#bodie x Doyle

[reiding-writing]

since you are a person of angst, i was thinking about spencer x reader where in the heat of an argument, spencer says he will only forgive her when she dies.

so in one of the cases the reader is shot by spencer and sighs "now you can finally forgive me"

happy or sad ending, whatever you want

muah 💘

forgiven — s.reid

Summary:

You lied to him with good intentions, but when he finds out the truth he says something detrimental in the heat of the moment. After weeks of radio silence any chance of reconciliation is almost lost after you get critically injured in the field.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR IAN DOYLE ARC, harsh arguments, death wishes, gun mentions, major character injury, details of gun related injury, happy ending

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 3.7k || masterlist!!

a/n: left the ending up to majority vote and majority vote said happy ending, you guys are so boring /j

happy ending or not this is still nice and jam packed with angst for all my angst enjoyers <3

Emily Prentiss had been buried for seven months.

So how on earth was she stood five feet away from Spencer with a half guilty expression on her face like she’d put salt in his coffee rather than the fact that she’d been in Paris, fully alive and well whilst he mourned her ‘death’ for months.

But he couldn’t be mad at her. Of course he couldn’t.

Instead his gaze turned towards the way Hotch, JJ, and you were stood at the head of the table, completely unfazed whilst the rest of the team stood in shock at the fact that the friend that they’d buried was still alive.

He couldn’t help that small feeling of loathing mixing with the shock when Emily pulled him into a hug, his arms loosely rested around her back as his eyes narrowed slightly in your direction.

He’d let you see him at his absolute worst, an emotional, crying, pathetic mess of a person who was desperately mourning over the loss of one of his closest friends.

And you’d let him. Whilst knowing that Emily was still alive.

His emotional state had gotten so bad over the last few months that you’d even temporarily moved him in with you to make sure he wasn’t endangering himself.

He’d spiralled into a state where he couldn’t be trusted to live on his own. And you’d let him.

He didn’t speak to you during your drive home that night, and you knew why.

You knew he was going to be angry at you, and you couldn’t blame him for it.

What you didn’t expect, was for him to immediately start unrooting himself from your apartment; Clearing out drawers and stuffing his clothes in the suitcase hidden in one of the cupboards.

“Spencer what are you doing-” You barely manage to step out of the way before Spencer walked right into you with an armful of books in his hands as he pulled them from the bookshelf in your living room.

He stacks them neatly in the corner of the open case laid on top of his bed as you stand in the doorway of your guest room turned Spencer’s bedroom, clear concern written all over your face.

“I’m going home.” Spencer’s reply is blunt, flat, with the tiniest amount of hurt lacing his tone if you were to listen closely enough.

“Spence-” You block his exit from the room with your body as he attempts to make a second trip to clear your shelves of his books. “Can we just take a second to talk about this?”

“About what? The fact that you lied to me for seven months?” He takes a step back from you as you block the doorway, looking you directly in the eyes to make sure that you could read every semblance of hurt, loathing, and betrayal that swam in his irises.

“The fact that I trusted you to the point where I let you see me at my lowest and you knew everything I was grieving over was a lie?” Spencer had given up trying to leave the room, clearing out anything left in the bedroom instead and zipping the suitcase shut.

“The fact that you let me spiral to the point where I was considering relapsing and couldn’t be trusted to live on my own?”

“Spencer-”

“I confided in you. I told you everything. All those nights I spent sobbing in your arms talking about how I just wanted the pain to stop and you left me in the dark.” He was borderline shouting at you by now, his eyes glassed over with tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks and a lump in his throat that rended his composure shattered.

“I wish I could’ve told you Spencer but I couldn’t-”

“You couldn’t?” Spencer cuts you off before you have the time to try and explain yourself. “Or you wouldn’t?”

“I couldn’t- Spence I wanted to tell you I really did but Emily’s life was in danger-” You try to explain yourself whilst he’s giving you the time to do so, words falling out of your mouth as fast as your brain will let them form. “I couldn’t say anything without risking breaking her cover and sending her right back into Doyle’s grasp..”

“What about my life?” Spencer’s voice cracked slightly as he looked at you, a light flush covering his face from his frustration. “I spent ten weeks under 24/7 supervision because my mental state was so bad-”

“You know me. You know I wouldn’t have said anything. And you let me ruin my own mental state anyway.” The end of his negation of your explanation is marked by the suitcases wheels hitting the wooden flooring.

“Look i’m sorry okay? I didn’t-”

“What? didn’t mean to let it go so far? Didn’t mean to let me consider relapsing and washing any progress i’d made over the last four years down the drain?” He pushes past you with considerable force to make his way towards the front door of your apartment with his suitcase in hand. “Well it’s too late for that isn’t it?”

“Spencer wait-” You grasp at his wrist in a moment of desperation, silently begging for him not to leave. “I’m sorry,”

“I’m so, so sorry and you have every right to be angry at me and I know that keeping it from you was wrong-” Your desperation shows through your voice, through the stray tear that rolls down your left cheek and pools under your chin. “Just- let’s talk about this, please,”

“We just did.” Spencer’s voice is much harsher than you’re used to, although he removes your hand from his wrist with a whisper of his usual gentle nature that you wish would take over the rest of his personality as he pulls your door open to leave.

“I was just trying to protect her-” Your voice hitches at the end of your sentence, stray tears turning into a steady flow that dapples your white shirt in damp circles. “..please forgive me…”

Your voice is hardly a whisper by the time you’re finished, although Spencer’s expression does not match the softness in your tone.

Nor does his response.

“I’ll forgive you when you’re six feet under like she was.”

“Spencer-”

You barely have time to be shocked by his words before the front door of your apartment is closed harshly in your face, Spencer’s presence replaced by the ghost of his cologne and a sharp coldness that runs its way up your spine.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’d been three weeks.

And aside from asking Morgan to keep an eye on him you hadn’t so much as mentioned Spencer once.

It was a little difficult considering his desk was directly opposite yours, but a mix of wanting to respect his personal space and still being hurt by his comment allows you to keep to yourself no matter how close he was.

You’re thankful that the team hasn’t said anything, but you’re sure they’ll only respect your privacy until it interferes with the case you’re working on.

Emily had tried to talk Spencer down from his underlying anger to no avail during the plane ride, and despite the countless times that Hotch had taken full responsibility for keeping Emily’s living status a secret, it didn’t stop Spencer from sending you half-glares across the station or refuting any suggestion you gave with an overcomplicated explanation of why you were wrong.

By the fourth day you were on the verge of snapping at him, the Texas heat melding with his snark and making you want to tear all of your skin from your face.

You definitely weren’t in the right mental state to enter an active shooter situation, but as you followed Morgan into the building with your 9mm planted firmly between your hands, all you could think about is the conversation you were going to force Spencer into having with you once all of this was over.

You were so tired of being in this stalemate with him, you just wanted your Spencer back.

