this before, at least in front of me.

 "And... what if I told you... isn’t Anderson who sent you those letters?..." he said, again in an almost imperceptible tone.

"But I know it was him... with Emily and J.J. we realized it after analyzing...". I was not able to finish the sentence, because I could see how Spencer's glassed eyes looked at me even more cautiously. He exhaled and began to speak again.

"And what is a kiss, specifically? A pledge properly sealed, a promise seasoned to taste, a vow stamped with the immediacy of a lip, a rosy circle drawn around the verb 'to love.' A kiss is a message too intimate for the ear, infinity captured in the bee's brief visit to a flower, secular communication with an aftertaste of heaven, the pulse rising from the heart to utter its name on a lover's lip: 'Forever'…” he recited almost without blinking or breathing. I recognized those words immediately. And no, it wasn't from any of the letters I showed him at the beginning, so he couldn't have memorized it... unless... fuck!

"It was you... it was you all this time...". I wasn't asking but I needed confirmation. He said nothing, just nodded. "But ... but why? What kind of prank was that Spencer?". The bastard had mocked me all this time!

"No! It was not for that. Wasn't a joke" he hastened to reply.

"No?... come on!... You wanted me to believe I had a secret lover on the FBI! It's not fair what you did. You played with my feelings and that's not fair…”

"It’s true you have a secret lover in the FBI!" he interrupted me, raising his broken voice.

"What?... now what are you going to fabricate this time...?". I said tiredly. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Me. I'm your secret lover. I’m the one who loves you (Y/N). I love you. All the things I wrote, I wrote them thinking of you…” he said with a sigh of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from him. Sure, a weight that now fell on me.

"You what ...?". My head started to spin. Was Spencer Reid declaring his love for me in a hospital room?

"Yes, I must to recognize letters started because of the conversation we had one day where you told me you felt your life lacked emotion. I wanted to cheer you up a little, get you out of the routine. But... it finally became an excuse to me for tell you how I feel about you. Those I have felt for so long and I have never dared to say. And it's ok. I don't expect you to feel the same way about me. And if this means losing you as a friend, I'd rather never have. I can't bear to see you mad at me. I couldn't bear you to get away from me because of my stupidity… it doesn't make sense for me… I'm so sorry…” . By now I was sitting on the hospital bed, struggling if I got up to go to the bathroom or run out of there. It was a lot to process in that minute. Was I angry?. Was I excited?. Was I confused?. I think everything at once. I felt a knot in my stomach that made me nauseous. My eyes began to accumulate tears. My jaw began to hurt from clenching it too much.

"So... what is written on these letters... is it true?... is it what you feel?" I dared to ask, since I wasn't sure if I was understanding everything correctly. He nodded.

"Yes. I think the only thing I doubt so far was if I really can see your soul through your eyes… but that was the only metaphor that came to my mind the first time…” he said with a shy smile. I just laughed. He is an adorable dork. A dork I love with all my heart. If this is the chance, then... ok. I needed to take it. From the edge of the bed where I was sitting covered in my hospital gown, I reached out my hand to reach his. Spencer trembled a little when he felt my touch, but he relaxed when I managed to held his hand. I gently pulled him closer to me.

"I think we are both lousy profilers when it comes to ourselves, don't you think?". I said with a smile. Spencer snorted.

"Hey... precisely speaking you were the one who failed...". I shook my head.

"You still don't understand it? Do you? ... You also failed. Miserably. I can't believe you still don't realize I'm crazy about you. For so long that I can't even remember it”. I said as I kept stroking his hand. Spencer opened his eyes in real amazement, validating my theory of how bad we were by applying our profiler skills to each other.

"(Y/N)... so... are you...?". I nodded as I pulled him closer to me. I raised my head to find those beautiful eyes that ruined to me since the first time I saw them.

"I’m… lost, stupidly, grandiosely, incredibly… in love with you”. I said wrapping his torso with my arms. He returned my embrace pressing me against his chest.

"Though this confirms your theory, I am thrilled..." he proclaimed. We both laugh. Breaking the embrace, he stared at me and with his hands cupped my face, leaning enough to get us face-to-face. I just closed my eyes. It wasn't more a second until I felt his lips on mine. A long soft kiss. A kiss I had waited for so long. I’d have paid to stay like this forever, despite the discomfort of the hospital room. It was better than I even imagined. And although it happened as a result of our own missteps, it felt so good. As if fate really existed and was good for both of us. When we broke the kiss, we both smiled to each other like fools.

"Spencer ...?" I asked. He looked at me with the 'What?' implicit in his eyes. "Can I request you two things?" He nodded. "First one, could continue writing me letters like those occasionally?... Of course, now you must signed them properly". Spencer couldn't help but laugh.

"Ok. I think I can do that time to time. ¿And the second?". Spencer asked as he gently stroked my face with both of his hands.

"The second one: please don't let Anderson find out about this..."

———————

[sometimesitrytowritethings]

Mountain Man: Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | PART 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Swearing, Mourning, Nudity

Summary: You never thought you’d love again. Then Arthur Morgan came into town. Fate continuously has you meeting each other in odd ways, and a troubled past is something you are both familiar with. Perhaps that’s what will make this time different.

-----

The smell of soap filled the air on the porch of the boarding house, the same as it did every other Thursday. Work didn’t start until the late afternoon, so you took the extra time in the morning to do some chores around the boarding house. It wasn’t the most entertaining of times, but it netted you a good ten dollars off of your monthly rent, and you recently had been able to convince Ben to work on his reading as you washed.

This week, there was notably more to wash, with an additional border at the house. Mary seemed nice enough, if a little arrogant, and had offered to pay you an additional five dollars to wash her laundry alongside yours. Given that it looked like she hadn’t worked with her hands a day in her life, and not expecting much to wash after the woman’s short stay, you’d agreed.

However, you were surprised to note that, over the course of less than one week, Mary had managed to need five chemises, three skirts, and four blouses washed. At first, you had balked at the large pile of laundry, who goes through so much in one week? Seemingly having missed your surprised face, Mary had thanked you before heading back inside, mentioning something about coffee and a book.

Honestly, you would have been furious with her if you hadn’t taken the time to look at the clothes. The majority of them were mostly clean, the shirts slightly scented with sweat, and the skirts and chemises had a light ring of dirt on the hem. All of these clothes could have easily been worn weeks or even months longer before they even needed to be considered for washing. This left you more amused than it did irritated - if she wanted to pay you to essentially dip her clothes in soapy water while you were doing the rest of the wash anyway, you would certainly take the extra money.

You hummed quietly, lightly scrubbing the dirt from the hem of one of her skirts, as Ben practiced reading to you from an “Otis Miller” storybook that he had been slowly working his way through. He would slowly sound out each word, as you had taught him, and occasionally ask for help with larger, unfamiliar words. 

He had read through an entire 5 pages by the time Mary had come outside to join you. She held two steaming cups of coffee in her hands and her book under her arm, as she sat in the worn rocking chair. She placed one cup at her side and held the other out for you. “I’ve made it fresh, I thought you might like some,” she mentioned with a smile. “And to thank you for helping me out with my laundry.”

You smiled back and stood, wiping your wet hands on your skit. Was it still considered being helpful if you were only doing it because she paid you? You supposed it didn’t really matter. “I’m glad to help out, Mary,” you reached for the cup, holding it and enjoying the warmth on your hands, “thank you for the coffee.” There was a small stool next to where Ben sat, which you took, ruffling his hair and giving him a kiss on the top of his head as you sat next to him. 

Having seen you take a break from work, Ben looked up from his book. “Mama, can I go play?” He had been hard at work for about an hour - he deserved a break.

You nodded, and he immediately darted out towards the long grass in the yard, where a cat was sleeping lazily in the sun. Upon hearing Bens footsteps, the poor animal stood up and dashed to his left. The cat was fast, but your son was determined - he dashed after her. You laughed lightly and sipped your coffee, keeping an eye on the boy. “Have you been enjoying your stay so far?” you asked, not exactly comfortable with the silence.

Mary was also watching Ben with a small smile on her face. “As much as possible. It’s a…” she paused, evidently searching for the right word, “charming little town, and I do wish I were here under better circumstances.” The diplomatic answer. Valentine was a dirty, smelly old town and everyone who lived there knew it. The nickname “Mudtown” had stuck for a reason. 

“I’m sorry if this is too forward of me, but if you don’t mind me asking,” you started, fiddling with the warm coffee cup in your hands and turning your gaze to her. The steam from your cup was rising in the cool morning air, and the warmth seeped into your chilled fingers nicely. “What brings you to Valentine? Most of the time we only get tradesmen and livestock around here. It’s not usually the kind of place for a high-society lady like yourself.”

Mary seemed only slightly taken aback by your question. She must have been asked the same thing nearly every day since her arrival - everyone knew this was not a town for tourists. If she wanted to have a taste of the outdoors, she was much better off in Strawberry, which you had heard was recently marketing itself as a mountain resort. “Oh! Well, I suppose you’ll find out eventually, but I would appreciate it if you don’t spread the word around,” she looked off into the distance as she spoke, as if she was too embarrassed to look into your eyes.

“Of course.”

She sighed before continuing, her breath blowing the steam from her coffee away from her. “My brother, little Jamie, he’s run off and,” she paused and she chewed lightly on her bottom lip, “and joined the Chelonians. I’ve heard he’s been seen around here and was hoping to convince him to come home.”

“The Chelonians?” you had recognised the name from the papers, but had never really paid attention to the group. Supposedly they were camped nearby, in the mountains, but you didn’t know much else. They had never bothered to come into town that you know of, and most people rarely had time or interest in venturing so far away, so no one you knew had actually seen them in person.

“Oh yes, it’s some ridiculous new religion of some sort that worships turtles in the mountains, from what I understand,” she explained, waving a hand in front of her face to emphasize how indifferent she felt about the group. “I have to say, it’s all terribly confusing and I don’t see why he was so taken with it.”

“Oh, I… I’m very sorry,” you responded, more out of politeness than anything. If he ran away, why was Mary sent to get him, of all people? What about the rest of the family? Mary seemed determined, but you hadn’t actually seen her do anything to look for her brother. Was there no one better suited for the job? “Did he say anything to you before he left? About why he was joining?”

She sighed and stood from the rocking chair to pace over to the porch railing, leaving the chair rocking lightly in her wake. She leaned on the rail and gazed further into the horizon. “Oh, he blames my father for it, of course,” she explained in exasperation, again waving her hand in front of her as if to brush away the very notion. “The man can be overbearing, yes, but I know he only wants what’s best for us. I just hope Jamie will see that soon.”

“I’m... sure he will,” you honestly didn’t know what else to say in the situation. Mary looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, so was Jamie not also an adult? Was he not allowed to make his own decisions? To live his own life? If that was the case, you honestly wouldn’t blame him for running away. 

Before you could let the silence become awkward, Mary continued, “If not, well, I’ve seen some old acquaintances around town. My childhood love, before Barry, used to run with a rather rough crowd of outlaws and... degenerates, so I suppose I may be able to ask them for help if it comes to it.” Seemingly eager to change the subject, she turned to face you, leaning against the porch railing and holding her coffee in both hands.  “In the meantime, may I ask you something as well? If it’s not too personal?”

You paused before answering and glanced at Ben. He was still chasing the poor cat around the yard. “Sure, I suppose. If it’s not too personal…” You leaned against the wall, took the last sip of coffee in your cup and looked at her, awaiting her question.

Mary had also glanced back to Ben before continuing, leaning slightly in your direction. “Your husband? Ben's father, I mean. If I can ask, where is he?” she asked, quietly, in case Ben should not hear.

That was a surprising relief. Yes, you missed Andrew, and yes it still hurt to think about losing him, but you never would hide what happened or how much you had loved him. “Oh. He…he passed shortly after Ben was born. It was a bad flu that took a turn for the worse all of a sudden. We got some medicine, thought he was getting better and then… and then he was gone. Overnight,” you revealed, unable to look in her eyes as you spoke. The pity that always overcame people when you spoke about Andrew was sometimes too much to bear. You swallowed and took a deep breath, burying the lump that inevitably formed in your throat each time you had to retell the story.

Mary quickly moved from the railing and sat back in her chair, reaching for your hand. “Oh my, I am so sorry! That must have been awful,” she replied. You allowed her to grasp your free hand, still refusing to look into her eyes. 

You had heard the same rehearsed response hundreds of times - from friends, family, neighbors. Everyone had been curious at first, after his passing. People you had barely known came by, more out of curiosity than care, and had quickly offered you their well-wishes before digging for the gossip. They almost always left feeling disappointed and guilty. This type of death, suddenly from a common illness, was not uncommon in this area, and left very little to be gossiped about.

You cleared your throat and turned your focus toward Ben, wanting something to distract you from the conversation that you had had so many times before. “It was. It still is, actually, but... I think you get used to carrying it with you after a while,” you explained, a bittersweet smile gracing your features. Outside in the yard, Ben had finally caught the cat and had wrestled it into his lap. Sensing the futility of trying to escape, it had given in and was now purring as he stroked its fur and whispered to it. “But… he gave me almost five amazing years, and he gave me Ben, and I… I honestly couldn’t ask for more.”

If you had looked, you would have seen Mary sporting the same bittersweet, longing smile that you wore. “Ben is a wonderful boy, I’m sure your husband would be proud,” she responded, her voice quieter and sadder than most peoples’ usually are at this point in the conversation.

“Thank you, I think so too.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, both of your coffee cups emptied, and the bubbles from the washbasin having slowly receded into the grimy water. The birds chirped in the crisp spring air and a few clouds drifted by overhead. A light breeze came in from the West, making your skirts sway lightly as you sat on the porch. It was nice, peaceful.

After a few minutes of contented silence, Mary spoke, “My husband also passed away a few years ago. Pneumonia,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even before that I lost my first love, but in a very different way. And now I may have gone and lost Jamie too. It’s… it’s never easy, and I wish no one had to suffer like that.”

“No one deserves to,” you agreed solemnly, surprised by your companion’s revelation. It was strange to have something in common with Mary Linton, but you wouldn’t complain. It was nice to have someone who understood.

Once again, silence overtook the two of you, as you sat on the porch and lost yourselves in memories. The peaceful morning bled slowly into the early afternoon, the birdsongs fading away, the sun shining high in the sky. Ben had long since lost track of the cat and was laying on his back in the grass, making pictures out of clouds. After a while, Mary opened up her book and began to read silently, rocking back and forth in the chair, and you returned to the laundry. 

Only a few hours later, you stood in clean clothes in the back of Saint’s Hotel, getting a necessary breath of fresh air and listening closely for any new customers. In the last hour, you had already cleaned the upstairs rooms, readying any empty ones for new patrons. Unfortunately, this task also included cleaning the room of Mr. Presley in 2A, which the other women refused to touch unless specifically told to do so. After a thorough scrubbing and airing out, you had managed to get most of the stink from the room for the time being, but you dreaded the day he left. Room 2A may never again be suited for a new patron once the poor man moves out.

You stood, taking in deep breaths of the fresh country air, until you heard the front door of the hotel open and close. A few words were exchanged between your boss and a new patron, before your name was called. “Please fill a hot bath! Our customer will be in his room until it’s ready.”

With a sigh, you heaved yourself off the stack of logs you had been leaning against and went to fetch a pail of water from the well. The water was ice cold from the mountain runoff, and would surely take some time to heat, so you went ahead and started the coals in the bath room as soon as you were back inside.

After a half an hour of trudging back and forth with pails of water - one of your least favorite parts of the job - you called to your boss to tell him the bath was ready. A pair of freshly laundered towels and a bar of soap on a chair in the room finished the job, and you headed outside to take a quick break. 

As was custom, you were to listen for the patron to enter the bath room, wait about 5 minutes for them to undress, and then knock on the door and offer your services. 

Valentine, being a livestock and trade town, rarely had families or women passing through for baths, so rest assured you were usually invited by the lonely men in without hesitation. By and large, the men were respectful, if a little flirtatious, and never tried anything uncouth. Of course, occasionally men would come in drunk, or were just plain bastards sober, and that would lead you to deny your devices and call for your boss to toss them out. Thankfully, your boss never batted an eye when you brought him in to sort things out - possibly out of respect for his long-standing employees, but more likely because there was no other hotel in town and he already had their money. Regardless, you were grateful that he looked after you, even if his motivations may have been somewhat questionable.

You heard the bath room door squeak as it shut and began your countdown, digging out any dirt from under your nails just in case you were needed. After about five minutes had passed, you squared your shoulders and knocked lightly on the door. “Need any help in there?”

Immediately, the response came, and the voice was unexpectedly familiar. “Shoa, why not?”

You tried your best to hide the surprised smile on your face, and pushed the door slowly open. The room was dimmed, curtains closed and lit by only a few candles, and smelled strongly of soap and lavender. Even through the dim light and the fog from the hot bathwater, you recognized the handsome face of the man who sat, naked, in the tub before you. “Well hello again, Mountain Man,” you said with a smirk, rolling up your sleeves.

At first, he seemed shocked, but quickly let out one of those loud barks of a laugh as he had done at your previous meetings. “Ha! I just can’t seem to shake you, can I?”

With a friendly smile, you moved to sit on the stool next to the tub. “Seems so,” you responded, reaching into the soapy water to wet your hands. A slight nervous lump formed in your throat as you looked him over. Each time you saw him, he’d somehow become more and more handsome. Granted, the first time, you were exhausted and were in a dimly lit saloon, the second time he was covered in mud, and now… now he was stark naked and dripping wet in a bathtub, directly in front of you. 

Your perception may have been slightly biased. 

Arthur cleared his throat, making you jump. Had you been staring? “Didn’t know you worked here,” he teased, looking you directly in the eye. He really had to stop doing that. “May have to stop by more often.” He tore his eyes away from yours and then drew them obviously up and down your body as he spoke, stopping momentarily on your cleavage, which was peeking out through the top of your blouse.

A blush crept to your face, and you were immediately thankful that the room was not well-lit. He could stop by every day for free if he kept looking at you like that. Of course, you couldn’t say that out loud, your boss would kill you. Instead, you chuckled and said, “Please do, I can use the extra cash.”

Not missing a beat, Arthur responded with a smirk, “Thought you was expensive?”

Cute. You let out a small chuckle and reached for the bar of soap at the edge of the tub. “Too expensive, I suppose. Or maybe I’m just too choosy,” you managed with a wink, before turning him away from you so you could wash the top of his head. Finally, those eyes weren’t on you and you could actually think again.

He groaned lightly as you massaged soap into his hair. “So that’s why you've been runnin’ off on me?”

That earned him an earnest laugh. “Running off? Oh, please! You’re easily one of the better men that’s come through this town in a long time,” you told him, lightly smacking the top of his head before moving down to his shoulders. His muscular, broad, tanned, perfect shoulders. “Especially that Tommy…” you continued, having heard about his fight with the man after you had left the bar the other night.

“I guess you heard about that?” he chucked awkwardly, tilting his head back slightly to look up at you. 

Another laugh. He was obviously not from a small town, otherwise he would know exactly how fast gossip can travel. Not to mention that Tommy was completely black and blue, and ranting about some drunken bastard the next time you had seen him in town. “‘Course I heard! Maybe 100 people live in this town and half of them were in the Saloon the other night,” you chided, still massaging his shoulders. “You can’t keep a secret for long around here, Mountain Man.”

He laughed again, that barking laugh that started in his belly and made him throw his head back with a smile. You liked it.  “Obviously,” he grinned up at you for a second before turning away. “Though, if I’m one of the best ‘round here, I’d hate to see the other bastards that pass through.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused. Was that a joke? Sure, he seemed a bit rough around the edges, but no more than the other men who usually passed through here. And you wouldn’t even begin to start on how much more attractive he was than the rest of them.

Regardless, you decided to try your best to change the subject, it seems to have been a bit of a sore spot for some reason. “It’s not all that many, to be honest,” you told him, moving to wash his left arm. The muscles lightly twitched under your touch, and you couldn’t help relishing the feel of his skin under your fingers. “Occasionally we get some groups of men from out in New Austin or near Strawberry looking for work, I guess that’s where you’re coming from?”

He cleared his throat. “Shoa,” he confirmed, still looking away from you. “We was workin’ at a factory ‘n it was shut down. Lookin’ for something new now. Didn’t wanna come this far east, but there ain’t many options anymore.”

You nodded in understanding. Plenty of factories up north had recently shut down, or replaced their workers with newfangled machines. “I hear that Cornwall Tar is hiring,” you mentioned, only half joking. Cornwall was a notoriously awful boss, who underpaid and overworked his employees as much as possible, but a job was a job. “If you’re willing to work for below average and ungodly hours.”

Another loud, barking laugh. You were growing rather fond of it. “Low pay and high hours I can handle,” he responded, finally turning his head to look at you again, “just not for Cornwall.”

“Got a history?” you joked, not at all expecting a serious answer. Everyone knew about Cornwall’s awful business. No one actually wanted to work for him, even without a history.

“Somethin’ like that,” came Arthur’s mumbled response, surprising you. So he actually did know Cornwall? Maybe the man had owned the factory Arthur used to work at? “In the meantime we’re gettin by with the occasional bounty and whatever other labor we can find.”

“We? You and your two friends from the saloon, right?” you asked, dipping your hands in the water to gather more suds. Just a few inches closer and you would be able to feel his chest. Somehow, you managed to resist the urge, and proceeded to wash his calf, which honestly may have been just as nice.

“Yeah, there are a few more of us around too,” he explained, shifting position in the tub and causing the water to splash about slightly. He leaned his head against the back rim and groaned as you massaged his aching muscles. “They’re my… co-workers.Though really they’re almost family at this point.”

“You didn’t part ways when the factory shut down?” It was an innocent enough question. You’ve had groups of laid-off workers come through before, though usually by the time they had hit Valentine the group was at about a quarter its original size. People found other jobs along the way. People got sick. People just left. That’s how it went.

“Nah, we’ve been workin together too long to give up on each other now. Loyalty’s always been important to us. Course, we lost a few along the way, but that’s the way it is I s’pose,” he continued. It was interesting to say the least. You had seen about twenty or so new faces in the past week, all coming from the direction of Emerald Ranch. If that were his group, that would be a surprising amount of people who’ve stayed together. 

Suddenly, something Mary had mentioned that morning came back to you: she had seen some acquaintances of her ex-love around town. It couldn’t possibly be the same group of people, that would mean that Arthur rode with a bad crowd, as she had described. You glanced him up and down again. He had his head leaned back, eyes closed, and hair dripping on the wooden floor below. At that moment he looked serene, peaceful. Definitely not the kind of man who ran with a gang of outlaws and degenerates, as she had described.

After a few more moments of silence, Arthur opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, contemplative. “‘n what keeps a woman like you in Valentine? Seems like somewhere else might have more to offer,” he finally asked.

You chuckled, having been asking the same question yourself since Andrew had died. “Oh most definitely,” was your response. “But this is where my husband grew up and where my son was born. I’ve been here long enough that Ben and I know everyone in town and, well, it’s been hard to leave. Been thinkin about it for a while, but I can’t bear to part with it. As dirty and backwards as this place may be.”

This seemed to peak his interest. He sat up straighter in the tub and brought his leg back in to soak. “Your husband, right. That the boah’s pa?” he asked, looking at you and lifting his other arm out of the water - your cue to move to the other side of the tub.

You feigned offense at his question, but didn’t blame him. It’s not like Andrew was around to introduce himself. “Of course! What kind of woman do you take me for, Mountain Man?” you teased, flicking a few droplets of the cooling water into his face.

As a reflex, one of his large hands came up to shield his face from your attack. “Hey!” he shouted through a laugh. “Now, that’s not what I meant! I just seen you at the cemetery after your boah said you was going to visit his pa. Didn’t want to assume.” His laughter had died down by the end of the sentence as he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

You looked at your feet, having dragged the stool to the other side of the bath and sat down. Under normal circumstances, you would let the conversation die there. No need to continue, no need for explanations. But, for some reason, with Arthur, a man who is essentially a stranger, you wanted to let him know. “Oh. Well, yeah, that was his pa,” you began, reaching into the water and gathering some of the remaining suds to begin washing his other arm. “He passed a few years ago. He got pretty sick for a week or so, and then right when we thought he was getting better he was just… gone. All of a sudden. It…” you took a breath to steady yourself before you continued. “It was right after Ben was born, actually. Poor kid doesn’t even remember him.”

Arthur cleared his throat and looked away from you. “I’m real sorry. Shouldn’ve brought it up.”

You wish he hadn’t. You wish he could have just stayed flirty and playful. You wish he hadn’t unintentionally brought your mood down. It wasn’t his fault, but you still wished it hadn’t happened. “It’s fine,” you told him, quietly. “You didn’t know.”

You didn’t know how to continue. There was no way you could think of to cut through the awkward silence that followed. So, you finished up his bath with practiced efficiency, no longer taking the time to inwardly fawn over his muscled arms and calves. It only took a few more minutes until you had finished up - a lot sooner than you would have preferred under other circumstances. “Well, that should do it then,” you said quietly, clearing your throat and wiping your wet hands on your skirt. “You’re squeaky clean, Mountain Man.”

He coughed out a short, “Thanks,” as you stood to leave the room. 

As soon as the door creaked shut, you practically ran out the back door, desperately in need of fresh air. You heaved yourself up to sit on top of the small stack of logs at the back of the house, wishing you had a drink as tears formed in the corners of your eyes. It was strange, really, talking about Andrew with him. You had talked with people about your late husband hundreds of times, and it always made you sad, but this time was different. It made you feel so overwhelmed and, somehow, raw. Talking to Arthur, a man you hardly knew, about your husband, confirming that Andrew was gone, it seemed wrong and you couldn’t pinpoint why. 

Maybe you were just tired? Maybe it was because, between Arthur and Mary, you had talked about him more today than usual? Maybe you could see yourself beginning to move on, and you felt guilty?

After a good amount of time had passed, when you were certain Arthur had left the bath and gone up to his room, you re-entered the hotel and made your way back into the bath room to clean up. Even after nearly a half an hour, the scent of soap and lavender hung thick in the air. You quickly opened the curtains and the windows to air out the humid room and let in the afternoon sunlight. 

As soon as the light filtered in the room, highlighting the wisps of steam still hanging about, you noticed a folded piece of paper sitting on the stool by the tub. Gingerly, you picked it up and ran your fingers over the handwritten letters on the front. Your name. Upon unfolding it, ten dollars fell to the floor, and you saw a drawing of a small daisy in the upper right hand corner of the paper.

Below the daisy was a note, beginning with your name.

I’m real sorry about bringing up your husband. I know losing someone you love never really goes away, and I can see that talking about him hurt. Can’t really make up for that, but I hope a nice dinner from the saloon today for you and the boy will help out just a little.

Thank you for the best cleaning I’ve had in years. I hope we can really meet for a drink sometime. 

Yours, Arthur

[madbucker]

Silhouettes | Daryl Dixon

Eventual Daryl Dixon x female reader.

III.

Season 1.

MASTERLIST.

Loosely based on the song We Will Become Silhouettes by The Postal Service.

Summary: King County went down and Y/N is left alone hiding, trying to survive and looking for her sister.

Warnings: language, gore stuff (twd style), mentions of death. Will add more warnings depending on the chapter’s content. Let me know if you think it needs some other warning!

Word count: 2k.

Author’s note: First things first, I’m not a native English speaker, so bear with me! You can send me a message or an ask pointing out some mistakes so I can edit the post. Also, it will help me learn the language, so don’t hesitate! If you have any questions or want me to write about a situation in particular (like how they met, runs, the prison, or whatever you come up with) just send me an ask and if I feel like it fits with the story, then I’ll write it! Anyway, if you are into simple writing and limited vocabulary, then I hope you like it and as I said before, I’ll gladly take constructive criticism! ♥ I MEAN IT, CORRECT ME, PLEASE lol. We’re going back in time this chapter!

Gif’s not mine.

Since you could remember, you wanted nothing more than to become independent. The future you had imagined seemed bright and full of opportunities.

You had just left your home after being forced to leave your undead roommate locked in her room: your own best friend. She was the first person who made you feel at home when you first stepped foot in Georgia with your sister. In the beginning, you had stayed in cheap hotels in Atlanta until you got a job in a small county around 6 miles away from the city and could afford rent; that’s when you met Stella: a girl your age who had moved from somewhere in Kansas a few months before you met. You worked together and she had told you she was looking for a couple of roommates so she could both afford rent and eat proper meals, and, of course, you and your sister said yes straight away. And just when you thought you were living the life you had always wanted, the world became a living hell. Just weeks before you thought you were starting to build the foundations of the life you had always wanted.

Now you were stuck somewhere in a middle-class neighborhood, alone, inside one of the few houses that weren’t either burned down or destroyed. It wasn’t easy to imagine, but maybe you could survive in this new world. Even all alone and with a twisted ankle, if you just stayed hidden in the house until you healed, then you could head to the woods and get away from the infested area.

The whole place had been raided, the cabinet doors were broken and there was almost no food left inside of them. And you couldn’t ignore, as much as you tried, the bloodstains of the bed sheets. The house had dreadful stories to tell, you knew it, and deep inside you, you thought it was almost immoral for you to stay there. You were occupying someone else’s house, whatever their fate had been. But, what else could you do? Go out to the streets and hide behind trees or trash cans? You wouldn’t last a week. So you stayed there, rationing provisions and coming up with ways to make them last.

The first night at the house had been relatively quiet. You managed to close and seal all the windows without major effort and barricaded the front and back doors. You also made sure no one was there with you. Living nor dead.

A weak and a half later, or perhaps two weeks, —you didn’t mind counting the days anymore—, you heard something from outside. Voices, not grunting. People. Looking through the window trying not to make yourself noticeable, your eyes stumbled upon a man, a woman and a kid running inside the house across the street. Lying on the floor were three of the dead. 

You thought of telling them to stay with you so you could survive together, but decided to wait just to make sure they weren’t a threat. You still had enough supplies to last a couple more days, so there was no use in leaving the house. In theory, and if they didn’t decide to scavenge there, you could keep an eye on them and make a decision.

And so you did. Two days, not more, not less. You scrapped the last tuna can, knowing it was expired and that your stomach would hate you in a few hours. But at the end of the world that was the least of your worries.

Morgan, father. 

Duane, son. 

Jenny, used-to-be-mother, used-to-be-wife, now one of the dead walking in the streets. You felt guilty for not even realizing she had died. You hadn’t heard anything, you didn’t know when it had happened either. 

Listening to their story broke your heart and made you wonder what might’ve happened to your family back at home. Was their city still standing? They were a few states to the west, how long would it take you to get there? Was it worth the risk? Were they alive? Were they looking for you? Since you had to escape from your apartment you had forbidden yourself to think about nothing else but surviving. Every time memories of your family struck your mind, you would put up a wall to avoid rambling.

The first night with the two of them caught you breaking down and crying yourself sleep. You felt safe for the first time in a long time. You knew someone was near you, watching in case something went wrong, so naturally, your guard didn’t stay up. You didn’t stop it from crumbling down, though, the following day could find you all alone again and if you had to cry, it had to be under a roof with people taking care of you. Even having Duane around helped, as young as he was.

You lied on the mattress curled up in a ball, trying to cry in silence but failing miserably. Your sister, where was she? Where were her friends? Did she make it?

She had gone camping with friends a week before hell broke loose, and you hadn’t heard from her since. She hadn’t called  you, hadn’t texted nor tried to contact you in any way. Maybe she didn’t know how bad things had gotten. You remembered how she joked about some cannibal she had heard from in the news, just before she left.

“If shit goes down you’ll be the first to die,” she joked, “Imma survive like the badass I am.”

“I may not be in the best shape but I’m strong as hell,” you replied.

“You are, but I’m fast, I can outrun a thousand of those flesh-eating psychos. And have you seen how hot I am? Hollywood says I’ll survive.”

“Okay, try not to run into any of them in the woods then! Hollywood loves a good plot twist.”

That was it. Those had been your last words. You tried to comfort yourself saying that at least it wasn’t a fight and that, maybe, being away from the city had kept her safe.

You had waited for her. You had, even with your not-so-dead roommate and her boyfriend locked in her room. It had been days before you decided you had to go out looking for her, but life had tricked you and forced you to stay inside. At least your ankle was better, you decided you would start looking for her as soon as it was fully healed.

“Always go for the head. I’m not giving you a gun, the sound attracts more of them, but the knife will do.”

You nodded but couldn't ignore your pounding heart. You were about to face the creep that had been wandering around the backyard that day, and even though Morgan would be close enough to save your ass if things went south, it was still dangerous. Probably the most dangerous thing you had done in your life. Brave was the last word you would use to describe yourself. Yeah, you were physically strong, but you'd rather stay safe, and if something involved the smallest amount of danger, you would avidly try to avoid it.

Morgan stood behind you with his hands holding your shoulders, slightly pushing you out of the house through the back door.

"The head. Don't waste time. If it grabs you, go for its knee and break it." His tone was cold and determined. He had done that before... teaching someone how to take down creeps, with Duane. But Duane was braver, he had the courage you lacked.

You were trembling, and it got worse as soon as you saw what used to be a woman. She was blonde, and wore a graphic grey shirt, probably not older than twenty-something.

Around your age.

You could spot at least three bite marks on her arms, and her clothes were bathed in blood so dark it almost looked black. Besides the mess, it seemed as if she had been dead for no longer than a few days. She had had a life before becoming a victim of the twisted, sick joke life was then. You could've been her. You could be her in no time if you didn't put yourself together. Your sister, if she was still alive, could be her if you didn't learn how to protect her.

"Morgan, Morg-" your voice shook, it was desperate and loud. So much that the undead in front of you realized you were there.

Noise attracts them, you remembered.

"Go, now, I'm here.”

He let go of your shoulders, and suddenly you felt extremely vulnerable. You felt small, defenseless, and it didn't help that the thing was walking faster towards you, with its arms in front of it, ready to grab you as soon as it was close enough. Your knife was heavy as if you weren't supposed to use it, as if it wasn't yours to have. The creep was getting closer to the porch you both stood in, and when its feet stomped on the steps, your heart raced.

You were frozen even when you felt its hands grabbing your clothes, making you stumble to your side and bump into a small garden table. Only then you reacted, stabbing the undead in its eye. It fell down on top of you, and you weren't sure if it was its body weight or the adrenaline, but you couldn't breathe.

"Daddy, daddy!" Duane's voice was faint but clear, he sounded frantic, and not that far away from where you two were.

You saw Morgan approaching you and pulling the corpse from on top of you, he looked pissed off. The guilt eating you alive, and before you could say anything, he was running off to find his son. You followed him to the street without speaking a word.

"Daddy, I got this sonovabitch! Imma smack him dead!" Duane held a shovel standing next to someone. He was lying on the garden of one the houses

Something, not someone. It, not him. You had to remind yourself.

You saw Morgan shoot a creep as if it was nothing, making you wonder if you'd ever be able to do the same. You were weak, you could only hide and expect to never run into one of those things. Not for the first time, you wondered if you would survive, or for how long.

You ran towards them as they spoke. Morgan looked agitated, he was staring at the undead with a frown.

"Duane!" You almost shouted when you stood next to him. "Are you okay?" Your breath was still heavy and irregular, not to mention you were certain your heart was on the verge of exploding.

"Son, you know they don't talk."

And it hit you. You had found someone, you weren't completely alone in the world. Finding Morgan and Duane had been a surprise to you, and now someone else? You felt a hurricane of emotions take over you.

On one hand, you felt hopeful. You realized that you weren't the only ones who had made it. It allowed you to think that maybe your sister had made it too, wherever she was.

On the other hand, this stranger was wearing a hospital robe, he looked pale and skinny, almost malnourished. Not to mention the old bandages he had on his side. What if he had been locked up all this time? Then, in a way, it made sense that he was able to survive that long. Maybe it was just pure luck.

You kneeled next to him and hovered over his body to check the wound, you needed to see if it was a bite or a scratch, he could turn in any moment and kill you all.

"No! Y/N!" Morgan cried out, making you jump back to your place standing next to Duane. You felt fifteen years younger. As if you were a child being scolded by your dad.

For the past few days, Morgan had been something like a father figure to you, anyway. But you should've been able to take care of yourself, it wasn't fair for him. He didn't have to take care of anyone but his son and himself. Nevertheless, he chose to let you in. He had fed you, he tried to teach you what he knew and didn't give up in the process. You owed him, and you swore you would find a way to repay him someday.

"Hey Mister, what's the bandage for?"

[gravityfissure]

Slice of Life : Cece & Otto

When: September 12th

Who: @thebickedwitchoftherest & Otto

Where: Cece’s house

Summary: Cece comes home to a familiar intruder.

Warnings: Mushroom manipulation

Work usually kept Cece late Otto knew this, especially in this town which gave him a decent opportunity to get to his target and get out without issue. And yet, he found himself hesitating outside the door. The spells had been a bugger to figure out and by the time he got to the lock he was wondering if this was even a good idea. Wasting time in a fashion that never happened on a job. Not normally. But lately things had hardly been what he’d call normal had they? His hands hovered but eventual compulsion of getting to his target got him moving once more, the locks were trickier, but he managed to get through them eventually. For once (and rather strangely for that fact) he was dressed rather normally, a typically stellar and tastefully coloured outfit tonight replaced with a trim leather jacket over a grey tee and black jeans with boots. Even his hair was flatter today. As though less attention had been paid to that than whatever was going on inside his head.