The one who would trap you on your couch so he could explain the Doctor Who lore in explicit detail with that bright starry look in his eyes the longer you let him ramble.

It was just radio silence. And you couldn’t bare it anymore.

Your mind was clouded by your own thoughts as you swept the building, and you suppose you only have yourself to blame for not hearing the unfamiliar footsteps behind you until it’s too late.

You turn on your heels towards the noise, expecting it to be Morgan or even Spencer, finished with sweeping the floor and ready to move on.

Instead you’re met by a sharp bang that rings through your ears and a pain in your throat that makes your breath catch and your legs fail underneath you.

Your left hand comes straight to your throat, immediately coated in the dark red liquid escaping from the new hole created in your body, and you manage to fire a shot in the direction of your assailant as he runs, although whether you actually hit him or not you’re not sure.

It takes less than ten seconds for your team members to arrive at your side, and you desperately point in the direction that the UnSub had ran off in as you try and refrain from coughing up blood and in turn flooding your lungs.

Morgan and Emily share a look before running off in your pointed direction. Spencer however, ignores your arm completely and rushes to kneel at your side, dropping his gun on the floor in the process and frantically holding the radio button on his watch to yell out his need for medical services.

“You’re going to be fine- Everything’s going to be fine-” You can practically feel the panic emanating from his body, his hands trembling as he tugged his bullet proof vest from his chest to tear at the hem of his shirt and use it to block the bullet hole in your throat as your hand compression weakened with your blood loss.

You can tell he was trying to reassure you, but it didn’t sound all that convincing, even to himself.

His right hand added a copious amount of pressure to the front of your throat as he aided you into the recovery position, checking the nape of your neck for an exit wound. Nothing.

A soft “two minutes” echoes back through the radio speaker in his watch and though he tries to mutter it under his breath to not freak you out any further, you can hear his uncertain “that’s too long,” even through the tinnitus plaguing your ears.

You cough up the clotted chunks of oxidised blood stuck in your oesophagus onto the floor beneath you, and Spencer makes an effort to protect your head from the floor by elevating it on his thigh.

“You’re going to be fine-” Spencer sounds more panicked than you as his eyes blink with tears, unable to be wiped as they fall down his cheeks from the red staining against his fingers and the ever present pressure he’s adding to your injury.

“Does this mean you’re going to forgive me now?” You choke out the words alongside what could barely be considered a laugh as it leaves you hacking up more blood through your mouth, your attempt at lightening the mood falling on deaf ears as it sends Spencer into a fit of tears.

“I’m so sorry-” Spencer’s tears run hot against his cheeks, pooling at his chin and falling onto the ripped fabric of his shirt he was using to try and stop your throat from bleeding. “I’m so sorry for yelling at you and barging out and just being awful to you I’m sorry-”

The distinct sounds of sirens sound over Spencer’s profuse apology and you can see the relief flood his face as he hears them. “You hear that? You’re gonna be okay, they’re gonna get you to a hospital and you’re gonna be fine,”

He nodded determinedly at you, more like he’s trying to convince himself than convince you.

He neglected to tell you about the fact that gunshot wounds to the neck held a 78% mortality rate, or how when they obstruct major airways that number jumps to 92%.

It was fine. You would be fine.

He can hear the pounding footsteps of the medical team as they breach the building, yelling out in their direction with as much composure as he can muster.

He helped the medical team carefully position you on a stretcher so they could rush you into the ambulance, and he runs alongside you, giving the EMTs as much information as he can.

“They were shot by a 7.5mm two minutes and forty seconds ago, it breached their trachea but there’s no exit wound so it’s likely lodged in the back of their oesophagus-” Spencer speaks through heaved breaths as his body fights to take in oxygen over his will to help the EMTs treat you as quickly as possible, following them into the back of the ambulance.

“They’ve been conscious the whole time this far but I think they’re going through pulmonary edema and-”

“Spence-” Your voice is barely audible through your struggle to breathe, joined by the pressure on your throat as well as under your diaphragm as one of the EMTs checks for signs of your lungs being flooded. “Don’t backseat doctor-”

The fact that you’re still conscious enough to lightly chastise him makes Spencer feel a little less panicked, although removing a pebble from a mountain doesn’t affect its height.

By the time you reach the hospital, you’re unconscious but not yet critical, and he almost follows you right into the OR until he’s blocked from the door by one of the nurses and escorted into the waiting area.

“Well let you know the second anything changes Dr Reid,”

He nods hastily as he sits down, fiddling with his fingers and tapping his feet against the linoleum floors.

You weren’t critical yet, but that didn’t mean that you’d pull through. You had flooded lungs and a bullet lodged somewhere in the back of your throat that they were going to surgically remove.

If something went wrong, that was it.

Spencer spends the first thirty minutes mentally beating himself up.

Why did he lash out at you? You were only doing what you thought was best to protect Emily.

Why did he say he’d only forgive you if you died? You didn’t mean to cause him any harm.

Why was he constantly managing to ruin anything positive that was happening between the two of you?

Maybe he was cursed.

Cursed to live a life of eternal suffering as the perpetual cost for the gift of his intelligence.

He would give up every IQ point he had if it meant that you would recover with no complications.

He would sacrifice his eidetic memory in an instant if it meant he got to make new ones with you.

He’d give up everything that he was prided on as long as you were okay. You needed to be okay.

The next forty-five minutes was spent in an anxious silence. The team had rushed to the hospital as soon as they’d secured the UnSub’s incarceration, only amplifying the tension in the waiting area.

As the nurse calls out your name to the room, the team immediately stands to rush over, everyone silently praying that you’re okay.

“We’re glad to say that the surgery was a success,”

Those words are enough for the anxiety to dwindle in the group, a wave of relief overtaking it.

“They’ve had to have a temporary tracheotomy, and due to the placement of the bullet lodged between their vertebrae, a spinal excision, but both procedures progressed with no issues, meaning they should recover perfectly fine,”

Morgan and Emily share a audible sigh of relief, overshadowed by Spencer’s voice, less anxious but still filled with adrenaline. “Can I see them?”

“They’re currently under supervised care to make sure they don’t destabilise, but if you leave your mobile number we will contact you when they wake,” The nurse passes Spencer a small post it note and a biro pen from her clip board and he doesn’t hesitate to scribble his name and number down before handing them back.

“They’re strong, most patients don’t remain conscious for more than a minute or two after an injury like that,” The nurse takes the pen and post it from Spencer with a small smile. “I have full faith that they’ll recover perfectly fine,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer extends his stay in Texas indefinitely.

The rest of the team had left for Quantico two days ago to file out all of the necessary paperwork for the case, with Spencer opting to remain in Texas until you were fit to fly home with him.

Home. He wonders if you’ll let him come home with you. To stay with you in your apartment again and live side by side with him once more.

Maybe he can convince you through your recovery; That patients recovering with spinal injuries need 24/7 attention just in case something happens.

Yeah. That sounded like a good idea.

Spencer’s plans for taking you home were interrupted by the shrill ring of his cellphone, the screen lighting up with an unknown number.

His heart rate increases as he picks the phone up from his hotel room’s coffee table, his hands trembling by the time he holds it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“McAllen County Hospital, am I speaking to Doctor Spencer Reid?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer is in his rental car almost before he hangs up the phone, driving the speed limit as he tries to get to the hospital as soon as possible.

He runs what he’s going to say when he sees you over and over again in his head on the way there, but by the time he reaches your hospital room his mind goes completely blank, and he just stands in the door staring at you.

“Hello to you too,” Your voice is very clearly strained and raspy, still recovering from the emergency tracheotomy you’d been given during surgery.

The sound of your voice, as dry and strained as it is, immediately sends Spencer into a fit of tears, and he rushes to take a seat on the plastic chair beside your bed with the most upset, regretful expression you think you’ve ever seen. “I’m so sorry,”

“Spence…” You reach out your hand out from the hospital bed, laying it against his lower thigh and squeezing it lightly.

“I shouldn’t have lashed out at you I know you were doing what’s right and I didn’t mean what I said I don’t want you to die I promise-” He takes in a sharp breath through his nose once he’s finished his ramble, and you wait a few seconds to make sure he’s actually finished before speaking yourself.

“You’re fine Spence…” Your hand trails up to grasp at his own, intertwining your fingers with his and giving them a small squeeze. “You had every right to be angry,”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly at you. “No, i’m sorry. What I said was wrong and you didn’t deserve that,”

Spencer exhales softly through his nose, his voice wavering and his hands trembling against your own. “Can you forgive me..?”

You question whether to make a joke about whether he’s close to dying or not, but opt out of it considering his fragile emotional state.

“How about we both forgive each other and call it even?” You let out a small chuckle at the end of your question, turning into more of a cough as it dries out your throat, and Spencer grabs the glass of water left on your bedside table with his free hand.

He holds it up to let you drink from it rather than unlinking your hands to let you hold the cup yourself, placing the styrofoam back down once you’re finished.

You give him a mildly embarrassed smile that he returns with one of his own, leaning forward to gently rest his forehead against yours.

If you weren’t recovering from a spinal surgery he would’ve had you in a bone crushing hug by now, but holding your hand and leaning his forehead to yours would suffice for now.

“Forgiven?” You allow your eyes to flutter closed at the soft contact, exhaling slowly through your nose.

“Forgiven…”

[multifandomme]

Smoke Signals

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Female Reader

Summary: Emily craves normality following the Doyle incident. Based on this anon request.

Genre(s): Smut, hurt/comfort kinda, (strap ons, power dynamics, praise, strap sucking, choking, pet names, injuries, mention of blood, pretty vanilla all things considered), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 2.4k.

This piece is for day 13 of kinktober under the ‘soft sex’ prompt.

A/N: The ending will only make sense if you have watched cm 7x04.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

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It was a gnawing absence that had roused you from slumber, the scrambling of your hands against the bedsheets, only to find them cold, void of Emily. The mandatory relocation to Paris had been a complicated adjustment, ripped from familiarity and thrust into discomfort. Emily was different now, a perpetual flicker of fear in her eyes. And though free of Doyle’s physical captivity, he continued to wreak havoc in her mind, despite her valiant efforts to shroud it.

The latent scent of cigarette smoke hung in the air, the softened sloshing of bathwater indicating her whereabouts. You were unsurprised, this routine becoming somewhat of a new obsession for Emily. The scars that Doyle had scattered across her skin had bothered her more than she cared to admit and she would scrub mercilessly over the four-leaf clover in a vehement attempt to remove his imprint.

It was futile, the porcelain rendered raw until crimson beads breached the surface and tinged the water in the palest of pinks. And Emily would stare in bewilderment, as if you had just rescued her from a recurring nightmare, except it was not the figment of her imagination that she had hoped for it to be. It was real. 

Cautious footsteps drew you into the bathroom, the ashtray perched upon the corner of the bathtub piled high with orange tips, the skin of her chest glowing in puce. A pang of sadness stabbed into your chest at the sight of her.

“Come on,” you whispered, softly as you coaxed the sponge from her vice-like grasp, “the water’s getting cold, baby, let’s get you dry, hm?”

Emily regarded you with eyes of riotous fury, lurching forward to ignite another cigarette, grey smoke trailing until a thickened haze enveloped the space. She was still, silent, evasive.

“I know how hard this has-”

“Hard?” Emily echoed, the scoff that followed suit thrusting a sudden burst of smoke from her mouth. “Try fucking insufferable,” she flared, anger unhoused, her head shaking wildly. “I should’ve killed that bastard years ago when I had the chance."

The air grew frigid, fraught with emotion on the cusp of eruption. You sank to the ground, relinquishing to the heaviness of the conversation, the tiles like ice as they met your skin. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Emily,” you reasoned, your voice faint, cautious, “none of it was.”

A palpitating breath emitted from her, her cigarette left to bleed smoke in the ashtray as she mustered the composure to meet your gaze. Tears pooled, camouflaged slightly by the droplets that sprinkled the entirety of her body, her bottom lip cinched painfully betwixt her teeth in a bid to forestall them. It was this vision of breakage that sent the pad of your thumb to smooth over her cheek, her eyes settling to a close as she leaned into the contact, cherished it. 

“I can’t even look at myself,” she admitted, solemnly as she retreated from your touch, troubled. “What he did to me, the scars he has left on my body,” she trailed off, sighing, the fragments of a bitter smile assembling. “You… haven’t touched me in weeks.”

In an instant, you claimed possession of her chin, pinched between your fingers as you studied the pain that cloaked her. And it was visceral, all-encompassing, her irises abyssal as they flickered in aversion, in shame.

“I’ve wanted to,” you reassured, sincerely, the dampness from her forehead painting your lips as you planted a fleeting kiss. “But I wanted you to heal first,” you explained, Emily’s eyes visibly softening. “I think you’re beautiful, I always have.”

The tears that had been safely stashed away earlier sprung from their concealment, salted streams cascading without relent as you cast them away with your fingertips. Emily’s simper was quick to perforate the veil of melancholy, a breathy burst of laughter materialising when she noted the error in her judgement. A realisation that was further substantiated when you had permitted yourself the indulgence of raking your glare over her body, a body that you loved without condition, a body to be revered. 

Emily threw you a knowing look, a newfound sparkle in her eye and one that had been missing for so long that you had almost forgotten its appearance. Her palms fixed themselves to your cheeks, dousing you in tepid water, though all that seemed to matter was the welcomed proximities of her lips grazing yours. 

“This is the part where you fix it,” she revealed, her smirk scorching into you, though she remained controlled, restrained. “Ask me what it is that I want."

A hum of amusement reverberated from you, a semblance of the person you had momentarily lost gifted back to you, an influx of relief taking hold, a beacon of hope.

“What do you want, baby?”