Otto had been to Cece’s cabin enough time over the years of living here that he knew his way around the space rather easily. The toaster was easy enough to pick up, and he should’ve left. Really should’ve just gone right there and then… Yet looking at the familiar space he was struck with a conflicting sense of purpose. Cece was his friend, one of the few he had left in this town it seemed. Did he really want to go through with this? No. But he had to. And yet he was hesitating, second guessing a typically sure fire and decisive way of life.

How he ended up sitting on the sofa, swigging from her personal store of booze cradling the toaster under his arm, crumbs on his leg staring into space he didn’t rightfully know. But what he did recognise was the sound of a lock clicking into place and a door swinging open.

Cece had worked late, and had gotten home to an empty house. Apparently, her roommates had plans that night, leaving the home empty. She had always forgotten what that felt like. She had lived alone in town for a while before Morgan first moved in and then again once Morgan moved in with Deirdre. But now she had two that kept her company in the house. Cece was a social person, despite running off alone to Maine. It was nice having people around to chat with on particularly boring nights. Plus, Cam and Jane made for good company.

Though Cece wasn’t alone when she walked in her door. Across the open space, Cece walked in on Otto sitting on the couch, staring down the dark screen of her tv. Something was off. And it wasn’t just because Otto was in her living room for some reason. Wait, was that her toaster in his arms? “What’s up. Love the serial killer vibes you’ve got going.” Cece closed and locked the door behind her. She had spells around the house to protect from this, so Otto must have been pretty impressive to get the door open in the first place. “What the hell are you wearing?” In the darkness, Cece could tell that his outfit didn’t seem to shine through the lack of light. It could only mean that he wasn’t wearing one of the colorful outfits that Cece was so fond of. “And why are you spooning my toaster?” So many questions tonight.

Otto took another long pull from the bottle, wiping the back of his mouth on his sleeve, his head lolling to one side as he looked away from the reflective abyss of the television screen he’d been staring at. “Thanks… Thought I’d channel my inner Paul John Knowles,” a tasteless joke perhaps but that was typical for Otto in any given situation. Raising a hand to rub his eyes he sighed.

“Well, they’re these things called clothes, you go to the shop and buy them and put them on to feel good about yourself,” perhaps being a smartass wasn’t the best solution but it felt somewhat normal in a time that everything really didn’t feel at all normal. He shifted the toaster, peering down at it. “I need it for my wife, oh wait-” he looked over at her again “did I tell you I got married? No? Well- I got married… Not like actually married but… you know. Marriage is a trap so I guess it’s pretty fitting that I’m enslaved to a fae who wants used toasters. Fun right?” Man what he’d do for a cig right now.

Something was off, didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out. Cece just hadn’t quite figured out if she should be more concerned for her own safety considering a man had broken into her home and was drinking her alcohol or if she should be more concerned for Otto. He clearly didn’t seem like himself at the moment. Neither Cece nor Otto had given much information about their lives before White Crest to each other, but she still considered him a friend. The two knew about the magic and Cece even had a look at that new gravity magic of his. “You know what? I’m just going to take it as a win that you didn’t name a serial who had a thing for pretty blondes.” Cece eventually decided against Otto being a threat and tossed her bag on the ground by the couch, taking the empty seat and holding out her and gesturing for the bottle of alcohol that Otto was nursing. Once she got ahold of it she took a long drink from the bottle and passed it back off to him.

Otto was being a sarcastic asshole, so at least she knew he was still somewhat acting like himself. “Hilarious. Does that outfit make you feel good about yourself then? As opposed to your other outfits? Just curious.” Then he was talking about the institution of marriage, something Cece couldn’t agree more on besides the point that he kept mentioning a wife. Had he completely gone off the deep end? Maybe been love potioned or something? “That’s a lot of information to take in at once, dude. So you’re married. To a woman who wants my toasters? Am I being punked? If Ashton Kutcher’s in here you better tell me because I had a very serious crush on him back in middle school.”

“Now, that would be tasteless, plus I’d never hurt you Ce. You’re my friend, right?” The question hung in the air, a degree of uncertainty around it but he hoped it wasn’t an overstep. The sofa dipped and settled as Cece came to join him on the sofa. What was he doing with his life? He’d run to this dumb little town because of an accident. An accident that had had very real and very serious consequences, thought that maybe he could start again an anonymous face in the crowd. But he was learning the hard way this was definitely not a place you could be anonymous. In fact, Otto felt more exposed in White Crest than he had anywhere else in his entire life. The bottle was easily pried from his hands and Otto opted to sink further into the couch taking it back when it was offered.

“Every outfit makes me feel good, and I make every outfit feel good too,” but the airness remained though it was forgotten in the face of this Ashton Kutcher reference, and Otto’s brows pinched not understanding who or what she was on about. “Who’s? I don’t know who that is or what you’re on about.” The look remained, until he realised “oh no I’m serious… Do you know Deirdre? Deirdre Dolan? Weird woman obsessed with bones.” Maybe she did, “anyway she’s fae - convinced me it’d be a fun idea to go jump in a fairy ring with her and I thought why the hell not? It’s better than… everything else that’s all fucked up in this dumb town.”

“And now I’m now bound to follow her every command… Which includes stealing toasters and turning the swimming pool to mushroom soup…” his expression grew thoughtful as his thoughts sidetracked to mushrooms and mushroom soup “I haven’t figured out how to do that yet but I’m almost there I think.”

“As long as you don’t serial murder me, we’re best friends.” Cece found a way to joke around and wiggle her eyebrows in humor despite the situation. Sure, most friends didn’t consider an especially effective way to prove that friendship was by breaking into their home but hey, White Crest didn’t have much in the way of normal friendships. That being said, Cece would definitely be looking into some stronger protection spells on her door after this. “I dig the confidence, dude. You look cute as hell in that outfit too.”

“Deirdre?” Cece questioned and rolled her eyes. “I’m familiar with her.” As far as people in town went, Cece wasn’t going to pretend that she was her favorite. But considering Morgan seemed so smitten with the woman, Cece had mostly decided to let bygones be bygones. Mostly. Admittedly, the knowledge that the woman was fae wasn’t surprising in the least bit. But what was surprising was hearing about the fairy ring. Cece knew about them, though she had never actually seen one in practice. The coven wasn’t actually entirely convinced that they were real at all, but they never dealt with fae much. “Hold on. I know the general gist of a fairy ring but help me sort between fact and fiction. Does this mean you're sired to her or some shit?” If so, Cece had even more reason to loathe the woman. Either Deirdre made horrible first impressions or Cece had to seriously reconsider Morgan’s taste in suitors. “How naked do you get?”

“What the hell does she have you stealing toasters for?” Cece questioned. If this was some sort of prank, Cece was dying to hear the punchline. If this was some diabolical plan, Cece had trouble seeing the big picture. “Who’s pool?” Cece was actually pretty intrigued by the whole mushroom soup idea, “That’s easy. You just need an alchemist.” Cece pointed at herself, unironically volunteering herself for this stupid fairy ring prank.

“Cool, and at the rate I’m going I think I might be the murderee before you anyway so… Just pick out a nice headstone right? Black and silver. Maybe some purple in there yeah?” perhaps it was morbid to joke about it, but it made Otto feel a little bit better about everything that was going on right now. “Aawh, see, this is why we’re friends. You look cute too, even if you’re still in your work gear. But it’s cute and super professional. Very boss bitch vibe.”

He sighed, long and mournful turning sideways and tucking his feet up on the sofa before taking another healthy swig from the bottle and offering it out for her to take. “Oh well, great. Don’t go to a fairy ring with her if she asks, yeah?” Man this was all so backwards. Otto had never experienced much fae culture, and his lack of exposure to it was showing right now with recent decisions. The migraine was starting to return and Otto closed his eyes tiredly. “Yeah, she called it… a marriage? It’s like a next level fae bind I think. Maybe… I don’t know. I don’t have to make a promise, it’s literally like if she says it I have to do it otherwise I feel like I’m going to hurl.” Tilting the bottle against his knee he stretched out a bit. “Super naked. But that’s not that bad honestly.”

“The mushrooms.” That was the only answer he had. “Any pool, I think the local pool.” He’d been pondering the process himself. “Well I dabble in alchemy but I wouldn’t say no to a hand with it. I’ve got my hands on a transmutation stone, I just need to figure out how to channel it so that it will turn the water to soup.”

“Only the best headstone for you.” Cece nodded in agreement, pretending to take notes on the headstone color, “Here lies Otto, famed toaster thief, breaker of hearts.” Cece put on her best impression of a grieving widow, even using her sleeves to feign dotting at her eyes as if they were drowning in tears. “Damn straight Otto,” Cece gestured at her outfit and modeled from her seat, shooting a grin in Otto’s direction, “I’m taking that compliment, even if this outfit is definitely not by choice and because I have to follow my boss’ dress code. But I even make khaki’s look good.”

“No worries there, I had no interest in doing that before learning about this,” Cece and Deirdre did not communicate much and that was how Cece preferred it. She intended to remain civil for Morgan’s sake, nothing more. Accepting the bottle, Cece took a long drink from it. Regardless of how Cece felt, she couldn’t deny that the situation seemed fucked up. Cece certainly held no high ground when it came to moral compasses, but damn. “That’s intense, dude. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that she hasn’t taken any pity and released you from it either?” Another drink before passing it back over. She couldn’t help her mind from wandering towards the idea of a fairy ring. If a witch could collect the foliage that made up a fairy ring, what sort of magical properties would she have gotten power have? Cece could only imagine the spells that could be put together using those. “Naked huh?” Of course, because Cece had no control over herself her first instinct was to stare at Otto and imagine what that must have looked like. She eventually nodded in approval, “Nice.”

“Vague, but whatever.” What the hell did the mushrooms want with toasters? Cece cursed her lack of fae knowledge. “Shouldn’t be too hard. We literally just need a can of soup.” Cece shrugged, already picturing the process in her head. “Once I know all the ingredients, alchemy is simple. It’s just breaking things down and transmutating it into the new properties. I can help. Seems like a bad senior prank, but at least we’d mark one thing off your list.”

“Sheesh is that what my life amounts to?” it was only in hearing it repeated back to him that Otto had to think how sad his life had become. “Hells, I need to do something about that.” He flopped back, draping one arm lazily over his head as Cece modelled and he had to laugh, bright and genuine. “I mean, what would you wear if you actually had a choice and not a dress code?” It was interesting what a person’s choice of style and clothes could say about their personality. Just another form of expression like anything else.

“Good to know.” His arm sagged a little over his eyes, internally bemoaning the whole debacle. It had been fun, actually he wouldn’t have minded it except for all the hostilities that apparently came along with Deirdre’s blasted girlfriend that he’d barely known a thing about. “Not yet. Like- honestly it’d be fine except everyone is sticking their noses in business, judging me as if this is all somehow entirely my fault. Add on top of that I have this blasted twelve year old child driving me insane about being a fucking exorcist.” He huffed, dropping his hands back into his lap and noting Cece’s stare which only made him roll his eyes and give her a light and playful shove. “Shut up. I don’t need you getting imaginative on me just ‘cause you haven’t gotten any lately.”

“Fae bullshit,” at least that was as much as Otto understood of the matter. “Yeah? Well… I can get the soup and ingredients but don’t we need like for like? I dunno about you but I’m not buying 2.5 mega litres or however much we’d need of soup.. We could probably just use a smaller batch… amplify the transmutation with the stone?”

“Hey, I’m not the one that broke into his friend’s house and is cradling a toaster right now, buddy.” Cece shrugged, the truth was right here smackdab in their faces. But Cece didn’t disagree about doing something about it. Though without knowledge of fae, she wasn’t entirely sure that it was possible to break from it unless Deirdre let him go herself. Fat chance of that happening. It made Cece wonder if she had managed to talk Morgan into going into the fairy ring with her? Would Deirdre do something like that to Morgan? “If it was my choice? A full length ball gown.” Cece modeled, striking various poses before laughing and taking a swig from the bottle, “Nah I’m just fucking with you. I’m basic. I want tshirt and jeans.”

“Yeah well, most people in town aren’t going to believe that if you go into a circle of mushrooms in the woods that you’re bound to do whatever someone says.” Cece had no doubt that Otto had plenty of friends in the supernatural know. Perks of working at a magical bar. But even for people with supernatural knowledge, fae were sort of a wonder. They held their secrets tightly and knowledge about them tended to be more myth and legend than anything proven. “Exorcist? Honestly, it’s a bit impressive. At twelve, I wanted to be a popstar. It’s good to have goals, kid. Keep working at it.” Otto shoved Cece and she was cracking up, flashing her middle finger at him, “I can’t help where my mind wanders. I’m a very imaginative person Otto.” He was right though, she hadn’t gotten any lately.

“Nah. One will do.” Cece waved off the thought. Alchemy was all about the ingredients. Break things with a similar enough composition and you could turn it into anything. “It’s gonna suck for those kids though. Summer’s almost over anyways, go crack a book or something.”

“I don’t need reminding!” he whined, thumping her on the arm again for good measure even if he knew she was absolutely right on that account. But here they were and Otto wasn’t sure he was going to get out of this one any time soon. The talk of clothes was a nice distraction, and he cocked his head, trying to envisage Cece in the tox-room in a full length ball gown featuring rubber gloves and goggles while running a tox-panel. The mental image was enough to make him snort a laugh and it was at that moment he realised why he appreciated Cece so darn much. “Nothing wrong with that, select individuals can pull that off and make it look trendy - you’re one of those people. Granted… this town is full of pretty attractive people I won’t lie.”

“I’ve given up trying to convince the disbelievers, honestly as funny as it is watching them bend over backwards to deny something it gets a bit old in the end.” He pulled a face and shook his head, “not really, I know jack all about ghosts and I’m not interested in them that’s the issue… Turns out an old friend I used to run with lives here in town, they wanted me to cover for them little did I realise they were yanking my chain all along. Now I’m the villain because I helped covered for them. Shows how much loyalty’s worth these days huh?”

The flash of Cece’s middle finger, made Otto roll his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m sure you can’t.”

“I don’t really care about the kids, I kind of just want to do it because I can, you know? Sometimes it’s fun just to flex if there’s no real harm coming from it.”

Cece gave a shocked look at Otto as if she was offended by the arm punch. “Geez, okay Oscar the Grouch. Hitting a lady? The audacity.” Cece’s life had been so consumed with a fake sense of ease and stability with the coven that she had few people she felt completely relaxed around. The two genuine friends she did have within the coven even came with a hint of danger, with their plotting always threatening the safety and trust of the three. Cece enjoyed being able to stay lighthearted even in the sense of immediate danger. Otto’s situation didn’t seem good, but both of them knew that there was no immediate way to fix it. What was the point of being down in the dumps? Cece enjoyed the simplicity of being friends with Otto. Things came easily. “They’re all hot right? I’ve never understood it. It must have some magic magnet that pulls in all the hot people. I mean, it worked on us.” Cece shrugged like this was all the proof that she needed.

Cece pictured Regan at that. Cece had never met somebody so intertwined with the supernatural that still refused to believe in it’s existence, though she respected her boss’ tenacity. That stubbornness was supernatural in its own right. It made some of the more unexplainable jobs at work humorous if nothing else. It really was too bad that Cece had ended up liking Regan so much. “Shit. It sucks, but I’d totally watch that soap opera.” When in doubt, lighten the mood with a little humor, right? That’s what Cece was so convinced fixed any issue? “They’re still running around pulling their scams then, too? Ain’t that some bullshit?”

“Flexing is what I do best, as a matter of fact” Cece held her arm out and curled her fist, flexing the tiny amount of arm muscle that she had and pointing at it in true bodybuilding fashion. “Fair. It’s high time those kids learned how the real world works anyways. Get disappointed.” Cece realized that Otto was still holding onto the toaster and sighed. She didn’t know exactly how this fairy ring shit worked. “I’m not getting my toaster back, am I?”

“We both know you’ll give as good as you get,” Otto quipped, reclining back once more and closing his eyes in mental contemplation of his situation. And the inevitability of it all. “Absolutely, that has to be it… There is no other explanation for why people in this town are all so aesthetically pleasing.”

Nadia was a whole other conundrum. What did he have to do to fix this? And did he really want to do it considering the people invested in getting rid of her were all grade A assholes from the limited encounters online that Otto had with them? They didn’t give him much reason to want to help them and yet a part of him questioned whether he had a duty to do that. But when had he ever truly put the needs of other people above that which suited him? And therein lay the crux of his issue. “I know right? At this point I’m just going to let them play their games and see where they end up… If they win, great, if not I guess they only have themselves to blame.”

“Well then, I guess we need some soup.” With that he rolled back and then forwards propelling himself off the sofa. “Nope,” came the answer with a pop of the ‘p’ for emphasis “it’s gotta be sacrificed. But I’ll repay you for the donation once this is over… Probably.” With a small roll up onto his toes he tilted his head, “come on then!”

The night certainly hadn’t gone how Cece had expected. Otto brought a lot of information to light that Cece wasn’t entirely sure what she should be doing with. In almost all cases, none of this was her problem. Getting involved in more supernatural bullshit was the exact opposite of what she needed. It had been the entire point of escaping to a small town in the farthest possible state from anywhere someone thought Cece would go. This had been a chance to stay low. Clearly, Cece fucking sucked at that. Instead she ended up finding herself right in the middle of some supernatural epicenter, befriending people that couldn’t seem to go a week without attracting some magical clusterfuck of drama.

It was even more unfortunate than that Cece actually enjoyed her time here. The people, the excitement, the drama. Cece had never been much for staying lowkey. She hadn’t been in California and she hadn’t been within the coven either. She wasn’t sure why she thought she had any chance of doing it in Maine either. “You have a real knack for dragging me into your shitstorm, don’t you? You’re lucky I love you.”

Cece rolled her eyes. She guessed she was going to have to explain to Camille and Jane tomorrow why the toaster was suddenly gone. “Oh sure. I’ll wait with baited breath,” Cece laughed, sarcasm apparent in its tone. “I’m going to regret offering to help you, I know it already.” But it was better than sitting at home alone, she supposed.

[fics-not-tragedies]

In a Week: Chapter 1 🌲

For everyone’s surprise it’s another Hozier piece of fiction and since I don’t want to spoil too much I can tell it’s a slow burn that takes place in a hotel in the woods somewhere (yes, pun intended) within a week. It will be somehow angsty, somehow sweet yet full of sorrow, dark in some places and magic in some other ones. But we’re firm on reality in this one, so don’t have too many fantasy expectations in your mind.

Big thanks to @ladyreapermc​​ who helped me with the name for my OFC, I love you lots babe, you’re the best! 💖

Please enjoy the first chapter of it and as always: every form of feedback is deeply appreciated!