“I want you to fuck me… tonight,” she specified, staring intently through long, black lashes, assertive in her demand. “Stop worrying about me,” she breathed, an open-mouth kiss sizzling into you, the contact so evanescent that you were robbed of the chance to react. “I want you to take control.”

A brazen smirk blossomed as you retracted from her grip, leaping up to tower over her submerged form. Emily quirked an eyebrow in confusion, her face transported into that of shock as she felt your hand enclosing moderately around her throat. The water splashed noisily as she flailed around, a dizzied beam peering up at you as she recalled the familiarity of your touch, acknowledged your clear-cut acquiescence to her request. 

“Is this what you want, baby?” You asked, a strangled whine fleeing from her, an avid nod quick to follow.

“Yes.”

Abruptly, you freed her.

“Then you’d better come to bed, hm?”

The sound of frenzied footfalls pursued closely behind you as you hastily fixed your strap on around your waist. Emily regarded you, lust flooding those beautiful dark eyes as she fell to her knees in submission, impatience, water droplets pooling below her. 

“Be a good girl and get this wet for me, hm?”

Emily obliged with a zeal unmatched, not a trace of hesitation passing over her gaze. The appendage soon became encased by her greedy mouth, sheathed in saliva as she sucked with purpose, muffled moans rumbling in the depths of her throat. Her eyes rolled into her skull, her delight depicted in every motion that she undertook, a hand secured around its base, the other clasping tightly at your hip for leverage. 

And she was a sight to behold, a discernible glimmer of innocence swirling in her orbs, despite the lewd activity she was engaged in, your fingers winding themselves into her hair only to sink further into her mouth. You yanked the brunette strands until you were certain of the visceral burn they incited, a grunt of pain-pleasure forcing her brows to sew together in union. 

“You look so pretty like this, angel,” you commented, quelling the sharpened sting with a series of gentle caresses to her scalp and earning a contended hum from Emily. “Such a good girl for me.”

Emily’s thighs clenched noticeably, and you had wondered if you had underestimated the true extent of her desperation, addicted to the ceaseless sound of her whimpering. Her eyes pleaded with you, wholehearted in her need for you as she fidgeted in place with a prospering restlessness. 

The urge to prod at her self-control was overturned the moment you perceived the adorable little smile that lifted her cheeks, so slight that it had almost gone unseen. And even with her mouth occupied, saliva tainting the corners, that simper never strayed, aimed squarely towards you. Warmth radiated, butterflies swooning in your stomach until you fizzed with anticipation, unable to prolong her exacerbation, wanting nothing more than to take care of her, satisfy her. 

In that ephemeral instance, Doyle had never existed, had never hurt her, her bruises fading until her bones were wrapped in unblemished white, her expression no longer corrupted by vestiges of terror, despair. Yes, when she smiled like that, the darkened gloom dispersed instantaneously, her light so profound it could rival the sun, hued in gold.

A palpable air of disappointment thickened as you retracted from her, fingers outstretched in a fruitless bid to repossess you. Instead, you widened the space, a mischievous smirk gracing your lips as she stilled, awaiting instruction. 

“On the bed for me, angel,” you husked, hands smoothing across the bedsheets she had left cold in her wake earlier, accelerated footsteps edging into existence. “Legs open for me. I want to take a good look at my pretty girl, hm?”

Emily’s obedience was impressively prompt, settling into position with her arousal gleaming below your gaze.

“Fuck,” you mused, a twinkle of delight flickering in your orbs in the knowledge that she was sufficiently needy, abundantly so, the tortured expression she donned enough to call your own self-control into question. “You’re soaking for me, baby.”

A pitiful mewl escaped her, teeth chewing on the inside of her cheek as a means of repressing the noise that threatened to spill. Her toes wriggled, impatience rising as she watched you with unbridled intrigue, your body snake-like in its motion. You slithered against her, dampened skin meeting your own, her nipples rigid as they poked into your chest. 

“Touch me,” she urged, her voice a mere whisper, quavering into nonexistence when your lips met her neck, her heartbeat punching rhythmically against your mouth. “I’ve needed this so much,” she admitted, “needed you.”

“I shouldn’t have left it so long,” you hummed, though the message was almost a jibe at yourself, the desire that seeped from her only highlighting your mistake, determined to rectify it. “I’m gonna make it up to you, baby,” you promised, suckling a deep bruise into her that was certain to remain, her breath hitching in response.

“That’ll leave a mark,” Emily noted, her teeth clamping at her lip in glee, a suggestive tone lurking in her voice as her arms grew around you like vines, weaving to anchor you in place, to encourage a suffocating closeness.

“God, I hope so,” you smirked, a chaste kiss pressed to her lips before you drew in, warm breath casting a breeze across her ear. “You belong to me, my pretty girl.”

Gingerly, you lined the strap on with her pussy, the gentlest stroke of your hips causing you to slide into her. A loudened hiss emanated, her brows furrowed as the toy stretched her out. The emergence of fingernails prickled into the delicate skin of your back, your lips soon merging with hers to subdue the fleeting pain that had induced. Undying lust possessed her, breathy moans fading into your mouth as her tongue flickered against yours, heated, mindless. 

“Does it feel good, baby?” You asked, pointedly, the answer evident in the way her nails burrowed deeper into you, the shameless moans that bled out into the surrounding quiet. “You’re doing so well, angel,” you praised, the precision of your movement flailing for a moment, the scene below you too much to bear. “Such a good girl for me.”

“Missed you inside of me,” she whimpered, sucking in a sharp inhale as you quickened the pace, a surge of happiness filling you in response to her confession. “I’ve been so desperate, fuck.”

Emily yanked your mouth to hers, the reconnection frenzied, feral, her teeth clashing into you with no heed paid, the world fated to dissolve into nothingness, your focus undivided upon the woman below you. Her irises glittered with darkened passion, the might of your exertions causing a salient sphere of heat to form around you. And it was a perfect reunion, albeit overdue, her velvet skin flush against you, her soft lips keeping you hostage with an enduring avidity. 

You wanted to savour the moment, snap a mental image of her beauty, how the desperation tinged her cheeks with the mildest blush. But as soon as Emily noticed your motion become languid, mellow, her head jolted in rebuttal.

“No,” she moaned, breathily, her lips tearing from you to voice her protest, “please, I’ve waited long enough.”

“You want to cum, baby?” You asked, your hand veering between your melded bodies to massage her clit, wetness clinging to your digits as Emily rutted wildly in reaction, her hips jogging sporadically in assistance. 

“Yes, fuck,” she rasped, her jaw slackening, lips swollen from the fresh bite marks she had etched into them. “Please, I want to.”

Your hips accelerated to a pace unrivalled, a hand wrapping firmly around her throat and squeezing with intent, the other working proficiently to pacify the ache of her clit. The zeal drained from her gaze, transformed into a thoughtless stare, the pleasure bewildering as it built. 

Emily floated away, half-lidded eyes flickering until you pressed a startling kiss to her lips and willed her consciousness into engagement. 

“Look at me, angel,” you insisted, softly, your hips slamming with reckless abandon, the cusp of undoing edging into sight. “That’s it, baby, cum for me,” you encouraged, your lips nestled into her neck. “All for me.”

A violent shudder ricocheted, Emily’s head thrown backwards into the pillows, her clit twitching below the pads of your fingers. The sound that ripped from her throat seemed to echo, forceful exhales following suit as she clawed to reclaim her composure. You released her throat from your grasp, a giant smile taking position on her face as she drew you into a comforting hug. 

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” you spoke, your voice obstructed slightly by the thick tresses of brunette that were pushed messily against your face. “I guess I was scared of hurting you after everything.”

Emily cleared her throat, a pang of emotion thrumming until it brimmed in her eyes, an audible gulp sounding into the brief epoch of silence. 

“I know,” she croaked, a wistful smile prevailing. “I’m still angry about Doyle,” she admitted, a flitting glint of agitation darting in her eyes. “I just wish it hadn’t cost me the team. I miss them.”

You nodded, a fleeting kiss pressed to her temple before you escaped from her hold, a little smile blossoming on your face and piquing her suspicion. 

“You’re forgetting something,” you informed, swiping your laptop from its position atop the desk, the morning light peeking in through the crack in the curtains. “Not all is lost.”

Emily narrowed her eyes, positively perplexed as you placed the laptop onto the bed and opened it before her. 

“What?” She questioned, half-annoyed by the mystery you had presented, more so by the fact that she was no closer to uncovering it. 

“It’s midnight back home,” you reminded, “and I know cheeto breath has been waiting for that rematch you promised.”

Emily could only grin widely in response. 

––--– ♡ –––--

––--– ♡ –––--

@ionlylikemarvelforthewomen ♡ @agenderrat ♡ @i-write-sometimes-maybe ♡ @sugaryspiciness ♡ @chiefemilyprentiss ♡

[wordsarelife]

—mine

pairing: theo nott x fem!reader

summary: your’s and theo's relationship throughout the years

warnings: canon typical violence near the end, mentions of the war, blood and death

note: feel free to request stuff for the christmas calender!!

theo was startled by a sudden voice who called out his name, he turned around, the book he was about to push into the empty space still in his hand. 

"nott" you had muttered, arms crossed and the surprised expression on his face when he turned around had almost made you lose it. you quirked a brow at the missing reaction. "i guess you don't even know my name?" 

"sorry" theo winced and you could see how umcomfortable he was simply because he knew nothing about the person standing in front of him. 

"don't feel too bad" you shrugged. "didn't know yours until you borrowed my favorite book for four weeks and i had to beg madam pince to tell me the name of the person who had it" 

"well, sorry again" theo held the book in your direction. "you can have it now, if you still want it" 

you completely ignored the book, until theo sighed and put it back in the empty space on the shelf where it belonged. "guess not" he muttered to himself. 

"so, tell me, theodore nott" you followed him back to the table with his things. "what tempts a guy like you to borrow a book like that?" 

"well, without meaning to insult you, i'd say it is more male literature than female isn't it?"

"you're a moron if you really think something like female or male literature exists" you sat down in the chair across from him. "i wouldn't declare sherlock holmes as male literature, more preciously i would say that most boys are too daft to even understand half the things arthur conan doyle mentions and to your information i'm taking great insult to whatever the hell you just said"

"geez" theo's eyes had widened, he found you a bit odd, annoying even, but he couldn't help but feel all the same intrigued. "like what you just said isn't an insult. most boys are too daft, huh?" 

"maybe daft is a bit too harsh, i admit that" you rolled your eyes, a smile on your lips, "but i'd say most are too impatient to read those books, yes"

"well, you're not wrong about that" theo nodded "i can't remember the last time one of my friends touched a book that wasn't part of a class" 

"that's quiet sad, i'd say"

"i agree" theo smiled. "so, now that we're on the same page, do you mind telling me your name? i feel like i deserve to know it"

"no" you grinned just as the smile vanished from his face. "i decide when you deserve to know, theodore nott" you left him sitting there, speechless about the sudden rejection. 

you never actually told theo your name. he only found out when you managed to borrow the memoirs of sherlock holmes for two months straight. 

the next time that the two of you talked was a few months later, at the beginning of december. snow had fallen and the hogwarts grounds had turned into a beautiful white landscape. 

the snow was poudry, but you managed not to slip as you made your way through it. your body tightly wrapped in layers of clothing, the thick ravenclaw scarf almost reaching up to your eyes as the falling snow hit your face. 

"not the right weather for a stroll, is it?" theodore nott had caught up to you, not exactly spotting the right outfit for the wuthering cold. 

"well, i know there's a reason you're a slytherin and not a ravenclaw, but i would've expected you to be just a little smarter, nott" 

theo looked down on his clothes just as you did. "i was actually just going for a smoke"

"in the middle of a mild snowstorm?" you quirked a brow. "i'd say it's not the right weather to be doing that either"

"you're a real know-it-all" 

"tell me something new, nott" you rolled your eyes "it's exhausting to always be right, you know?"

"i bet it is" theo shrugged sarcastically. "there had to have been a reason you got sorted into ravenclaw"

"well, as said before, i can see why you weren't" you shrugged with a grin. 

theo sighed. "another dig at the outfit, really?" 

"well, considering you're standing here discussing with me and getting yourself wet, i'd say i'm allowed to keep judging your outfit" 

"fair point" theo nodded and you were surprised he gave up so easily. "are you coming or what?" he asked, ready to walk back inside.

"no" you shook your head "you go ahead though, wouldn't want you catching a cold, who would faint during potions then and entertain the rest of the class?"

"hey, that was one time" he called, as you walked away "how did you even hear about that, we're not in the same potions class?"

you just shrugged and send him a smile over your shoulder. he was standing in front of the doors to the castle, soaked from head to toe and you had to admit, theodore nott was a (beautiful) sight for sore eyes. 

it wasn't like you minded theo's company, but you noticed how he started hanging around the places you frequently visited during the weeks to come. 

theo had it especially easy when he realized that you stuck to your routines during the week, making it impossible for him to miss you once he had figured it out. 

monday and wednesdays after class were spent in the library, doing homework or reading a book from your list. tuesdays you helped madam pomfrey in the infirmary, healing minor injuries or filling up medicine cabinets. thursdays were reserved for your friends, playing card games or just spending time together in the common room, you always found something to do. 

fridays were flexible and you often decided what to do spontaneously. sometimes you did a little tutoring, on other fridays you helped madam pince sort through books and put them back where they belonged or you continued reading the book you had begun reading that week. saturdays and sundays were for remaining homework, hogsmeade visits and drafting letters to send back to your family on the start of the next week. 

"you're not being slick, you know that?"

it was a friday and you were putting away books, when theo kept lingering around you, like he had done that past week. 