STORY SUMMARY: In a hotel located in the middle of the woods, where Flo escaped from the usual struggles of her life, she stumbles upon an unusual man named Andrew, who seems too be escaping from something too.

Words:  3072; Warnings: none, unless you want a warning for alcohol drinking, then you have it; Summary: Flo escapes from her usual life to a hotel located deep in the woods, so she can rethink her whole life, before making a final decision.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight​​​​; @angelpeachamber​​​​; @sgt-morgan​​​​; @julessbrown​​​​;

Sunday, 10:30pm

When she sat in the back seat of the cab, her head pressed closely to the foggy window pane, she had to fight the constant urge to cry. Flo stopped crying a while ago, before she even called to order that ride, but she had the feeling that the pain wasn’t about to leave her alone just yet. Her head was pounding and it seemed like only good cry would ease her a little. The radio in the cab was blasting some acoustic music and even though it usually soothed her, now it was more than annoying to hear another man with dulcet voice singing about lost love. All she wanted now was to get drunk in a bar, if the place even had one, eat something decent and cry into a pillow in a freshly made bed, until the heavy pain she felt in her chest would feel slightly lighter.

After a while of driving through the woods, the pitch black enveloping the car, she felt disconnected with the usual world. The darkness felt more than welcoming and she finally found herself in the environment she always yearned for. Brushing the stray strands of her straw colored hair she reached for her phone wanting to see where she was now, but she had no signal. Instead of staring at the overly bright screen she turned her attention back to the views, hoping that she’d be able to spot the faded sign that showed where the forest road leading to the hotel was located.

Flo took her time while browsing through the various sites of hotels and motels. She knew what she wanted: the place had to be located in the woods somewhere, preferably by a river, perhaps with a deep lake nearby and loads of swamps and bogs around.

“There’s a sign” she said suddenly, “turn right, please” the clicking sound of the blinker confirmed that the grumpy driver actually heard her. In one swift movement he took a rather sharp turn to the right. She squinted out of the window, trying to at least see the trees they were passing by, but it was too dark for her to notice anything.

When the cab had stopped, she could see the faint lights that were lit on the porch and around the wooden doors. She rummaged through her bag looking for a fistful of notes, so she could pay him. Flo handed him the money and then, with what was left of her willpower, she opened the door.

She knew it was raining for the whole day, but it was much heavier than she realized. The raindrops were huge and heavy, cold and it didn’t seem like the pouring would stop anytime soon. It was too late to change her mind, all was already said, there was no turning back now. Flo slowly stepped out onto the dirt covered drive, regretting not telling the driver to take her straight to the front door. She pulled her leather jacket tighter around her, grabbed her stuffed duffel bags from the backseat and when she closed the door of the cab, the driver quickly sped off, leaving her alone to soak in the rain.

The building was old, huge and gorgeous and even though she knew nothing about architecture, she was absolutely enchanted by how the outside looked. As she got closer, though her somehow blurred vision, she was able to make out the much brighter light that was shining through the large windows she didn’t noticed at first and it hypnotized her to move forward, like a moth being attracted to the flame.

Before Flo could get to the door, she was already drenched. Her wavy hair, now heavy and damp stuck to her face and wrapped around her neck like they wanted to suffocate her. Her body trembled against the cold. The rain was so thick, she could barely see where she was going.

Reaching the bottom of the steps at last, she planted her feet firmly on each stone step, desperately trying not to slip. Her heeled boots were rubbing uncomfortably on the back of her heels and she was too exhausted. The moment her hand found one of the door handles, with all her remaining strength she pushed the heavy doors forward and she was finally able to escape the raging storm. The doors slammed shut behind her with a loud thud.

She fought the impulse to shake the wetness off like a dog, but her body shivered anyway. The lobby was bright and wide, but still there was something somehow archaic to it that made her feel as if she had traveled back in time. The chandeliers were covered in a thick layer of dust, the plants were in desperate need of water. The hotel seemed generally quiet from where she was standing now, but she could make out voices from down the wooden corridors. Flo hurried to the long desk ahead, every step leaving a small puddle of rainwater as she moved.

Her hair were slick against her face. Her clothes were soaked, clinging to her skin and her leather jacket felt much more heavier than it usually did. She dropped her bags to the wooden floor and tried to focus on anything except how ridiculously uncomfortable she felt now. It didn’t help when the man behind the counter peered at her through his glasses and raised one eyebrow in alarm. Yeah. She looked crazy and she fucking knew it.

“I um…” she croaked, her voice hoarse from the dryness. Flo coughed nervously and tried once again, “I’d like a room for the week please.”

“Checking out on the Sunday morning?” The concierge asked without looking up from his computer monitor.

“Um, the Monday afternoon if that’s okay?” She replied, scratching her head in thought. Flo blinked few times slowly, thoughts dancing around her mind, but she didn’t wanted to ruin the comfortable silence with an excessive amount of questions that could seem too ridiculous to the man she had in front of her.

“I have a room on the second floor…” he repeated himself, his voice sounding frustrated because she didn’t get that the first time he spoke. She had all of those hours away from reality now, that would be enough to clear her mind, that would be enough to think everything through and make one final decision.

“That’ll be perfect.”

The bellboy was quick to grab her bags, even she knew she would have managed just fine on her own. They rode the elevator in silence to the second floor and her door was a few steps away. He took the keys from her, opening her room wide for her to see. The room was modern and bright, but the dark wooden interior gave her almost gothic vibes and it felt like it was the perfect scenery to contemplate her whole life, with the forest all around her. The windows were huge, the curtains drawn wide and the stunning view of green trees seemed to crawl into the room through the glass panes. The bed was huge and high in layers of comfort, the white sheets pristine and perfectly smoothed. There was even a fully stocked minibar.

Flo nodded in the man’s direction and as soon as the bellboy had left, she threw herself onto the bed and sprawled out. She was exhausted, cried out, emotionally drained, but she was also hungry and that hunger persisted more than anything else. So, with a loud sigh, she dragged herself to the bathroom so she could freshen up.

She washed the mess that the rain formed on her face away and reapplied some makeup that had been stuffed in her handbag. It was light, delicate and it made her feel better instantly. She coated her lips with red and dried her hair with the hair dryer mounted into the wall right by the mirror. Flo opened her bags and threw everything onto the bed to rummage through the overly exceeded number of clothes she took with her. She eventually settled on a low cut chiffon black dress that accentuated her waist, but wouldn’t ever get chosen, so she made an exception only for this night. Then her heeled boots were back on, the lights were off and she headed to the bar with nothing, but the room key in her hand.

Sunday, 10:45pm

Andrew was downing his liquor filled glasses quicker than he ever wanted to admit, asking for a refill with a casual wave of his hand once he reached the bottom of every glass. The whiskey was strong, and expensive too, but he was over that moment in which he’d care about that. It hit his lips hard and burned all the way down through his throat and he enjoyed the little spark the alcohol gave him.

He was bored. Bored out of his mind. But what they say of intelligent people? They’re never truly bored. Maybe being drunk would provide him with entertainment somehow or it would push him to write new songs. He hadn’t been at the bar long or even in the hotel for more than a couple of hours, but he had a feeling this week was going to drag.

The tour has ended, his crew flew to their families. And now he was alone. Bored and alone and fucking miserable about it. Normally he wouldn’t have minded, the solitude was as much a part of his personality as the worn out flannels and layered shirts were, but he was beginning to question how long he was going to be comfortable this alone.

His mind reeling from the deep internal conflict, Andrew took one more sip and glanced up but almost spat his drink back out into his glass. Fuck. She stepped into the room, her head held high and he wiped his chin, struggling to keep his composure. She had an abundance of energy that made him catch his breath in his throat, all womanly and powerful, commanding the attention of the room with just her elegant features, no arrogance, so perfect and pristine he worried he’d corrupt her somehow if he get too close. But there was something else there too, richer, full of life and light that he caught a glimpse of when she smiled politely at strangers, the corners of her mouth curling upwards, a pair of dimples appearing in her both cheeks. Her skin was pale, gorgeous and glowy as she passed the lights.

Andrew swallowed hard. Long wavy straw blond hair fell over her shoulders effortlessly, like she hadn’t even tried. She was a fucking dream, the way the thin material of her dress was flowing around her with every step she made. She seemed like an otherworldly creature that ceased her run through the woods just to stop by and have few drinks and perhaps a late dinner. He sighed at the way she walked and his eyes drew in her body hungrily, noticing the way her breasts were pushed against the fabric of the top part of her dress, her slim waist, the sensational curve of her hips, the way her legs looked in those heeled boots. Even her lips were obscenely plump and it made him restless. He looked away, shuffling in his seat, running his hands through his hair with frustration, making it even more puffy.

She was the spark he’d been desperate for, gagging for, she satisfied his thirst like no whiskey could.

He had been in this position before, pretty girl at a quiet bar, he was Andrew Hozier Byrne, of course he had. But something about her demeanor made him nervous like he hadn’t been in a while. Flirting wasn’t really his thing, but he always succeed no matter how miserable he was, but there was something totally different about her. He was going to have to choose the perfect Andrew persona, like picking an outfit from a wardrobe, for this one. He ordered another refill and tried to calm down.

Sunday, 10:55pm

The second Flo sat down, in “the tiny table by the widow, please” and ordered her food, she felt lost again. She placed her key on the table, her fingers toying with the key-chain with the room number. The rain was still thick and heavy and she couldn’t see further than the pitch blackness so she studied the room, desperate for distraction. The restaurant and bar area was just as stunning as the rest of the hotel. Dark wood and velvet-like finishing touches, neatly carved thick crystals. Music played from an old record player located in the corner of the room. The place wasn’t overly packed, there were few empty seats here and there, but even at that hour the staff was certainly busy by constant orders of cocktails, platters of savory food, or just like she had chosen: a selection of sweet treats. There was nothing better than something sweet at this time of the evening.

The Malibu Flo ordered arrived quickly and she savored the taste, smacking her lips together, flicking her tongue across them, but carefully not to swipe off her lipstick. Once her cakes and pastries arrived, she ate them all with delight, entranced by each mouthful of sugar. It would look horrendous on her bill but she didn’t care anymore, not about the bill.

As she finished her sweets, she ordered another drink, the combination of drowsiness, emotion and lack of having a proper meal earlier beginning to intoxicate her. For a while she sat in comfortable silence, admiring the music coming from an old record. But when a lull in the melody came, her eyes fell shut momentarily and she felt a wave of sadness wash over her.

Flo was the type of person that kept all of her emotions buried deep inside, until she simply couldn’t keep them all in and they burst out into the surface. Running away from her problems always made everything worse, that’s why she needed this gateway, so she could face them in new environment, where one final thought could cross her mind. And just as she was trying to be focused on herself only, something, or someone made her thought divert.

He was sat at the bar, profile to her, balancing his glass of whiskey between his finger and thumb occasionally lifting it to his lips. She had no idea how she’d not noticed him before, because now she had, it had changed everything. Something about him was so inviting and even though she knew she was way too obviously staring, she couldn’t look away from him even for a split of second.

His face was bearded, like he didn’t cared to shave for a whole month, lit perfectly by the surprisingly modern LED lighting of the bar. He lifted his chin to drink, slowly putting the glass to his mouth hidden by the ginger colored beard. His hair was long, curly, falling onto his arms and onto his face. His complexity was overwhelming - there was so much to him. There was a delectable softness to his face had too. His skin was smooth, pale, glistening.

The man was wearing an oversized flannel shirt, with something looking like a simple grey T-shirt underneath. Despite the fit of the material, she could tell that his figure was still somewhat muscular underneath, especially his arms and the top half of his torso that was visible along with the patch of curly chest hair. He was gorgeous - so alarmingly gorgeous in fact, that she felt immediately flushed and had to take a long sip of her drink to calm herself down. Flo pressed the still frozen backs of her hands to her flushed cheeks and tried to regain her composure. But he didn’t fit in here, or at least his looks weren’t belonging to a person that was visiting that kind of hotel. It could be old and in the middle of nowhere, that’s true, but it was still stylish - something you couldn’t tell about that curly haired man by the bar.

Sunday, 11pm

His mind already made a decision for him, as Andrew swirled his glass and downed the contents, swallowing his pride and standing slowly. He could do this.

Don’t fuck it up, man.

He turned in her direction, surprised to find that she was already looking at him and he watched her body tense, her jaw lock, her breath hitch, when he noticed.

Flo felt frustrated, in more ways than one, when her gaze locked with his. His eyes were warm, round and inviting but there was something else in him too, something darker too like he knew something that nobody else did, and it made her stomach twist and turn. There was an immediate sense of softness when he stared back at her like a frightened deer in the headlights. She let out a shaky breath she didn’t know she was holding and felt how her whole body was filled with warmth.

He was moved by her, yet still beyond the levels of comprehension, like he was a man from a different time and place entirely but some part of him felt surprisingly familiar to her, like she knew him in a different life on a different planet, where she made other choices and met him in a totally different setting.

This is the moment, Byrne. Now.

He had made it so far from the bar already, so Andrew staggered in her direction, his hands running through his hair, like had no idea what to do with them, except for when he held his guitars. He stared into her raw red eyes, that spoiled the fact that she was crying not so long ago, even though she tried to cover it with some makeup and then he stopped behind the spare chair, already struggling to find the perfect sentence to start with.

“Are you expecting someone’s company?” He asked finally, his mouth trying its best not to curl into a wide smile already.

“No. I’m on my own” she swallowed sharply, trying to make her voice sound as confident and unfazed as possible. No man had ever paid attention to her like he was in this moment, their eye contact and the softness of his gaze almost making her change her plans.

“Would you like to have another drink accompanied by me then, honey?”

“Yes.”

[norafike]

Despite All This, I still love you 7

Nora had returned to camp with Lem not long before her brother's had done. Their argument cut short when they realised that they had been left alone in Valentine.

Cripps greeted the brother's fondly when they arrived; his arms open wide for a hug. "It is good to see you both!" He cheered, taking them by their shoulders and walking them further into the camp to catch up.

"They're gonna be chattin' all night, I reckon you and I could slip away from 'em all completely unnoticed." She commented as the pair of them watched from a distance.

"M-Most likely." He muttered.

She nodded gently, patting his shoulder before walking away to sit back in her tent. Seeing as her brothers weren't fond of him and he had no place of his own to lie low for a little while he had taken to sit on the chair just outside, close enough to still talk with her if he needed.

"You don't gotta sit out there, I don't mind you sitting in here." She called out towards him.

"I feel a little i-intrusive jus' entering your tent."

Nora gently chuckled at his comment, stepping closer and leaning against the post to get a better look at him. "I'm inviting you in, there's no intruding."

"Guess you're right."

She noticed the forlorn look on his face and left the cover of her tent to stand in front of him. She placed her hands on her hips and crouched to be at a similar level as he was, even though it only made her smaller. "What's with the long face?"

He hummed as he looked at her, but gave no immediate response. Instead his hand reached forward to brush a strand of her red hair behind her ear, it coming loose from her braid. "I'm okay, perhaps a little exhausted."

"We done a lot of work today."

"You done a-a lot of work.. I guess I'm jus' getting old."

"You've barely turned thirty." She chuckled. "Don't remind me." He whined after this but she remained amused.

"There any other reasons or are you just tired."

"That's the only reason, Nora Morgan."

She wasn't convinced by his constant reassurance but chose to not continue with the topic anyway. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

He nodded.

"Why don't you play guitar in front of people?" He winced at her question despite it being innocent enough to prompt such a response. She noticed just how uncomfortable he became by it and quickly apologised from not realised the sort of response it would illicit.

"If you don't wanna talk about it, you don't have too."

"No, no." He waved away her worry. "Danny-Lee t-taught me how to play, he taught me a lot of things so it's hard to p-perform in front of other's without.. rememberin' all that drama."

"I understand." She let out a quiet sigh, hushing her voice so the men couldn't overhear. "It's not the same but I get all freaked out over the loud noises because it reminds me of that night.. but you already know all this."

They remained shrouded in an awkward silence before Nora cleared her throat and stood properly. She gently grabbed his hand to bring him inside her tent despite his best attempt not to.

"Jus' sit here."

"But-"

"Please." He couldn't be bothered to argue further, instead choosing to listen and sit on the edge of her cot as per instruction. She left shortly after and he thought about leaving to return to the moonshine shack but the thought of upsetting her kept him from doing so. Later, she returned with two bowls of stew freshly made.

"Cripps had me bring these over, I was on my way to grab the harmonica."

"Did you grab it?"

"No; Cripps' need to talk with me made me forget." She let out a quiet sigh. "Regardless, I did enjoy his brief story."

"What story did he tell this time?"

"Only that damn Tennessee bank job one." Lem laughed at her answer as he took the bowl from her hand. She sat next to him and prodded at the chunks of meat for a little bit. "I swear for someone who has seen a lot, he only ever tells the same little stories."

"They are his best; he used to have more a few years back but he's forgotten them it seems."

"That's right. You've known him for a while isn't that right?"

"Yeah." He nodded, taking a mouthful of stew to pause the conversation. "Him and Aunt Maggie were meant to be married once."

"Cripps said when I first met Maggie."

"What a disaster that had been." He explained, vaguely. He noticed her face and how she silently urged him to continue. "Cripps decided that he didn't want to marry, Aunt Maggie. She didn't take too fondly on his decision neither but at least they reconciled."

"Sorta." Nora added. "They have their moment here and there."

"Don't most people?"

"Guess so."

...

In the following day's she had begun to spend more time with Arthur Morgan and a few of his associates. Dutch still made her feel at an unexplainable unease whenever he was near, but she figured that perhaps she wasn't as good as a judge of character as she thought.

Regardless, she began to spend longer at camp, these people slowly warming up to her presence on their grounds. While most of the men still were wary the women had become far more open and talkative towards Nora and she soon found friends in Mary-Beth and Tilly.

"Miss Morgan." Susan called, her strides long to catch up with her as she prepared to leave after a few days of staying. She pulled on the reins of her horse and looked down. "Yes?"

"I hate to be a bother, but John Marston has asked for you and Arthur to meet in Valentine."

"Me?"

"Yes you, do you know anyone else here named Nora Morgan?"

"No... It's just I hadn't expected him to ask for me."

Susan's lips tightened into a frown. "Neither did I." She stormed off and given that she had no other plans for that evening she had decided to ride out towards the livestock town where she was expected.

...

"Marston." Nora greeted when she neared him. He gave her a subtle salute with his fingers, gently waving her over. She noticed how Arthur had yet to arrive and so she took a moment to engage in idle conversation.

"I must admit, I was confused as to why you asked for my help with whatever it is you got planned."

"Arthur praises you a lot, figured in the chance of something going wrong that you'd be good to have around."

"Trust me." She let out a sigh. "Of all the people back at camp I'm not the best option."

"Don't make me think that, Miss."