"what?" he asked, looking up from the book in front of him, a confused tone to his voice, clearly trying to mask that he knew exactly what you were talking about.

"well, i was sure you knew stalking was considered a legal offence" you noted.

"stalking?" he repeated. "i'm not stalking you"

"now, you're not not stalking me, are you?" you send a tight-lipped smile in his direction. "i do admit that it might be a question of definition, though" 

"aren't you a bit full of yourself if you think i would be stalking you"

"that was offensive" you rolled your eyes "and i'm pretty sure i'm not imaging you turning up everywhere i went this past week. and considering i didn't know you until a few months ago, i'd say that you only started doing that recently"

"well, i didn't"

"okay, you didn't" your shrugged and turned back to the shelf, reaching for another row of books from the trolley beside you, before you pushed them in a row one after the other. 

theo furrowed his brows, surprised by you just letting him get away like that. he knew he wasn't being slick, hell, he even knew that he was behaving like a stalker. you weren't wrong in the slightest and theo felt a bit called out by your words. but on the other hand, you hadn't said anything about being opposed to the idea that he really did go everywhere you did.

you waved at him, before you pushed the trolley into the next row of shelves. it didn't take long for him to follow, already making a decision in his mind. 

"go out with me" 

if he had startled you, you didn't show it. you didn't even blink at his suggestion, rather ignoring him like he was a fly on the wall, as you continued reaching for books on the trolley.

theo pushed the trolley to the side and stepped into the empty space. the next time you tried to reach for a stack of books, you touched his chest instead. 

"you're still here, nott" you noted the obvious. 

theo had to admit that he was a tad bit unsettled by your ignorance. he wasn't sure if you really hadn't heard him or if you just ignored the question, because he had made you uncomfortable. 

"you know, normally stalkers don't look so scared" you smiled mischievously. 

"i'm not stalking you, but i can understand if my company made you uncomfortable and i apologize if i have gone too far"

"you're a bit weird, you know that?"

"this is a serious topic, y/n" 

you smiled at the honesty in his voice and sighed. "do you really think if you were making me uncomfortable or i was scared of you i would continue to speak to you?" 

"well, no—"

"i'm not a child, theodore nott, i can voice when i'm annoyed, but i respect your manners" you smiled "and if anyone follows me around like a lost puppy, i'm glad it's someone with at least a little intellect"

"little intellect?" theo repeated offended. 

"you might be smarter than i thought, but you're really bad at this" 

"i know" 

"well, would you now let me sort in the rest of these books? you're kind of in the way"

theo, nodded, the disappointment flashing over his features just like a wave of water. "i guess that's a no" 

you waited until he had stepped aside and pushed the trolley back in it's original position. your hands reached for the row of sherlock holmes books and you held them up at him like a trophy. "that means yes, obviously" 

theo spent exactly three days brainstroming what to do for your date. his friends tried their best at helping him, more than interested to finally hear something about the mysterious girl theo had been infuriated with these past weeks. 

"is she that hideous?" blaise asked on the third day of theo's hard thinking.

"what?" theo raised his brows, he had been too deep in thought to even hear his friend.

"blaise just asked if your girlfriend was hideous, i'd hit him if i were you" mattheo shrugged, stiring the pot. it had been a particular slow morning and he had to admit that it would be quiet entertaining to see blaise and theo fight each other. 

"five galleons on blaise" enzo added, before theo was able to say something. 

"have a little faith in him" pansy said next to theo. "he might not look like it, but the boy has a wicked right hook"

"this is just embarrassing" draco threw the newspaper down in front of him. 

"what?" pansy giggled "the newspaper or that theo and blaise are going to slap each other even more stupid"

"take a guess"

"guys" theo sighed, annoyance already taking over the worry that was bubbling inside him. "i'm not going to fight blaise and y/n is not my girlfriend"

"no yet" enzo wiggled his brows.

"y/n, huh?" mattheo said with a mischievous smile.

"oh god" all colour drained from theo's face. "please tell me the two of you didn't hook up with each other"

"close to it" mattheo shrugged. "she tended to my wounds in the infirmary once and i could tell she had the hots for me"

"wasn't she the one who said you had the charm of a troll and the brains to match?" blaise offered with a smirk.

enzo's mouth almost hit the table infront of him by how fast it flew open. "that was y/n?" he giggled.

theo had to smile. "that does sound like something she'd say"

"she sounds lovely" draco nodded sarcastically "but at least she never saw mattheo naked. that does make her at least a little likable"

"i already love her" pansy quickly said, before draco could continue his judging. "seems like she knows how to handle little annoyances" 

"i'm not a little annoyance"

"yeah" theo nodded "you're a quite big one, actually" 

theo couldn't tell what had led him to the idea for your date, but he had known in that moment what the both of you should do. 

"so hot chocolate was your huge idea?" you smiled as you sat down in the booth across from him, the server already putting down two mugs with steaming hot drinks in front of you. 

"i saw how your friends gave you their hot chocolate packages after dinner and figured this might be something you liked" he shrugged "and before you call me a stalker again, i'm just very attentive to those around me"

you giggled as the grandma at the table next to you send you a worried glance at theo's words.

"he's harmless" you laughed in a way to assure her. 

theo managed an awkward wave and the woman turned away quickly.

"well, it seems those around you are very attentive too" you giggled. 

"i'm sorry" theo tried to hide behind his mug, feeling a tad bit ashamed at the awkward encounter, but having to laugh at the same time. 

"don't be" you smiled honestly "rather tell me something i didn't already find out by snooping around"

"you snooped around?" theo exclaimed surprised. 

"i had to get even, after you found out everything about me" you shrugged "i met this lovely boy, i think he goes by the name enzo, who told me a whole lot about you"

"oh god, no" 

"quite interesting to hear about all those things from someone who has no interest in sleeping with me"

"what? i don't—“

"so you don't intend to sleep with me?" you smiled. "don't be ridiculous, theodore nott"

"i'm just not used to being this straightforward, admittedly"

you completely ignored the surprise swinging in his voice and went on with your story. "enzo did give me some exciting information and i wanted to talk about one thing in particular"

theo was ready to close his eyes and open them back up after you had screamed and left him sitting alone at the table. he had to admit that he wasn't particularly proud of his dating history (or lack of) before he met you and he was sure you weren't happy about that either. 

"before you say something" he interrupted you, before you were able to let the words slip past your lips. "i'm not like that anymore, i was young and not interested in a relationship and just wanted a bit of fun—"

"what are you talking about exactly?" you asked, a susprised smile on your face. 

"that wasn't what you wanted to talk about, was it?" theo asked and you shook your head giggling. 

"i mean, don't let me tell you what to talk about" you managed to say between your laughter. "we can talk about your previous hookups if that's something you'd like to discuss"

"i'd rather not" theo shook his head and his cheeks turned rosy. 

"fine" you smiled "now back to my question: how did you manage to play out that prank on professor binns in our third year?"

theo's features relaxed at the simple question and he smiled, recalling the memory. "so it all started with a ridiculous idea from mattheo and me getting roped into something stupid again"

you spent the rest of the night talking and ordering one hot chocolate after the other. there was not one second of awkward silence, even as theo brought you back to your common room. 

"i had a lot of fun tonight" theo smiled, hands sinking into the pockets of his trousers. 

you had admired how well dressed he was when he had come to get you in the afternoon. 

"me too" you said honestly. "i can't wait for the next one"

"so there will be a next one?" 

"don't be ridiculous, theodore nott" you smiled, before telling the password to the eagle ontop of the door. "of course there will a next one" you slipped into the common room and away from the smiling boy in front of it. 

"are they weirder than you?" 

the voice startled theo, as he was standing in front of the shelf in the library. he turned around, not surprised that it was you who had asked that question. you mostly started your conversations in the middle, without so much as a hello or some kind of warning. 

"what?" theo wasn't sure what else to ask.

"you friends of course" you shrugged, like that had been obvious "we've been together for a month and i've never even met them" 

"well, you have met them" theo corrected. "like in the hallways or during dinner" 

"you know what i mean, theodore" you rolled your eyes. "i don't think a grunting sound could be classified as me meeting someone"

"that's just blaise, honestly" theo muttered "but pansy waved to you during dinner more than three times now"

"theo" you pushed "either something is completely wrong with them or me and i'd like to know what it is, now" you sighed, before you added "just say if you're ashamed of me or something, i know i can be a bit rude to people i don't know"

"tesoro" theo sighed "i'm sorry that i let you think that. they're just annoying, that's all"

"and you thought they would scare me away?" you smiled, touching his cheeks with your hands. "you stalked me for weeks and i'm still dating you, aren't i?"

"that's never gonna be funny" he called after you, as you walked out of the library. "fine, breakfast at the slytherin table for you tomorrow" 

"aye, aye" 

"she's not hideous" was the first thing you heard when you sat down at the table the next morning. 

"well, you aren't either, zabini" you smiled, not even fazed by his assumption. "even though theo warned me about you" 

"burn!" enzo called, exchanging a high five with pansy. 

"i'm so glad we finally get to meet" pansy smiled. "i've just been waiting to have another girl around, it sometimes gets to much with all the testosterone"

"i don't know how you manage, honestly" you smiled.

to say theo's friends and you hit it off immediately would be an understatement. it took approximately ten minutes for you to become part of the group. enzo and you had been friends before, unlikely study partners, after you had helped him on a potions assignment once. pansy was ready to keep you by her side for the rest of the year and even blaise took a quick liking to you.

mattheo and draco were harder to break. mattheo, still having a pretty hurt ego about you turning him down the year before, was sure that you were just dating theo to get back at him for whatever reason and draco was just not interested to have any relationship past a simple hello and goodbye. 

you didn't mind their antics, even if theo repeatedly apologized for it. 

yours and theo’s relationship lasted for exactly two years. theo broke up with you one day after your anniversary.

the break up was painful, the fight that followed even more and still, you held him that evening, both of you understanding the severity of your situation and the war that was waiting to happen.

“theo” you cried, rushing through the ruins of the courtyard just months later. 

you had been on different sides after all. you had followed harry potter into the war and theo had been bound to his father and to the promise the man had given to the dark lord. just like draco, mattheo, pansy, blaise and enzo. 

your friends had gotten lost in the fight and despite not being supposed to, you were desperately screaming for them. 

you ran back into the castle, not having found theo outside. you send curses at the death eaters that tried approaching you, having more luck than an actual plan. you were simply determined to find him. 

you were thrown down to the ground as the doors of the room of requirement suddenly appeared and flew open. just as quickly as they had opened, they closed again, spitting out people in the procress, before the fire was tamed behind the doors. 

harry potter, hermione granger and ron weasley were standing up from the ground slowly, black powder darkening their cheeks and clothes. 

it took a moment for you to realize who the other two people were, as you quickly got up from the ground. 

draco was breathing just as heavily as blaise was, both trying to fill their lungs with air. 

“oh god” you mumbled, before you finally started moving, your legs guiding you into the direction of your friends, falling into their arms and pressing them close to you. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry” you cried. 

blaise and draco held onto you just as tight, not being able to let you go as they cried into your hair.

“be honest, draco” you said when you broke the hug, completely ignoring the trio next to you. 

“theo” draco muttered, knowing what you were talking about immediately. blaise and him exchanged a look. 

“is he dead?” you asked, heartbreak already burning in your limbs and throat. you were ready to mourn, ready to lose your life just like him. he had died for the wrong cause, but you hoped, heart heavy in your chest, that death was more forgiving than his life had been. 

“we don’t know” blaise finally said. “we got seperated in the halls, theo—he was looking for you i think”

“i have to find him” you muttered, touching each hand of the boys in front of you. “stay safe” you kissed both of their cheeks, before you turned on your heel, running down the corridor opposite of where you had come from. 

“theo!” you called once more, running up the stairs and through various hallways, hopeless to ever receive an answer.

“y/n” a voice called and you almost crumbled from the surprise it reached you with. hope was hard to keep and you had thought, really thought, that he was dead. 

theo wasn’t dead, but close to it. he was laying on the ground, his back against the wall, while the rest of his body was bathing in his own blood. his cheeks were empty of any colour, lips dry and almost blue as he looked up at you with tired eyes. 

“oh god” you muttered in shock, slipping onto the ground beside him, your uniform soaking up the blood like it was water in the lake. your hands touched his chest and the big glass shard that was stuck inside of it. theo hissed in pain. “sorry, sorry” you whispered. 

“they surprised me as i came down the corridor” he explained. “i was looking for you”

“you found me now” you whispered once more. 

“i don’t think they meant to do this” sweat dripped from his forehead. “they were kids, not older than fourteen, but they left and they took my wand”

“oh god” you repeated as you shook your head, holding his face in your blood soaked hands and kissing his lips softly.

“i thought you were dead” tears slipped over his cheeks and you shook your head crying. 

“i’m gonna help you” you said quickly, before reaching for your wand and using it’s magic to extract the glass from theo’s body. he was winding on the ground, the pain probably unbearable. but you had to do this in order to help him. he would heal, he would survive and that was all that mattered to you in this moment. 

“i don’t want to fight” theo cried “not for them, not against you” 

“i know, my love, i know”

the healing had begun, slowly but surely his wound closed up, only leaving behind the blood around you and the worry on your face.

“come on” you said, as soon as he looked less pale. you took his hand and he followed you through the corridors of the castle, standing next to you when you had to fight death eaters, even beginning to send curses himself. 