When Arthur did arrive they didn't waste time by engaging in idle conversation, rather they chose to get the job started as soon as they could and that way they would have time for conversations later. However, John wasn't very descriptive in what it was they needed to do as he kept his answers short and simple. At first Nora thought it was about sheep coming in but when he told Arthur to purchase a rifle she began to have second thoughts.

They rode out soon after, leaving the town and turning around the mountain into the open plains of the Heartlands where Arthur had asked a second time what this job had been for. "Some sheep are comin' in from Emerald Ranch." He explained finally, but Nora zoned out soon after this as the mention of the all too familiar Ranch how disinterested her.

She hadn't been paying all that much attention until John had called for her and from the annoyed expression she had gathered that he had been calling for her a couple of times. "Miss Morgan." He shouted again, this time louder and she looked forward with an apologetic smile. "Do you have any experience with herding cattle?"

"Some.. done it once mainly. Why?"

John frowned but Arthur only chuckled. "This dumbass here doesn't know either. If we need it you can help."

"Of course."

He smiled at her before turning back to focus on the roads just in time as John had pulled them off of it and up a ledge. She remained mounted while the men approached the edge to look at what they believed to be the herd and a few ranch hands coming in and by luck, it had been.

The job was for Arthur to shoot near them and spook them off which had gone well, the problem was herding near fifteen sheep back to the livestock in one piece which could have been a problem and for the better part of this journey all Arthur and John would do was bicker back and forth about everything and nothing. She grew tired off their chatter and took to riding a little further forward, making sure that the sheep were still heading the right direction while Arthur did most the work.

...

Nora accompanied them back into town, following them into the smaller saloon where Dutch Van Der Linde had been supposedly waiting. She didn't need to go in with the men, after all, it wasn't her who he needed to speak with and so she waited outside for the men.

She lit a cigarette to pass the time, focused on the horses and people that passed by rather than anything else. John and Strauss left the saloon and briefly greeted Nora and telling her that she could go inside if she so pleased. She was going to but when a group of armed men showed up with Leopold and John held in their grasp she saw no other alternative but to raise her hands in false surrender.

"Dutch Van Der Linde!" One man, dressed far too fancy for being in Valentine called out. She looked behind her at the window and noticed the man he called remained at the table, albeit confused.

"You don't know me, but you keep robbing from me!" He shouted again.

She didn't pay too much attention to the conversation shared, too much focus on John and Strauss who were balancing on the edge of death. Eventually Dutch did come from inside the saloon with Arthur in tow, using his natural charm to try and sway the enemy.

Before she could even process anything Arthur had quickly shot at the two men who held Strauss and Marston and all hell broke loose as the fighting began.

She quickly threw herself over the railings to duck behind some of the boxes that lay conveniently on the ground, crouching low near Leopold. The shooting gradually got louder and she grew more uneasy, more afraid and she had a job to steady her breathing during the ordeal but it didn't stop her from helping.

Getting her bearings, she raised her gun to the people and blindly fired a couple of times and from a pained scream she assumed that she had caught somebody. However, hiding here wasn't going to do any good and the horses had been moved across town. At Arthur's word the group all crossed the dirt roads, losing their hats in the process and unfortunately for Strauss, the ability to walk properly as a bullet became lodged in his leg.

She stumbled for a moment as she came to a halt to help Dutch move the man from being exposed. Cursing a couple of times as she carried the man towards a wagon. "Place him in here, John and Arthur, shoot." Dutch instructed. Nora pushed Strauss inside and began to push the wagon through the town, it being used as perfect cover during their escape.

"Keep shooting." Nora cried, struggling to keep focus on keeping the members alive during this shootout and not crumble through fear with the hail of bullets that rained over them. Her breathing became more erratic but they pushed on, the horses in sight although jumpy. "When we get to the horses, put Strauss on Nora's horse and you two stay behind!" Dutch sent another instruction and the male nodded. He pointed at Nora. "Come back to camp with me, we're gonna need the help."

"Of course."

When the opportunity arrived they grabbed it, fleeing the wagon and running towards the horses to calm them as they bucked wildly from the gunfire. Wasting no time, Arthur picked up Strauss from the wagon and broke into a sprint as best as he could towards the animals, sitting Strauss on the back of Casper. Nora mounted up and followed Dutch out of town while Arthur and John remained.

They arrived at camp quickly, the horses tired from how hard they were pushed and immediately Nora rewarded them both with a sugar cube. "Men!" Dutch called and immediately Javier and Bill ran over and with Dutch's word helped Strauss off of the horse and over to Miss Grimshaw to help with the wound.

The camps leader turned sharply on his heel and pointed a long finger towards the O'Driscoll as he sat against a rock. Kieran looked up with wide eyes, thinking that he was in trouble for whatever reason at the harsh glare cast on him. "You and Miss Morgan here pack up Arthur's wagon, prepare the caravan to leave and the horses." He told before walking off and approaching the women with more commands. Nora turned back with a gentle smile as she noticed the scared expression on his face. "Wanna make a start on Arthur's stuff?"

"Yes, o-of course." He managed to say, quickly walking across the camp to Arthur's wagon. She followed behind with a small smile and began to gather the bits of clutter on the tables while he focused on the larger things.

...

She carried a few rolls of blankets into the wagon ahead while he placed the chest he had his clothes in and a few other materials belonging to John. Seeing as this was their only instruction they were lost on what else to do but sought out more work regardless.

Kieran found work in fixing the wheel on Strauss' wagon whereas Nora chose to accompany the women in packing up the final of their belongings. While she did so she was ready to approach Arthur once she noticed his return but stopped herself when he and Dutch began talking. No sooner than he had been there he had left again, this time with Charles and from a passing comment exchanged between the two she picked up that they were on their way to find a new camp.

...

"You were right about this spot, Charles." The caravan arrived a few hours after Charles and Arthur set out. The majority of their journey making up most of that time spent on their way here.

Kieran, while still not trusted, was allowed to move to Clemens Point untied albeit he sat in the back of the wagon alone in contrast to those who were able to travel together. While Strauss and Swanson did sit at the front they spent the journey ignoring the former O'Driscoll but would converse loudly amongst themselves.

When the wagon stopped he looked around before climbing out and with those long, authoritative steps, Dutch approached. "Take care of the horses, O'Driscoll." Oh how he detested that nickname.

"Grimshaw!" He called after. "Let's make this camp a home!" He detached the horses from the wagon's and when few gang members rode in shortly after, he made sure to take care of them more so out of his love for the animal than duty.

"Hello, fella." Nora greeted as she stepped closer.

"Hey, Nora."

"Mind some company?"

"No, 'c-course not."

She sat near him on the rock while he brushed through the dirt on Branwen. His eyes fixated on the horse in front of him rather than on the girl who spoke to him.

"What do you do 'round here Kieran?"

"W-Well I mainly take care of the horses a-and do most the chores. Why?"

"Jus' making conversation." Kieran finally worked up the courage to turn around and face her. "May I ask why you chose to speak with me miss an' nobody else?"

"You seemed lonely, but I can leave you lonely if you rather it."

His face, which had been screwed up previously, softened slightly and for once he was able to relax as he noticed the genuine kindness come from her. "I don't mind a bit of company miss."

"Good because I probably would have stuck around regardless." She chuckled, watching him as he resumed tending to the horses. "Say, Kieran." He turned back to face her, slightly annoyed with having to stop tending to the horses.

"Yes, miss?"

"Do you like fishin'?" His face lit up at the question. "W-Well I do. But I doubt I'd be allowed too."

"Nonsense." She chuckled. "Stick with me an' none of 'em will give ya grief and we can invite Arthur along."

"I doubt Mr. Morgan would want to spend any time fishin' with me, Miss."

"Ask enough times and I'm sure Arthur will." She noticed Kieran's face drop as she said this. She raised a brow and thought she may have said something wrong, but quickly Arthur spoke up from behind her. "Arthur will what?"

She startled at his words before turning around. "I was discussing fishing with Kieran here."

Arthur's frown only tightened as if he hadn't quite caught on with what she meant. "Taking Kieran fishing and the idea of askin' you to tag along was brought up."

"Now?"

"No, not now." She crossed her arms, giving a gentle shrug. "Maybe next week or somethin', I got business back home but I can make time. If he's allowed to go that is."

"The O'Driscoll can go but I'll keep an eye on him." Nora cheered and clapped her hands, but Kieran wasn't too thrilled with the idea. "Grand, if it's alright with you both I'm gonna bring Lemuel along."

"Lemuel?" She nodded towards Arthur, a bright smile on her face. "My friend, he's been a bit glum as of late an' I think a fishing trip'll help."

"Alright, but don't go bringin' your entire posse down here."

"I ain't gonna, jus' Lemuel and I."

He still looked displeased but nodded regardless, accepting these terms of hers. "Lem's an alright fella, we spoke."

"Exactly." She looked over at Casper as he lazily grazed at the grass. "I must head off now, but I'll see you both soon." She looked over at Kieran now and gently placed her hand on his forearm.

"You don't worry 'bout these fools, they all act tough but I come to learn that it's nothin' more than an act." She gave him a gentle smile, retracting her hand. "I don't know 'em that well, but I reckon things will be fine an' even if they ain't, s'pose I got your back."

"T-Thank you."

She gave him a warm look. "Don't worry about thankin' me, it's the decent thing to do."

[cowboylovins101]

THE HAZARDS OF RABBITHOOD

Fic

Wolf!Arthur x Rabbit!Reader

Warnings: It steamy, but also very fluffy ☺️

Tags: No one

Hybrid AU stuff with low honor Arthur. This ended up being a lot fluffier then I thought but thats okay. Basically everyone is an animal and has the ears and tail to match.

-------------------------------------------------

Being a rabbit had its perks. Your sense of smell was incredible, your sense of danger was on point, and the distance at which you could hear things kept the gossip fresh and interesting. The one thing you weren’t quite sure about though? Predators really liked you. Wolves really liked you. The smell you emitted, the sounds you made, they way you were easily scared, a wolf’s favorite things. Which is why you found it odd that the one wolf you’ve met up close only wanted one thing; to keep you safe.

Arthur Morgan, popular in camp, and Dutch’s right hand. You couldn’t quite understand his interest in keeping you close, keeping you secure. Of course, being the outlaw he was, he never said this directly but you knew, knew in the way he calmed your fits, the way he kept Micah and other antagonists at a distance, the way he sat near you, hell the way he looked at you. Not even a month after you hopped your way into Dutch’s camp had he said the words “You need anything, just ask.” The softness of his tone having left you with a flush and a heart skip. Was he toying with you? Predators always did that. Was he waiting for you to drop your guard? You weren’t sure, but, you were never really sure about anything so for the most part you played it off, kept your distance. People had warned you about him anyway, telling you not to get swept away, that of all the outlaws in this camp Arthur was one of the least honorable. Sure he cared for the camp, but he almost relished in the opportunities to rob and kill, and he loved to give a good threat and a snarl. But, he didn’t seem that way to you, if anything his sweetness had an edge to it, but that was all. Now, you wouldn’t usually be so obsessed with thoughts like this, but things had been a bit rough for you lately.

You couldn’t sleep. At all. You’re least favorite part of being a rabbit. Being so nervous. Some kind of insomnia was plaguing you because of it, and you were just lucky enough for this to be the third night in a row. All the uncertainty surrounding the camp right now after moving by the lake front was keeping you up, but you were tired, egregiously so, and yet the moment you laid down you were suddenly awake again. It sucked.

You sigh heavily. If you didn’t sleep soon you’d find yourself even more tired the next morning, and being chewed out for sleeping on the job was not what you wanted, not again. The prospect of being yelled at made you extremely anxious let alone the act itself, therefore you just had to get sleep tonight. You huff out a breath of determination and get to work. Maybe a pace or two around camp would tire you out? You put the needle and cloth down, brushing off the dirt that had collected on your pants from the dirty fabric you’d been working with. Walking around camp you carefully make sure to stay a reasonable distance away from the various cots and tents as to not wake the others. You loop not twice, but three times, feeling no different than before and you sigh again. You stretch, you jog, you do push-ups for Gods sake. Why won’t you get tired enough? You resign yourself after a good 30 to 40 minutes of this, perhaps sleep would just have to come for you another day.

You take the shortest route back to your cot, ears pulled back in defeat, just wanting to at least finish that coat you’d been working on, when you realize that this path takes you directly by Arthurs tent. Your keen sense of smell is what alerts you to this as it detects that which is wholly Arthur. You stop.

“You need anything, just ask.”

His words ring through your mind and you wonder just how far it goes. Would he help your insomnia? He always seems to sleep well despite having a lot more to worry about than you. You pace nearby, the thought not being too far off but far enough that you question its validity and your own sanity to even think of disturbing him for this. Finally, after what feels like forever you pull back the flap to his tent and walk inside.

And, he’s asleep. Which you had anticipated, but seeing him so peaceful made you wonder if this was a good idea. You stepped further in, careful in your footing to avoid loud noises and you can’t help but take a look around his tent and find it minimally decorated but very much Arthur, paying close attention to the news clippings and photos. There was so much about him you didn’t quite know, so much you wanted to. You wondered how much closer he’d let you get. Although he seemed to treat you with direct kindness unlike others, most of your conversations involved you and only you. He would always ask about your past, your family, your future, but he rarely mentioned himself, and although you asked, he wouldn’t always give, at least not as much as you had hoped. A part of you feels sad about this, as if he himself had made the decision to separate you two, to put a barrier between you as others had told you to do yourself. But there wasn’t much of a barrier in entering his private tent now was there.

You take a deep breath. It couldn’t hurt to try and get his help, whatever that may be, and he had said anything hadn’t he? You tentatively reach a hand forward, your white ears folding back as your body pulsates with ever growing anxiety. What would he say, what would you do? But you wanted, no needed to sleep. Was he really your only option? You shake your head eventually, hand having stopped just above his shoulder, this was ridiculous. You begin to retract your hand but in the next moment a strong grip pulls at your wrist, your back slamming into the cot and a deep throaty growl reaches your ears as you feel sharp teeth touching you neck. You freeze, breathing rapidly as Arthur looms above you, pinning you with his body until his hold suddenly loosens at seeing just who woke him up. Your fear doesn’t leave you though, eyes still wide.

“Y/N?” Arthur gives you a perplexed expression which quickly turns to worry as he sees the way your chest heaves and the tightness at which you hold your ears back against his cot, you’re practically frozen to the spot.

“Whoa, whoa” He raises his hands in front of him to show you he means no harm and your eyes track the movement. He very slowly gets closer, placing one hand atop your head but you can’t help the flinch the contact gives you. He starts to give a slow and steady pets, “It’s alright lil’ rabbit, you’re ok, shhh.” He continues to pet and shush you, his tone gentle and quiet, an action so unusual for a predator but oh so calming to your frayed nerves and racing mind. Your body finally relaxes under him and you let out a deep breath so he removes his hand using both to prop himself above you. You can tell he feels guilty for having frightened you, but he certainly doesn’t even begin to understand why you’re here in the first place.

“What are ya’ doin’ here?” You avert your eyes, there’s no point in lying anyway, not when you’ve been caught red-handed like this. It takes some time but eventually you give your answer, though you do mumble it under your breath and Arthur has to strain his ears to hear you. If he wasn’t a wolf he wouldn’t have heard any of it at all. His face turns from strained and confused to realization as he registers your activity and your reason together. But, that doesn’t do much for him, it still doesn’t quite make sense and he finds himself scratching at the stubble on his chin, a single eyebrow quirked upward. “So you can’t sleep, and you came to me?” You nod.

“We- well, you said you’d do anything and I…You just always seem to be well rested so I thought maybe you could help,” You shirk away from him and curl into yourself ever so slightly, ears turning back towards the cot again, “Was I wrong to do so?” He quickly shakes his head and gives you a small smile as he eases your worries. You liked that, it felt like, like he was meant to do that.

“’Course not. I’m just not sure what I could do for ya’. Can’t exactly sing, and I ain’t much for stories. Well, mine wouldn’t do much except give ya nightmares. Know the reason you can’t sleep?” You grab one long rabbit ear, a nervous tick, fingers idly rubbing at the fur as you recall what brought you here in the first place.

“It’s just, things are so uncertain right now. I’m so…worried. Worried about the camp, about our safety…Worried about you. I can’t sleep when all I can do is think.” He nods, resuming his earlier petting as he plops down beside you. The look he regards you with makes your heart beat and your stomach flutter, but you can’t look away. He thinks for a moment, humming as he does so before he seems to settle on some kind of answer to your plight.

“So what? Ya wanna sleep with me sweetheart?,” Your vision registers the sway of his tail behind him, and you can tell he’s pleased with the prospect, the sly smile spread across his face being the biggest indicator. Before you can really answer he’s pulling you into his chest, which gives you little room to protest. His hold is firm, but…it’s so warm and comforting too, the effect having taken over you almost immediately. It’s one of those moments where you’re mind and body are on a different wavelength, and you feel as though something more should be said, another answer or action but your body is telling you it’s fine, that this is good. Without a second thought you settle as best as your nerves will let you, letting the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

“I can do that for ya.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“You did what!?” Karen stares at you in disbelief. You hadn’t planned on sharing about last night but seeing as days had passed since your last restful sleep, you had slept much later then planned and had been caught sneaking out from his tent this afternoon. You bite your lip and look away from her and Tilly’s prying gaze.

“Did you two, I mean…with him?” You look up then, eyes wide as you frantically shake your head, your face beet red.

“What! No no no, we just I mean, I couldn’t sleep so, so you know,” They lean in closer to hear as your voice lowers significantly in volume, “He held me while I slept.” Karen and Tilly look to each other and back to you.

“Wait. You snuck into his tent, and you just slept?”

You nod.

“And nothing happened.”

You nod again.

They seem confused for, one, why you would do that in the first place, and two, how he didn’t just eat you up and then spit you out after. However, they seem to let the confusion go, you clearly knowing more about who Arthur really was than them. Not that they really could considering how closed off he was about himself. Mary-beth who’d been reading her book, and subsequently having abandoned it for this conversation, had finally decided to chime in herself placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You remember what we had said though right, that you have to be careful? Hell, ya gotta be careful of half the people here.” The way they looked at you then had you feeling a pang of guilt but at the same time you had no regrets for your actions whatsoever. You hadn’t felt safe and certain in a long time, but being in Arthurs arms, hearing his gentle voice speak to you, you had felt protected. You weren’t about to apologize for that. However, you weren’t really the type to argue and kept your statement concise and simple.

“I don’t think he’s the big bad wolf everybody says he is, and even if it’s true he doesn’t treat me that way and…well, that’s that.” Before they could protest you decide to leave, telling them you need to get more water to finish this laundry, ignoring the fact that you all had barely started so there was plenty clean water left to use.

You spent the remainder of the day to yourself for the most part, puttering around and doing this or that; small but helpful tasks. You noticed as the day went on a pair of eyes would watch and linger on your figure; you knew it was Arthur. You had made eye contact several times, and he returned your gaze with a smile that you yourself couldn’t help but respond to. As night fell, the camp settled, people picking spots near the fire to sleep, or relaxing with a book or light conversation. You had just set down a book yourself, stretching your arms out above you, feeling a bit of fatigue pull at your senses and you hoped tonight that you would get some sleep yourself. You hear Arthur call your name nearby, ear twitching in that direction, and when you turn to look towards him, he beckons you over with a flick of his wrist. You follow without a second thought.

“You look like you’re ready for bed, come on then, let’s get to it.” You tilt your head in question, but he ignores it, instead he grabs hold of your hand taking you towards his tent and leading you inside without any hesitation. You blush and turn away as he immediately starts to strip out of his vest and button up still not understanding how you went from A to B in this situation. He turns to you a moment later when he hears nothing from your side of the tent, hands pausing on the button they’d settled to and he lets out a huff of frustration.

“We’ll come on now, I know you ain’t sleepin’ in all that.” Oh. That’s what it was. He wanted to sleep together again? But…why? Your bewilderment must have been plastered all over your face because as soon as he recognized the reason for the furrow of your brow his face softened as he looked at you. Closing the space between you he places a hand atop your head, gently ruffling your hair, and your ears lower on instinct to accommodate the motion.

“Didn’t you want me to help you sleep?” You supposed he was right, but you for sure thought it was a one-time thing, not a repeat kind of deal. Your face flushes as you think about another night shared with Arthur and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to. Your hands fiddle with the hem of your shirt and you nod your head in agreement and he resumes getting changed for bed. He’s courteous to you, turning to face the other way so you can get comfortable taking off layers for a better sleep experience, and when you settle in his hold that night you wonder if this means anything. You hope it does.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This trend continues, each morning you’d do your work and each night you fall and rest nestled in Arthurs hold. At this point almost everyone in camp was aware of this happening and had silently deemed that you belonged to Arthur, and quite frankly you didn’t mind. The girls finally left you alone about how dishonorable he was and you yourself felt so content and rested each morning you had no reason to complain about this labelling.

You currently sat by the lakeside, humming a tune to yourself while you sewed up some cloth for cleaning purposes, feet swaying on the edge of the dock. Your so caught up in the gentle breeze and warm sun that you practically jump out of your skin when someone comes up behind you, calling your name in a tone you don’t like, or better yet, that you hate. You turn, and sure enough it’s Micah. He was another wolf in the camp and when you first arrived, he would pick on you quite a bit, popping up behind you just to give you a scare and see you jump or making comments about how he wants to eat you. After awhile he had mostly stopped, probably because the novelty had worn off, and now that you had this unspoken label of being under Arthurs protection, he had stopped bothering you entirely. Well, maybe not.

“What d’ya doin’ out here lucky foot? Sewing some cloth.” You don’t respond. Your ears are pulled back and your eyes look for some kind of way out but considering the narrow nature of this dock it would be hard to slip past.

“You know, I heard rabbit stew is quite delicious,” You swallow thickly, heart hammering in your chest, “Mind if I try a bite?” He snaps his jaws at you which makes you jump, shaking your head quickly and he laughs at just how anxious he’s making you right now. You eye him carefully as he plops down next to you on the end, your body curling so far into itself to keep your distance.

“I hear Morgans takin’ a liking to ya’. How about I help you at night, I’ll keep you real safe.” His face is too close. You don’t like it, not at all. It’s still daylight and you doubt he’d actually do something but that does nothing to fix the frantic thoughts that race through your mind. Arthur. You want Arthur. Where is he? He said he’d keep you safe. All you can think about is where Arthur could be, and why Micah had decided to tease you today.

You open your eyes, having closed them without realizing it when you hear a loud splashing sound, water touching the bottom of your pants. Micah sits in the chilled lake, ears completely pulled back and voice growly as he yells.

“What the shit Morgan!?” You turn to see Arthur, his face giving off an air of pure aggression and he bares his teeth and growls.

“Don’t. Touch. This rabbit is mine.” Your heart skips a beat. He called you his. Everyone else did too, but, but there was something much more appealing about hearing the man say it himself. You hear Micah give a growl in response and you stand to hide behind Arthur, finger clutching the cloth of his jacket. Micah lets out a huff, giving up as he trudges through the water to the shore, spitting as he passes by you both but Arthurs eyes never leaving him until he’s far enough away. Your heart finally stops drumming in your ears and you let go of Arthurs jacket as he turns to face you. He places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb rubbing idly as you look at each other and any trace of fear or left-over anxiety washes away, replaced by a fluttering in your stomach. Eventually his hand slips from you and he walks away, looking to you a moment longer before he leaves.

Your mind is of course constantly replaying this moment over and over. The way he snarled to protect you, teeth and claws bared, the softness in his eyes as he regarded you, and the fact he had called you his. You cover your face at that last bit, cheeks red and body filled with a kind of happiness you hadn’t expected to experience in this little camp group. That night when the two of you were settling for bed you just had to bring it up, you wanted to know what this was between you.

“Arthur?”

“Lil’ rabbit?” He smiles as he plops down on the side of the cot, starting to take his boots off, a cigarette poised between his lips and eyes facing downward, but you know he’s listening.

“Today, er, well earlier. You said I belonged to you when Micah was there and um…” He’s watching you now, having stopped his ministrations. His face is unreadable when you glance over to him and that makes you nervous but he doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to finish despite having stopped talking, fingers gripping and releasing each other as you try to find the words to the question you want to ask most.

“Do you, I mean are we, or rather what,” you let out a huff of air, why can’t you just say it!? No. You knew why, because what if you were wrong about his intentions, his actions, his possible feelings. What if you were a means to an end a, a toy or something? What if everyone had been right before? You look at him again, expression desperate, but you don’t know what for. He still says nothing, taking a long drag of his cigarette before crushing it below his heel. You struggle for a few more moments, starting and stopping again, your face growing hot and your hands getting sweaty.

“Take yer time darlin’” He finally speaks, and his voice seems to relax you and you feel more sure. How did he do that to you so instantly?  Regardless, you know you need to just relax. Just breathe. It was just you and Arthur here after all, that’s what his tone had told you, that it was alright, that he was here.

You take a few deep breaths. You open your mouth. And you tell him how you feel.

“I like you Arthur, a lot. And, when you said I was yours today I thought maybe, just maybe you liked me too. And I…Well I, I want all this to mean something, rabbit and wolf, whatever. I want. I want you Arthur. Could you ever feel the same about me?” Your question is tentative, shy, with a hint of a shake to your voice as the nerves begin to bubble up once again. But Arthur smiles, tells you to come over, and when you do he pulls you down to sit in his lap and he kisses you. Its soft, a softer kiss than you’d expect an outlaw like Arthur to give but you accept it nonetheless, and when you split apart you didn’t need him to answer but he does regardless.

“When I said you were mine I mean’t it lil’ rabbit. You think I’d sleep in this same cot with just anyone? It’s been somethin’ more since day one.”

He kisses you again and you feel like this time you don’t want to part, your head in the clouds. The kiss you two share takes mere moments to turn from tender to heated and you let him have the lead. The next time he breaks apart he plants kisses along your face and jaw before biting your lip, licking at the flesh before kissing you again, your tongues touching. He scoots back eventually, pulling you along so your sat between his leg on the cot and you let him maneuver you so your back is against his chest. This time he puts his lips to your neck, nibbling at the junction between your neck and shoulder, careful to keep the bites light enough so his sharp canines don’t hurt you. When he nibbles on your ear you let out a pleasured sigh and feel his hands move from the side of your hips to the hem of your shirt and he begins to unbutton from bottom to top, mouth continuing to leave marks across your neck and shoulders, pulling the shirt off as well as the undershirt beneath.

“This alright?” You nod your head unable to speak as his hands massage your chest, forefinger and thumb rubbing at your nipples. You let out a moan as he pinches them and you can feel him smile into your neck, his tongue licking a long stripe up to the base of your ear. His other hand teases at the hem of your pants, rubbing at your hips and slipping under before retracting to trace patterns on your side and stomach. You whine, a sign of begging, as his fingers dip in again but deeper, so close to where you want them most, and on the third swipe you buck upwards. You whine out his name and hear him chuckle in response.

“Somethn’ the matter?” You turn your head to look at him, a pout poised on your lips and Arthur relishes in the sad look you give him. Before you’re even able to ask him to touch you his hand dips down, fingers caressing your sex and you let out a surprised moan. He rubs his hand against you and you rub against him in return, biting at your lip as his fingers dip lower and tease at your entrance. He removes his hand and your about to protest but feel him lift you up with one hand and tug at your pants with the other to which you respond by using your own to assist in stripping you of both pants and underwear. You hear his tail thumping behind him as he wags it, hand returning to your entrance and pushing inside. Your hand goes up to grip at the base of his neck, legs uncocniously lifting and spreading to accommodate his touch, you wanted him to touch you more, to give you more of him. Being a rabbit meant you were a bit smaller than others, particularly to large predatory animals, thus Arthur knew if he was to give you more, he had to prepare you first. Although he had to admit the sweet sounds you emitted made it hard for him to go slow.

“Shit Y/N I just wanna eat you all up, ya know that?” You’re responding moan turns to a gasp as he inserts another finger, using them both to pleasure and stretch you so he can finally enter you. You can feel his hand getting faster with urgency and the hard cock that rests on your ass behind you is sure to be the reason so of course you wiggle your hips just to feel him twitch behind you as your ass rubs against him. He gives a low warning growl so you do it again and hear his breath hitch. He finally pulls his fingers from you and moves you to free himself from his pants, leaning over you to his bedside as he grabs a small canister of oil and coats himself to be sure that when he enters all you feel is sheer pleasure. He braces your one thigh on his forearm and, with your assistance, lifts you upward enough as to angle himself so the tip of his cock is teasing at your entrance. And then, he slowly lowers you onto himself. He releases a groan at how tight you feel and you hold your breath until your partially seated, letting out a shaky exhale as you feel the stretch from below. It hurt a bit, but you knew it’d get better eventually and gave no protest when Arthur grabbed your other leg, holding you up and against him as he thrust his hips fully. You cry out when his hips meet your backside, dick fully sheathed inside of you and you hear him curse behind you as he starts a steady pace, holding you up all the while. You don’t really know where to place your hands since he has all the control, so you settle for behind his head on one, the other atop your sex rubbing in time with his thrusts. Arthur growls and grunts into your ear, the sounds only making you more aroused as you cry out his name and a jumble of yesses and pleas for more.

“You’re so…shit, you feel so good. You like that huh? Like how good this wolf makes you feel?” You cry out another yes, begging him to go faster and of course he does. He shifts then, dropping your legs and bending your forward a bit as he prompts you to start bouncing yourself, hands on your hip to help push you up and down. He grabs hold of your fluffy white tail and you moan his name. It feels amazing, to think you’d go from nervous confession to this, with a predator for Gods sake. You don’t even have the capacity to think about that concept, your mind a haze of lust and your ears filled with the sounds of Arthur and you, every thrust. You feel completely stretched out on him, so full and so good, you want more but you can feel your end approaching. Your nerves are alight with so many good sensations you can’t care to hold in your voice as your peak approaches closer and closer, your volume only getting louder. Right as your orgasm hits you Arthur bites down on your shoulder, the shock of the pain mixed with the highest of pleasure has you practically screaming his name, and you feel his shaft pulse inside you not a moment after and you knew he reached his end as well.

You slump in his arms, laying back against his chest again, your own heaving as you try and catch your breath. You feel him lick at the spot he had bitten, knowing it had left some huge mark but you were too tired to care. He laid the both of you down, taking the time to clean you off before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you atop his chest. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead and the both of you fall fast asleep.

That next morning you can tell Arthur is proud to see your neck left uncovered, and although you know people are staring just as much as they are talking, you don’t feel nervous at all.

[go-diane-winchester]

SPN ending could be Misha's fault

When J2 decided to end SPN, most dignified individuals were very respectful of their decisions despite the fact that it hurt something fierce.  However there were those who were speculating as to why J2 finally decided to call it a day.  Jensen did give a potential reason during VegasCon this past weekend. 

The Budget

They got a question about what ideal location they would choose to shoot an episode if they had a choice.  Jensen went off on a tangent about shooting on the road, and then mentioned that if they had the budget for that, then they would still have a show.  So one of the reasons, was the budget

The Ratings

During a January 2019 interview with Deadline, Mark Pedowitz, CW president said the following: “As long as the ratings hold up and the guys (stars Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles) want to do it, it’s really that simple. They have created something about these two brothers that actually transcends.”  Jensen also said, during the panels, that the show ending was a joint decision, as everyone involved with show did not want the show to fizzle out.  They wanted the show to go out strong.  According to Deadline, Supernatural was a potent ratings performer, ranking as the CW second most watched and highest rated among adults 18-49 series in Live+Same Day only behind The Flash.  However, if the show is such a high performer, why would Jensen talk about it fizzling out and what did he mean by that?  It meant, in my humble opinion, that despite the fact that the ratings were good, there was potential for it to lose viewership in the coming future and end disgracefully.  Perhaps, analysis of the rating chart was showing that in the future, SPN had the potential to drop too much in the ratings, and they wanted the show to end in a dignified manner rather than ''being booed off the stage'', according to Jared many years ago.   

So Jensen mentioned the budget and the ratings fizzling out as the reason for SPN's demise.  The joint decision was not to an easy one because, according to Jensen, they had discussed it for years.  So J2 don't want the show to end.  They need to end the show with dignity before its too late and they lose too many viewers.  I can understand that.

So whose fault is it that the show suffered from budget problems and dangerous future ratings?

Misha made a joke about SPN continuing without J2 and instead starring him and Richard, and Jensen gave a savage reply which I laughed at.  Unfortunately hellers assume that I cant understand the joke.  On the contrary, how do they know Jensen was joking?  If Jensen says the budget and the fizzling ratings are the reasons for SPN ending, and he is smart man, then he has to place some blame on Misha for the expensive and pointless spinoff that made a dent in the budget and contributed to the potential drop in ratings due to the lack in new material for SPN. 

Well, @kaitlyn7777 ​​, the spinoff was Misha's doing.  He badmouthed the show in 2013, during his panel, by convincing his own band on minions that SPN is a sexist show, and his top tier minions decided that having a female cast in a spinoff would be the way to rectify that grievous wrong.  The reason why he wasn't fired for that was because Bob Singer is his backstop.  Bob Singer is potentially the reason Castiel was brought back after being killed off in Season 7.  Bob Singer and Andrew Dabb, Misha's fan boys gave the following joint statement about the ending:  ''We’d like to give special thanks to Jensen, Jared and Misha for making this journey so special. It is now most important to us to give these characters that we love the send off they deserve”.  Every other person from Pedowitz to Jeffrey Dean Morgan credited Jensen and Jared.  These two bum boys had to mention SPN's most glorified part time actor. 

Since S7, Castiel has been doing nothing meaningful on SPN.  Season 8 to 13 could have easily been written without him.  Despite being Misha's bum boys, even they knew how talentless he is, so they kept him on the show doing just enough to not damage the ratings.  That is why despite the minion claims that Misha is pivotal to the success of SPN, he was never given lead status or more screen time.  Castiel never got his own spinoff.  That status has never changed because even the execs realize how unimportant this guy is.  Castiel is one of the expensive dents in the budget.  They are literally paying him to take up space.   

Anyway, his fans started campaigning for an all-girl spinoff.  The show execs, fearing bad publicity, decided to comply.  Dabb and gang started sharing their own budget, time and talents between SPN and the new project.  That is when Donna and Claire got written into canon so that they can move onto the spinoff when the time came.  SPN's own storyline suffered because the writers simply could not give it the focus it needed.  That would explain the ratings.  Only Misha's fans were doing any kind of campaigning.  The rest of us didn't think that SPN was racist, sexist, homophobic or whatever other accusation the minions wanted to fling at the show.  Because the minions and their sock accounts, gave the illusion of a majority, CW thought that launching a new spin off will secure a new batch of viewers for the next 3 to 5 years at least.  Just long enough to go into syndication. 

Unfortunately, the spinoff bombed in the ratings, because twitter handles can be faked but ratings cant.  And other casual viewers didn't want to watch a ''girl power'' show with lackluster, under talented young girls complete with forced femmeslash.  The spinoff was understandably canned and minions started to campaign for its comeback.  Mark Pedowitz announced the following:  “I’ll say it again, if there was a spinoff to be had, I’d love to have it.  That said, I’ve come to somewhat of a conclusion that the show is the two brothers.”  The fact that the President of a Network, who is in charge of many other shows, has to step in to shut down further talks of a spinoff for this one show, can tell you what an annoying group the minions are. 

With the spinoff in the crapper, SPN now had a bunch of characters they didn't know what to do with.  Characters like Jody, Donna and Claire.  SPN cant kill off these useless characters because girl power and misogyny and whatnot.  So they have keep them on board.  These people are expensive add-ons.  In order to make place for them, SPN initially got rid of other characters like Bobby, Garth and Charlie.  Now that SPN is stuck with them, more characters had to be removed including Crowley.  According to Mark Sheppard, he and Misha Collins were told to take a 70% pay cut and lose their series regular status so that SPN could secure Alex Calvert and Pellegrino.  Mark said no because the deal was insulting, but Misha said yes. 

Its funny that they wanted to ''secure'' Alex and Pellegrino so desperately, but don't know what to do with their characters now.  So the thing that makes me smirk is that I think they were hoping Misha will also say no like Mark did.  They wanted to get rid of him.  They cant fire him because Bob wont let them. They were hoping Misha will leave on his own.  Unfortunately for them, Misha shamelessly took the offer.  Plus, he needs Castiel for all his other ''projects'', so a pay cut didn't bug him.  He is making a killing from Gish, because whether you like to admit it or not, Gish is business.   

Because of that blunder on the part of the writers, now they are stuck with Alex and Pellegrino, in other words two extra expenses.  Then [I blame the shitty writers for this because it makes no sense] they started bringing unnecessary old actors back, including Felicia, Osric, Jim Beaver and Samantha Smith.  There is literally no reason for bringing back Mary.  The only necessary character for a few seasons now, was Michael.  All this character juggling happened because they didn't spend time and thought on SPN due to the spinoff that Misha wanted.  Why did he want the spinoff?  According to Ruth Connell, he wanted a new home for Castiel, just in case SPN shut down. 

Misha was like the parasite that ate the show he was already on, from the inside out, in order to secure a future for himself.  And I think Jensen knew about it all along.  That joke was a fantasy of Misha and Jensen saw right through it.  Misha would die of happiness if he had a show all for himself.  Why do you he pushed destiel so much?  Because it kept him close to Dean and therefore relevant.     

https://deadline.com/2019/03/supernatural-to-end-after-season-15-on-the-cw-1202581010/

https://deadline.com/2019/01/supernatural-success-and-spinoff-potential-cw-tca-1202547014/

[caffeineivore]

Cheer Up Emo Fic for Charlie

For @coppercrane2. Also written during the traveling time. Implied R/J and a certain cameo. 

**

That word would get out about his impromptu trip to New York City he totally expected. For all it was a huge and fairly anonymous college campus, the faculty in the science departments tended to be a tight-knit group, sharing war stories about uppity pre-meds and abysmally disaffected senior-year burnouts alike. But he had not expected one of his work friends to make it a point to pick him up from LAX with the most obnoxious, knowing smirk ever. Charlotte Rhys-Jones was a genius in the zoology department and a reputed holy terror to her PhD students, but she typically left Jude out of it.

Not today, though.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I promise you, I did not get up to any trouble while in New York. I even managed to finish all those lab reports, although I’d really prefer that students stop taking my class to fulfill a science credit requirement. A few of those poor kids are really playing into the stereotypes about jocks and their academic prowess.

“Well, definitely don’t send them my way, either! Remember the shit that went down three years ago with the football players and the penguins? Not that they’d try that again, I don’t think. Penguins are fucking evil and even the meatheads know that by now.” Charlotte eyes him beadily over the rim of her glasses. “So. The girl. Tell Charlie all. I took the liberty of checking out her LinkedIn. She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”

“YOU are also evil, and a stalker, and scarier than even your penguins. But yeah, she’s pretty.” Beautiful, if he were to be completely honest. “Does it matter? She kind of lives on the opposite coast to us and doesn’t have any reason to move. I dropped off her bag, she returned me mine, and we wrapped things up neatly with a drink at a bar before I flew back here.”

“Uh-huh.” Charlotte drags the last part of that word into almost three syllables.

“She texted me to thank me for bringing her bag back and to say she was glad I made it back here safely. Why am I getting the third degree? I feel vaguely like a a seventeen-year-old kid explaining to the parents of his prom date that he’ll have their daughter home promptly at curfew. I’m pretty sure that both Raven and I are past that age in our lives.”

“Friendly enough to be on a first-name basis with her, are we now? I suppose it would be odd if she were to call you Professor Huntley. She’s a step up from the sorority chick co-eds that you encounter here and there between the actual students who mean to learn a thing or two from your classes.”

“She’s definitely not like the students. Far too decisive and self-sufficient to be any of our students, actually.” Jude isn’t quite sure of Raven’s exact age, but pegs her for mid-twenties, perhaps a few years younger than himself. At that age, he’d been a hapless grad student still, at the mercy of his academic advisors and the powers that be in charge of his student loans. Her... competence, for lack of a better term, is slightly intimidating. And yet...

“Do you intend on keeping in touch with the lovely and self-sufficient Miss Fletcher of Elite Models, New York City?” Charlotte is not one to beat about the bush. “It would do you very well to make friends every once in a while. Have someone to talk to when you need a sounding board or some advice.”

“Don’t I have you for that, Charlie?”

“Sure, but our conversations have an unfortunate tendency to degenerate into rants about rude students, idiotic deans, evil penguins, or all of the above. You could stand to discuss a few new topics. Keep your mind sharp and all that. Plus, I’m not likely to inspire you to travel cross-country with a goofy smile on your face. You also attempted to deflect my question with another question as opposed to actually answering it, and that says it all, doesn’t it?”

“Have you ever considered being a law school professor instead? I think you’d be phenomenal.”

“I’m sure I would be, but then I’d be trading penguins for lawyers-to-be. At least the first category has the decency to be quietly evil as opposed to the obnoxious variety of evil that never shuts up and enjoys arguing with you whenever you say anything at all. You should invite your Raven out for a drink, maybe some tacos, next time she’s in LA. Return the favour, you know.”

Charlie continues on this vein until she drops Jude off at his apartment, and perhaps it’s her intention that he turn his thoughts towards Raven, thousands of miles away. It’d be pretty late now, in New York City, but he texts her before he can talk himself out of it. 

“I’m glad you don’t hate me for the bag mishap. Margaritas next time you’re here in LA, my treat?”

To his surprise, she texts back within minutes. “That’d be great. A margarita sounds amazing right now. Been in meetings all day with the people at Vogue. Anna Wintour’s minions eat and drink what she does and it all sucks!!!!!”

He finds himself laughing, charmed by her refreshing honesty, and texts her back to inquire about her meetings with the designers in negotiations for working with Morgan Austen, asking about her day. She replies, asks him about his, and before he knows it, it’s full dark outside, which means that on the East Coast, it must be well after midnight.

“Am I keeping you up? If I am, I’m sorry. Go to sleep.”

He doesn’t expect her to respond back, but her text comes through a minute later.

“I didn’t mind. it’s late though. Talk to you tomorrow?”

He tells himself it’s lame to text her a wave and a smiley face emoji, but does it anyway. There isn’t exactly a precedent for how to deal with the likes of Raven Fletcher, after all, and he eventually turns in for the night, fairly sure it’d be the end of it.

But he wakes up in the middle of the night to a text notification. Morning rush-hour, Eastern Standard Time. Raven texted him a pithy comment about her morning commute on the subway.

It’s nothing, really. But he texts her back, bleary-eyed and sleepy. And turns up on campus with a bit of lightness to his step and a smile on his face.

Charlie takes one long look at him and walks away, smirking and humming something that sounds suspiciousy like the Wedding March under her breath. She is, of course, teasing him on the basis of their long professional friendship.

Jude, however, texts Raven again during lunch, laughs at her witticisms about some designer or another’s outlandish winter-season line, shares an anecdote about a small lab mishap. Neither of them, he knows, has more than the faintest inkling of what the other person is talking about. He really could care less about fashion.

But talking to Raven, about any topic at all, was wonderful. Charlie would call him smitten, probably.

He couldn’t even be mad about it.

[write-havoc]

Of Sons and Daughters Ch 12

Summary: Arthur is tasked by Dutch to watch over a young woman who had just lost the last member of her family she had left. That young woman just so happens to be the daughter that Dutch told no one else about.

This is a non canon AU with no major spoilers

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, PG 13 smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist in my bio

After Arthur dresses, he heads out the back door of the manor house to meet Dutch and John in one of the outbuildings. The muggy swamp air hangs thick around him, but it doesn’t hinder him from trudging through the soft earth toward the dilapidated former slave quarters. The distinct sound of someone being beaten allows him to pinpoint exactly which building they have the O’Driscoll held captive, so he heads that way.

“Arthur!” Sadie’s raspy voice calls out as she rushes up to him from behind. “Hang on!”

He pauses, but continues on his way without looking at her. “Now, Sadie, why don’t you head on back inside-“

“No,” she insists as she catches up to walk beside him. “There’s no way I’m not getting my hands on that O’Driscoll. I promised I’d make every single one of them pay for what they did to me and my Jake and I aim to keep that promise.”

Arthur stops begrudgingly and turns to her with a sigh, knowing she won’t drop the issue. “We need to get some information from him first, okay? I promise it ain’t gonna be good for him; he’s gonna suffer. But we need to get out of him where Colm is before we let ‘im die. If I let you in there, can you promise me you won’t go blowing his head off before we get what we want?”

She looks him dead in the eye as she answers. “Yeah. I promise I’ll let you torture Colm’s location out of him before I kill him.”

Arthur’s not convinced. Especially with the way she looked during the battle against the O’Driscolls that ended not even an hour ago. The sight of her firing off rounds into the enemy and screaming the whole while like a banshee made her look like a woman possessed. And that rage doesn’t just go away.

“Leave your guns out here,” he finally says, pointing to the ground.

She lets out a huff, knowing that he has a point. With the blind rage she feels every time she even hears the name O’Driscoll, she can’t trust herself not to kill the man the second she sees him.

“Fine.” She drops her pistols on the ground and follows Arthur the rest of the way to the broken down shack at the edge of the property.

Once the pair enters the building, they see the young O’Driscoll, his arms and legs both strapped down to a chair. Considering the two black eyes and fat lip he’s sporting, Dutch and John must have already worked him over.

“Arthur,” Dutch greets him as if he’s walked into a party. “And Mrs. Adler,” he adds, though his voice drops slightly.

The woman in question stares daggers at the O’Driscoll before her, but she restrains herself from pouncing on him. Rather, she moves back to lean against the wall as she crosses her arms over her chest in a wordless gesture saying that she’ll be hands off on this. At least right now.

Dutch takes notice then continues. “John and I were just asking our new friend here about his boss, but he’s been less than forthcoming. Perhaps you could try your hand, Arthur. You always were very persuasive .”

Arthur knows what that means; he’s to beat the information out of him. To make sure the O’Driscoll is good and intimidated, Arthur makes a show of rolling up his sleeves slowly and taking his hat off before leaning down to the young man’s face.

“Where’s Colm?” he growls, hoping the man will make this easy by cracking immediately. But of course, he doesn’t.

“Fuck you,” the O’Driscoll spits out in his Irish accent, though it’s muffled from the blood pooling in his mouth from the blows he’s already suffered.

Arthur’s only response is a swift punch to the guy’s gut, knocking the wind from him. As he coughs and sputters to try to get the air that had been punched out of him back into his lungs, Dutch lights up a cigar and casually saunters closer.

“It’s only going to get harder, O’Driscoll,” Dutch calls out in a sing song way. “Best bet is to talk now.”

The man flicks his gaze around all the faces in the room, to the younger dark haired man with the scars to his right, then to the two men standing in front of him and finally to the woman leaning on the back wall with murder in her eyes. “Colm told me about all ‘a yous.” He fixes his gaze on the oldest man that he’s recognized as Dutch. “You especially. You can’t just murder a man’s kin, his brother , and expect not to pay.”

“I did pay!” Dutch yells as he trades position with Arthur to stand directly in front of their captive. “Colm murdered someone dear to me and I loved her more than Colm ever cared about his good for nothing brother, I assure you of that. He still owes me .” To punctuate the point, Dutch stubs out his lit cigar on the back of the man’s hand, eliciting a growl of pain from him.

Arthur moves to the man’s side and grabs him by the hair, wrenching his head up to look at him. “Where’s Colm?” he growls as he rears back like he’s going to punch him again.

“Y-You can’t do nothin’ about it,” the O’Driscoll answers in a moment of weakness, his resolve to remain loyal to his leader momentarily waning with the prospect of another blow.

“Do about what?” John asks as he steps closer.

The young man steels himself, mustering the courage to hold out. “Don’t matter. You ain’t gettin’ nothin’ more from me!”

Before anyone else can react, Sadie flies out of nowhere brandishing her hunting knife with both her hands. She swings the blade above her head and down, burying it deeply in the man’s left thigh.

“Where’s Colm?!” she screams. “Answer us!”

The O’Driscoll squeals in pain at the sudden shock of being stabbed. “You crazy bitch!”

Arthur pulls Sadie back by the shoulder before she can do any more damage, cursing himself for not noticing that she had kept her knife on her. He decides to make the best out of the situation and wraps his hand around the blade still stuck in the O’Driscoll’s leg. He wiggles it a little to produce more pain, hoping that he will finally break. “Last chance, O’Driscoll. Answer or I’ll pull this knife out and watch you bleed to death. Slowly. And painfully.”

He looks up to Arthur, barely able to catch his breath out of pain and fear. His resolve crumbles quickly at the prospect that the man in front of him is telling the truth. For as much as Colm O’Driscoll has spouted that the gang always comes first, the decision to actually try to save his own life comes easy for the young man staring death in the face.

“Saint Denis,” he finally whispers. “Colm’s in Saint Denis. Pinkertons picked him up right after you didn’t show up to the meet. Said he weren’t no use to them no more.”

Dutch steps forward. It’s certainly good to have that information, but something else has been bothering him. “How did you know we were here at Shady Belle?” Depending on the answer, they may have to move camp yet again.

“W-We saw two of your men in a wagon in Valentine,” he starts to explain. “Followed ‘em here.”

Arthur figures that’s possible. When it became clear that Emmeline had permanently relocated from her home, he had sent out Sean and Lenny to pick up Emmeline’s chickens and coop to bring back to Shady Belle. Neither of the two young men have a whole lot of experience and may not have realized they were being followed all the way back to camp.

“Did you tell the Pinkertons?” Arthur asks instantly. That’s the real question. If they know where they are, they could already be on their way here.

“We’re on the run from them now just like you are!” the O’Driscoll bites back. “We ain’t talked to those lyin’ bastards since they took Colm!”

It seems to everyone that the man is probably telling the truth, so their camp is safe for now. But there’s still the issue of Colm.

“Where exactly in Saint Denis are they keeping him?” Dutch asks.

“How the hell should I know!” When Arthur winds up to punch him, the O’Driscoll backs off. “No, no, no! Wait!” he calls out anxiously. “Theys gonna hang him today. I swear! That’s why we went after yous.” His eyes flit around the room, knowing that he’s said too much. “S-So you’ll get your revenge anyway. Even if you do nothin’,” he tries, hoping they don’t put it together.

Dutch shares a look with Arthur, the two of them instantly picking up the real reason behind the O’Driscolls’ quick attack.

“As much as I hate that man,” Dutch starts, “I have to admit that Colm’s smart enough that he’s managed to slip the noose many times before. I also know that he’s smart enough to realize that if he’s going to be strung up anywhere near where I am, I’d make sure he gets properly hung. So this little skirmish we just engaged in tells me for certain that Colm has a plan in place to escape his execution today. And that he doesn’t want me to ruin it. So thank you for confirming that.” Dutch gives Arthur a nod, wordlessly conveying his orders to the younger man.

Without a second’s notice, Arthur pulls the large knife from the O’Driscoll’s leg, making sure to twist it on the way out. As the man screams in pain, Arthur hands the blade back to Sadie and gestures back to the man, making it clear that she’s to dispatch of him.

“Hey, wait!” the man yells. “I told ya what ya wanted!”

His plea doesn’t stop Sadie as she walks forward to him. “You O’Driscolls ruined my life!” She suddenly stabs him in the gut with a punch. “Killed my husband!” She stabs him again. “Forced yourselves on me!” Her hand starts to slip on the hilt as it’s covered with blood, but she continues. “ You ruined my life! ” Using all the power she can muster, she forces the blade up and under his rib cage, puncturing his heart and killing him instantly. His head lolls to the side as the life leaves his body.

Despite the fact that he’s long gone, Sadie keeps stabbing him repeatedly anywhere she can. Once his torso starts to lose it’s shape from the repeated wounds, Arthur gently puts his hand on her shoulder, drawing her out of her rage.

“He’s dead, Sadie,” he says softly. “That’s enough.”

Breathing roughly, she pulls back from the man slumped in the chair and looks down at her bloodstained hands. She wonders just what kind of person she’s become through all of this. Is she even recognizable as herself anymore?

John jumps in, unaware of the battle raging in Sadie’s mind. “You really think after how many O’Driscolls we just killed today that they can still rescue Colm from Saint Denis?”

“I reckon there’s more than enough of those bastards left to save Colm from the gallows,” Dutch answers. “We need to make sure they don’t succeed.”

“We better get goin’ then,” Arthur comments. “If we wanna get there in time to stop them.”

Dutch nods in agreement. “John, you take care of him,” he gestures to the dead man in the chair then looks up to Sadie and Arthur. “We need to see Hosea about a change of clothing.”

Arthur recognizes the look in Dutch’s eye; he already has a plan cooked up in his head. Once they find Hosea and tell him everything as quickly as possible, the older man is immediately on board.

“I have a couple of Saint Denis police uniforms that should fit you fellas. They’ll get you close without raising suspicion,” he explains as he pulls the outfits from a trunk in the back of one of the wagons. “As for you, Mrs. Adler,” he roots around more, finding a fancy yellow dress with a frilly lace front, “I think a high society lady traversing the streets of the city will go unnoticed by anyone looking for outlaws.”

She takes the frock into her freshly cleaned hands, then the large feathered hat he produces as well. “Ain’t exactly worn nothin’ like this. And I sure as hell ain’t a high society lady.”

“Well, you are today, my dear,” Dutch comments.

After they change into their costumes, they all mount up and leave. During the ride, they strategize what they’re going to do. If they’ve made it in time and Colm’s not long gone yet, they’ll patrol the crowd to see if any of Colm’s men are around fixing to make a daring rescue of their leader. If they are in the crowd, they’ll make damn sure to keep them occupied so that Colm gets seen through on his execution.

As they finally approach Guiteau Square, the high noon sun beats down on them. That doesn’t deter the rapidly gathering crowd from congregating in front of the gallows hoping to get a good view of the show about to come. They all look on expectantly as the hangman trudges up the steps to check the noose already hanging on the crossbar on preparation.

“Good,” Dutch says quietly to his companions. “We didn’t miss it.” When he looks over all the people standing in the square, he thinks he recognizes a few of them. He leans in closer to Arthur to whisper, “Those two idiots look familiar?” He gestures to two men talking with another man in the crowd.

“Yeah,” Arthur answers. “They definitely run with Colm.”

“Guess it’s a good idea we decided to show up, then,” Dutch comments with a smirk.

As they watch the O’Driscolls, they notice them periodically turn and look across the street.

“What are they looking at?” Dutch asks almost to himself as he turns to see.

“One of ‘em’s comin’ this way,” Arthur warns and the three Van Der Lindes look away as to not raise suspicion. They discreetly watch the man cross the street and head away from them in the direction they had been looking.

“Better see where he’s going,” Dutch says to Arthur. “Me and Mrs. Adler will keep our eyes on those two.” He gestures to the two O’Driscolls still standing in the crowd.

Arthur nods and starts to follow the man away from the square. Keeping a safe distance, he meanders the alleyways behind the man until he sees him ascend a latter onto a fire escape. He continues on, hopping up onto a nearby rooftop and crossing over to another building, the building that happens to be directly across the street from where Colm will be hanged.

Luckily for Arthur, the O’Driscoll isn’t the most observant, so instead of checking his surroundings first, he goes straight to the sniper rifle that must have been stashed there earlier. He takes up his position to get a good look at Guiteau Square. And most likely the noose he’s set to shoot down to save Colm from hanging.

As quietly as he can, Arthur pulls his knife from its sheath and sneaks up behind the distracted O’Driscoll. It takes just a moment for Arthur to bury his knife in the back of the man’s neck, severing his spinal cord and killing him almost instantly.

Movement on the raised platform of the gallows below catches Arthur’s eye after he unceremoniously drops the dead man’s body to the ground. He picks up the O’Driscoll’s discarded sniper rifle and raises the scope to his eye to get a better look. Colm had been brought out while Arthur was killing the sniper and the noose now rests around his neck. The bright sunlight of this cloudless day makes it easy for Arthur to see the smug smile on Colm’s face through the scope. It’s the smile of a man expecting to walk away from this unscathed, confident that the plan he has in place will go off without a hitch. Arthur sees that expression fall slightly as the man casts his eyes down to the crowd. Arthur follows his gaze to see that Sadie and Dutch are now holding onto the two O’Driscolls in the crowd, guns to their heads to keep them from doing anything stupid. Once Colm raises is gaze to see Arthur in the sniper’s nest, pure fear washes over his face as the realization hits that his plan has been thwarted. This will be his last day on earth and there’s nothing he can do about it now.

Arthur sends an obnoxious wave over to him to hit the point home. “You’re gon’ hang, Colm,” he says under his breath. “Once and for all.”

The hangman wastes no time in shouting out Colm’s charges, but Arthur can barely hear them over the distance. He’s focused on looking through the scope right at Colm’s face, anyway, not wanting to miss a single second of the man’s fear as his execution approaches. Just a moment later, the hangman pulls the lever and Colm finally falls through the drop door to his long overdo death.

Arthur’s seen men die before, many times. He’s even witnessed hangings and it’s never much affected him. This one does, though, not for what it is but what it will mean from now on. The air leaves Arthur’s lungs as if a weight has been lifted from him. Dutch’s rivalry with Colm that’s lasted for almost as many years as Arthur’s been in the gang is now over. He only gets a second to really feel the weight of that before a shot rings out (as well as a scream that sounds suspiciously like Sadie’s angry voice) and then everyone in the square is scattering.

“Arthur! O’Driscolls!” Dutch’s loud voice reaches Arthur’s ears and he jumps into action.

There aren’t many O’Driscolls left, but there are enough rushing into the square to keep Dutch and Sadie pinned down in their positions ducked down behind the low wall surrounding the square. Arthur quickly pinpoints the men battling to avenge their fallen leader and dispatches them with utmost efficiency. Soon enough, the din of the gunshots is punctuated by a cacophony of police whistles as the local law enforcement descends on the scene, adding to the anarchy. Fortunately, Dutch’s cop costume keeps the heat from the actual cops away from him and Sadie as they try to take out the last of the O’Driscolls.

Their anonymity doesn’t last forever, though. One observant officer ends up rushing to take cover right beside Dutch. As soon as he gets a good look at Dutch’s face, his eyes widen in recognition. Dutch sees the look of familiarity sweep through the man’s eyes and knows the tide will surely turn if this young man is allowed to call attention to the outlaw in his midst. Without an extra second’s thought, Dutch silences the cop with a well placed bullet through the top of his head before he can alert anyone.

“We need to get outta here!” Dutch shouts to Sadie.

Arthur can see the moment things start to change. With the law finally outnumbering the O’Driscolls, they start to look around for the cause of the battle. More and more of their eyes are focusing on Dutch and Sadie, which is decidedly a bad thing. It’s one thing to fight O’Driscolls in the streets, but having the entire police force of Saint Denis coming for you is quite another.

The two Van Der Lindes on the ground have no choice but to rush away from the police and toward one of the alleys that the leftover O’Driscolls are holed up in. It would certainly be a death trap on any other occasion, but Dutch knows that Arthur has line of sight on this particular alley. As if on cue, every O’Driscoll that peeks his head out to get a shot on Dutch and Sadie ends up with a fresh bullet hole between the eyes, courtesy of the sniper rifle they so generously provided in the fight in the first place.

Dutch gives a little wave, signaling to Arthur that all the O’Driscolls in the immediate area are gone. When Dutch and Sadie start to strip off their costumes in favor of putting on their normal outfits, Arthur follows suit, pulling his extra clothes from his satchel. Abandoning the uniform and the rifle on the roof, Arthur makes his way down to street level and across the few blocks to where their horses are hitched.

“Come on, Arthur. Hurry up,” Dutch spurs the younger man to move faster down the street as he hops up into his saddle. “We need to get outta here before the police really catch onto us.”

As Arthur mounts Sparrow and turns to follow Dutch, he looks to his right to Sadie. “You alright?”

She tears her eyes away from the road ahead to look his way. “We got ‘em, Arthur,” she chokes out, though no tears come to her eyes; they never do anymore. “Who we didn’t kill, the law finished off. There ain’t no more O’Driscolls thanks to us, so I feel...” She thinks a moment. Happy’s not the word; the grief of losing her husband is still too great to allow for that. “I feel... relieved,” she settles on. “Those monsters won’t ever hurt anyone else. And I’m more than okay with that.”

Meanwhile back at camp, from the moment the trio leaves Shady Belle, everyone else in the gang has been a little on edge. Not only are they wondering if the small group would be successful in making sure Colm finally gets his due, but they have the mess around the property to deal with, too. It’s all hands on deck to try to dispose of the dead O’Driscolls lying around. Fortunately, the swamp around them (and the alligators in it) provides the perfect place to do just that, but all those bodies still need to make their way there.

The thought of having to touch dead corpses horrifies Emmeline, but she doesn’t want to let anyone down. She is a part of this group, so she’s determined to pitch in as much as she can.

“You can do this,” she whispers to herself before she pushes through the front door of the main house and walks out onto the porch. A wave of nausea passes over her as she steps closer to one of the bodies off by the gazebo, knowing what she has to do. “He was a bad man,” she mutters to reassure herself as she rolls the sleeves of her blouse to her elbows. Tossing a glance back to the wagon being laden with dead bodies, she bends down and wraps her fingers around the dead O’Driscoll’s ankles, fixing to drag him in that direction. After only a few feet, she’s interrupted by Hosea’s voice.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there,” he calls out as he rushes toward her. “You should be inside, Emmeline.”

She gently drops the O’Driscoll’s feet, as if she could still hurt him if she was too rough. “It’s okay. I want to help out.”

He doesn’t take that for an answer. Instead, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and turns her back toward the house. “I’m sure Jack would be pleased with your company upstairs. Besides, it’s too hot out here. You shouldn’t overexert yourself in your condition.”

“C-Condition?” she asks, playing dumb in case he doesn’t actually know her secret and means something else.

He chuckles, leading her back up the porch steps and through the door. “Yes. Your condition .” He stops them in the sitting room, knowing that everyone else is too busy to hear their conversation. “I admit that I should have seen it sooner. Age really is creeping up on me. Dulling the senses.” He holds his hand out, gesturing for her to sit onto the couch. He follows after, planting himself down with a groan and creaking joints.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve lived my whole life as a conman, dear girl. I’ve learned to read people, pick up on little cues, little traits that tell me everything I need to know about them. I wasn’t too sure about your... situation at first. Not until I saw the way John’s been looking at you like he’s terrified. The same way he looked at Abigail when she was with child, though not quite as bad. I reckon ‘cause he knows he’s not the father in this case.” He shakes his head. “That boy still ain’t comfortable with children, despite having one of his own.”

“Abigail figured it out pretty quick,” Emmeline explains. “And she told John the second she was sure. He hasn’t really said much to me about it since then.”

Hosea nods. “Abigail’s smarter than people give her credit for. And John,” he laughs, “finesse ain’t exactly his strong suit. We’ve had to fight our way out of more situations than I care to think about because he blew our cover.”

“Really?” she says with a giggle. “I guess Arthur and I will have to start telling people soon, anyway. People are bound to notice when I start showing through my dress.”

“You and Arthur have time yet, I’m betting.” He pats her on the knee gently. “I’m so happy for Arthur to become a father. I know he always wanted to have children.”

“He did?” she asks, confused. Arthur hadn’t really told her that in so many words.

He nods. “He may not admit it, maybe not even to himself, but I know deep down he’s wanted a family. All you have to do is look at how he treats Jack. He’s been more of a father to that boy than Marston‘s been, really. Did everything for him in the beginning. If Abigail hadn’t’ve loved John so much, I reckon Arthur woulda married her just to give the boy a proper family when John left.”

“Arthur wants to leave,” she admits quietly. “Leave the gang with me and the Marstons. So we can raise the children away from this.”

He lets out a heavy breath. “He’s smart to want that. We all know this isn’t gonna end well, deep down. We just try to prolong it, day by day, however we can.” He grasps her hand in his and gives her a poignant look. “You tell him it’s alright to leave all this, Emmeline. Even if he’s said he wants to leave, he’ll wrestle with getting away from this life, leaving us. You tell him he can go. He doesn’t owe us nothing more.”

The vehemence with which he says it has Emmeline nodding automatically. She had a feeling that Arthur would have a hard time with following through on leaving. Especially given how much he sees the gang as his family.

It takes a while, but the property finally gets completely cleaned up. It isn’t much longer after that when Dutch, Arthur, and Sadie get back to the camp. Once everyone sees the three riders galloping down the trail toward the house, they hold their breath in anticipation. The second Dutch hitches The Count and looks up with a bright smiling face and outstretched arms, everyone breaks out in cheers knowing that the trio was successful in their mission. The Van Der Linde’s oldest rival has been taken down. And now it’s time to celebrate.

Liquor flows. Songs are sung. Stories are told. The mood around camp is light and jovial as everyone enjoys the party, some around the fire, some at Pearson’s tent, and some dancing in the middle to the music from Dutch’s phonograph.

From her seat on the log by the fire, Emmeline watches Karen and Sean swaying to and fro together arrhythmically to the music, both of them already three sheets to the wind. It doesn’t stop them from looking like they’re anything but happy together, though.

“You doin’ alright?” Arthur’s voice draws her attention away from the couple.

She turns back to him beside her and gives him a smile. “Yeah. I’m fine, Arthur.”

“What you went through today...” he lets out a heavy breath, thinking about how she was held at gunpoint earlier, “I don’t want you to ever go through that again. Don’t ever want you in danger.”

“I don’t want either of us in danger.” Remembering the conversation she had earlier with Hosea, she scoots closer to Arthur to speak with him more quietly. “I know it’s gonna be hard,” she whispers and takes her hand in his, “but I think we should-“ She’s interrupted by Dutch coming up from behind and clapping Arthur on the shoulder.

“What’s with the long face, Arthur?” he asks with a huge smile as he walks around to stand before them. “We’re celebrating, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Arthur looks up to him. “I know, Dutch. I’ve been waitin’ to see Colm hang for a long time.” He shakes his head a little and scratches at the back of his neck not wanting to tell Dutch about the way his insides twist thinking about how Emmeline and their baby had been in danger today. “Guess I’m just tired. Long day.”

“That it’s been.” Dutch plants himself down next to Emmeline, unaware he’s interrupted the conversation she wanted to have with Arthur. “Things are gonna change for us,” he says wistfully as he looks to the darkening evening sky. “I can feel it. Our luck is gonna change.”

“I sure hope so,” Arthur quips.

“Come on, Arthur,” Dutch replies, though his happy tone doesn’t fall much. He bumps Emmeline with his shoulder. “If you keep spending time with him, you’ll end up just as morose as he is.”

She laughs at his joke. “He’s not morose most of the time. He actually makes me laugh.”

Dutch looks overly shocked. “Arthur? Funny? Pfft!”

It makes Emmeline laugh more. It’s nice to see this side of Dutch. Since she’s met him, she actually hasn’t spent much time with him. And with Micah, the Pinkertons, and the move, Dutch hadn’t exactly been up to socializing lately. But now, it seems like he’s back to the man that Arthur had described to her. She thinks it would be nice to actually get to know the man that’s her only living kin.

Having heard the exchange as he grabbed a beer from the box by Pearson’s wagon, Hosea walks up to take a seat across from the small group. “Arthur’s a regular comedian, don’t you know?” he jokes.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright,” Arthur grumbles. “Don’t need you comin’ in here and teasin’ me, too.”

Hosea chuckles a bit. “No need to be so serious, Arthur. This is a party, after all.”

“That’s what I was saying.” Dutch rises from his seat and turns back to hold his hand out to Emmeline. “Since your fella is too busy brooding, would you care to dance with me?”

“I ain’t brooding ,” Arthur responds, a smile finally tugging his lips upward once he sees Emmeline trying to hold back a giggle. “Go on then.” He shoos her off with a gesture of his hand.

Emmeline takes Dutch’s hand and allows him to lead her to the open area that had occupied Karen and Sean just a moment ago, the couple having vacated, most likely to their tent. Dutch keeps ahold of her left hand in his right as he turns to face her.

“You know how to dance?” He places his left hand gently around her back while he raises his other arm with hers into position.

“Not really,” she admits, placing her free hand on his shoulder. “My father tried to teach me when I was little, but I think I ended up just jumping around.” She laughs at the memories.

As he starts to sway with her, he asks her quietly, “He was good to you?”

She realizes then what she had said. She had called Joseph, the man that raised her, her father. But the man standing before her technically holds that title. It doesn’t make the former feel any less like a parent to her, though. Despite the fact that he was never blood, he will always be her papa.

“He was a very good... father. I loved him.”

Dutch nods his head, then puts a smile on his face. “I’m glad. I could tell he was a good man.” He steps back and lifts her arm up, prompting her to twirl.

When she comes back to him, she lets out a little laugh. “I don’t think I got the hang of spinning when I was eight years old,” she says, trying to bring the conversation to lighter fare.

Dutch isn’t ready to end the conversation that he’s thought about having for years, though. “I did think of you often,” he asserts, his eyes soft as he looks to the young woman in front of him. “I always wanted the best for you. I tried to help out after Joseph died, left money for you and your mother.”

She looks away a moment as they continue to sway to the music. “I know. Arthur told me.”

“So many times I thought about knocking on your door. Introducing myself to you. Making up for lost time.”

“But you didn’t.”

He shakes his head. “No. It wasn’t because I didn’t care about you; I want to make that clear. I always cared about you, Emmeline. And that’s precisely why I never knocked on your door. Your mother was right. It would’ve been dangerous for you.”

“I understand, Dutch,” she reassures him. “I didn’t at first. I wasn’t too happy knowing I was lied to, but... I do understand why you and my parents did what you did. But I’m happy to get to know you now.” She gives him a smile, which he returns easily.

In the meantime, since Arthur is left by himself, he looks over to Hosea. “Sorry about havin’ to leave those costumes of yours back in Saint Denis.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad they did their job and you all made it back safe.”

Arthur nods. “Yeah. Ain’t no more O’Driscolls left after all that.”

“One less thing on our plates.”

“That’s what we need. Things to be more simple. Like they they were before the Pinkertons.” Arthur takes a cigarette out of his satchel and lights it, taking a drag and exhaling the smoke.

“Maybe we should just be tying up loose ends.”

Arthur looks over to the older man in confusion. “Whatchu mean?”

“We’re the last of a dying breed, my boy. And it’s only gonna end one of two ways, accept it and finally become a member of civilization or fight it and go out on the cooling board.” Hosea stands with a groan, his stiff joints protesting momentarily, and walks over to Arthur, placing his hand on his shoulder and leaning down to speak more quietly. “Don’t you make that girl a widow. And don’t you make that child fatherless.”

Arthur looks up to the older man, ready to ask how he knew. But he thinks better of it. Of course Hosea knew; he always does.

As Arthur follows Hosea’s exit, his eyes wander over to Molly as she stands on the front porch. She’s leaning on the railing with her arms crossed over her chest and staring daggers at Dutch and Emmeline as they continue to dance and laugh with one another.

“Shit,” Arthur mutters to himself. He knows exactly what’s going through the fiery redhead’s mind.

Molly has made her jealous streak well known. Just about every woman that Dutch has so much as talked to has gotten the third degree from her. And it’s all only gotten worse as Dutch closed himself off more. It seems that Molly has been coping with that by drinking more which has only made her more volatile.

Before Arthur can do anything about it, Molly stomps over to Emmeline and roughly pulls her back by the arm.

“Arthur ain’t enough for ya, huh, ya trollop,” Molly slurs out, her Irish accent sounding a little bit stronger than normal. She shoves her finger right into Emmeline’s face and yells, “Ya gotta go after Dutch Van Der Linde himself, too!”

Molly’s loud voice draws attention and everyone looks her way, interested at the turn of events. That intrigue only deepens once Arthur jumps up from his seat and rushes over.

��What the hell are you doin’, Molly?” he calls out and quickly puts himself between the woman and Emmeline to prevent a skirmish.

“Yes,” Dutch concurs as he puts his hands on his hips, “what are you doing?”

“Oh, don’t you act innocent, Dutch,” Molly seethes, refocusing her rage on him. “She bats her pretty eyes at you and you eat it up.”

“I wasn’t-“ Emmeline starts, but Molly isn’t hearing it.

“You shut up, you hussy! It’s obvious you’re throwing yourself at him!”

Emmeline has never been talked to like this in her whole life and it has her flustered. Flustered enough that she blurts out, “I don’t want Dutch! He’s my father !” loud enough that everyone hears.

Audible gasps ring out around the camp at the shock. No one had even an inkling that their newest member was related to Dutch and now it comes out that she’s his daughter .

Molly takes a step back and looks to Dutch as she tries to make sense of all of this. “Is that true?”

Dutch lets out a sigh and puts his hand on the shoulder of his formerly secret daughter. “Yes. Emmeline is my daughter,” he says loud enough for all the straining ears around them to hear. “I suppose it’s time to tell you all everything.” He takes his hand off of her and steps forward to address everyone. “Let me explain. I did send Arthur to check on Emmeline, but it wasn’t just because I knew her mother. I knew all along she was my daughter and wanted to make sure she was alright. She and Arthur did get sweet on each other, but the reason he brought her here was because the Pinkertons knew about her. And they wanted to use her to get to me. Why I decided to keep all this quiet was to protect her. But since we now know that Micah ,” he hisses the man’s name, “was the one working with the police and he’s no longer here, there’s no reason to keep it a secret anymore.”

Everyone processes the information at their own rate. Some people are stood there shocked while others nod softly their assent. John is firmly in the former category, his gaze flicking quickly between Dutch, Emmeline, and Arthur.

“Emmeline’s your daughter?” he asks aloud, though he’s not exactly looking for a response from the man. “And she and Arthur-“

He’s cut off by a swift elbow to the ribs courtesy of Abigail next to him. “Emmeline and Arthur are together and it don’t rightly matter that Dutch is her father,” she finishes the sentence for him to stop him from saying anything he shouldn’t. “I think it’s good fortune. She’s part of the family no matter what.”

Emmeline smiles to the other raven haired woman. “Thank you, Abigail. That means a lot.”

“Indeed,” Dutch’s booming voice brings attention back to him. “We are all a family here. Now, I know we’ve had some tough times, but they are behind us. Tonight, we celebrate our long overdue victory over the O’Driscolls and tomorrow...” he pauses to make sure all eyes are on him, “we make our plans to free ourselves from the bond of the slavery that this ‘ society ’ is forcing on us. Stick with me and I promise that you will be able to live free.”

His words sound good, especially to the mostly inebriated ears that hear them. But they make a weight settle in Arthur’s chest. Dutch seems to be back to his old self... but is that really a good thing?