“you don’t have to fight, theo” you called over the loudness of the fight. “confringo! i don’t want you to fight against him” 

“i’m not leaving you” theo called back, his voice nearly drowned out by the deatheater across from him, who was screaming curses and uttering threats about theo’s betrayal at the same time. “he doesn’t mean anything to me”

“what?” you send the deatheater flying against the wall, effectively knocking him out. your wand was now facing theo's death eater too.

“i don’t care for my father” theo said, before he too send the man flying. “i only care for you and your well being”

you made sure it was safe, before you pulled him in and kissed him so passionately that you almost forgot you had ever been apart. “don’t ever let me go again, theodore nott” 

“i wouldn’t dare, y/n l/n” 

you took his hand, walking back into the entrance hall, looking if you were needed anywhere. that’s when you saw them coming over the bridge. 

“he’s here” you said, pushing theo behind you if there was really anything you could do to save him. “he’s—“ you paused, as the both of you walked closer up behind the rows of people already standing in the courtyard.

“harry…?” your voice was quiet, as you adressed the boy you had put all your hope in. someone you hadn’t known well, not well enough to be on first name basis, but what did it matter now that he was. what was he?

“harry potter is dead!” voldemort announced loudly, while the deatheaters broke into laughter. 

ginny weasley dashed forward with a heartbreaking scream. “no! no!”

“stupid girl! harry potter is dead, from this day forth you put your faith in me” you looked down onto the ground in front of you and then back at theo, who looked like he was being painfully tortured by voldemorts words. he too had set his hope into harry.

“it’s done” you said softly. “the war is over”

“we lost”

“harry potter is dead!” voldemort repeated once more “and now is the time to declare youself. come forward and join us.. or die”

your ears were drenched out by the wailing sound in your head. it was loud that you missed everything neville said. you pressed your eyes close, wishing to be anywhere else. to be free from this destiny, but you knew you could never just leave. you wouldn’t be able to leave all these people behind. 

it was theo‘s voice that woke you from your half sleeping state. the word he muttered was foreign on his tongue, but ignited a flame inside of you immediately. 

“harry”

your eyes snapped open like a gun shot had rung through the air. but it wasn’t the sound of a gun. it was harry potter, who was running and firing spells at voldemort. you just had seconds to react, before the fight broke out again, no end in sight. 

you had never thought to be happy that a war continued.

but continuation meant that you hadn’t lost yet. there was a chance to win as long as harry potter was alive. 

when voldemort finally dies, it’s nothing like you ever imagined. he bursts into the air, pieces by pieces disappearing until only his wand is left. 

the deatheater in front of you let’s his wand fall to the ground and you don’t have any interest to finish the job as you sank into theo‘s arms. content is flashing through your body and immediate tiredness is dragging you down. theo holds you as all your weight crashes against him. 

you‘re tired of fighting and of war and death and fear. there is nothing in your head, apart from the thought that you will never have to endure all of that again.

theo and you went away after the war.

you travelled europe for a year, before you came back to hogwarts to finish the school year you were still missing. 

theo got a job at the ministry, you started working at hogwarts. he proposed to you the day that you signed the contract. 

your wedding was beautiful. pansy and luna were your bridesmaids. draco and mattheo were theo‘s groomsmen. all of your friends were there. you had even invited the golden trio, it was only thanks to them that the both of you were still alive and able to celebrate your connection.

“you lost your bow again, robin!” theo picked up the little pink bow and clipped it to his suit, knowing that your daughter was way too busy to even hear him call for her. 

“maybe you should just give up” you suggested, picking up luke who was softly hitting your leg, seemingly tired of walking. 

“but she looks so cute with it!” theo protested, the disappointment sipping from his voice as he pushed the trolley through the wall. 

“it‘s no use if she always loses them” you shrugged. “what is it? like the tenth one you’ve gotten her in the past month alone? just wait until she’s older, love”

theo sighed, but nodded at your suggestion. 

“grace, robin” you called, looking around the people in front of you to spot your girls. 

“well, lucky you’ve got me” mattheo popped up next to you, robin in his arms, as he threw a wink in your direction. 

“why are you even here, mate?” theo asked annoyed “you didn’t have any children the last time i checked”

“well, theres still a few women we’re not a hundred percent sure about yet” pansy joked as she appeared in front of you. “hey sweetheart” she kissed your cheek, before she took luke out of your arms. 

“haha” mattheo rolled his eyes. “i was just accompanying my nieces and nephew’s like a good godfather and uncle should do”

“nope” theo shook his head. “you’re still not grace’s godfather, one daughter of mine has to be enough, riddle” 

“yeah, yeah” mattheo shook his head, clearly not caring about anything theo said “we’ll get there eventually”

“no, we won’t, that’s the point—“ 

“hello nott” blaise greeted, draco following, scorpius and grace behind him. you sighed in relief, glad you daughter had not gotten lost.

“blaise” theo nodded, while you went around the trolley, hugging both men. 

“amazing style choice” blaise pointed against his chest and theo's eyes fell down on his own chest, having completely forgotten about the bow he had pinned there. “looks great on you, mate”

“it’s robin’s”

“sure, keep telling yourself that” blaise said with a sarcastic smile “i heard denial is a river in egypt, y/n”

you giggled, but promptly stopped when theo elbowed you. “you’re my wife. mine” he muttered between clenched teeth, but clearly joking. 

draco took a look on his watch. “there are places we have to be, aren’t there?” he set a hand on both scorpius’ and grace’s shoulder, who were talking to each other excitedly.

“of course” you nodded, following your friends to the platform and hugging your daughter so close, as if that might make her leaving a little less hard. “stay with scorpius, sweetheart. stick together, the both of you” you advised. 

“i think isaac was trying to safe a department for the three of you” blaise told you daughter, who smiled gratefully. 

“yes, mum” grace nodded, before you swapped places with theo, who was already crying. 

“write to me every week, honey!” he declared. “stay far away from professor trewlaney and close to your mother as soon as she’s back at work”

“theo” you shook your head “she should have space to develop” you watched grace and scorpius board the train, waving as it slowly left the station.

“i’ve seen people develop at hogwarts!” he shook his head “it lead to a pregnancy in your case, tesoro”

blaise and draco choked on their spit simultaneously.

“that was after i became a teacher and you know it, dear husband”

mattheo held robin away from him, to take her in fully. “were you made there too?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone in particular.

“mattheo!” draco, pansy and you scolded loudly. 

“hey guys!” enzo appeared behind you suddenly, startling all of you. “oh no, they’re already off, aren’t they?” 

you nodded sadly, feeling sorry for the poor bloke who couldn’t arrive on time if his life depended on it.

“half an hour too late” draco exclaimed with a look at his watch. “as always”

“well you know the traffic is being a bitch” enzo slapped a hand to his mouth, before he took a quick look at evie next to him. “sorry, love. well everything’s been a b-word since jacky started forcing me to use muggle transportation.”

“i do not envy you one bit” mattheo shrugged.

“well, evie” enzo shrugged “the train is gone, but i hear that the weasleys have this super cool car, that—“

“no!” you shook your head, taking the little girls hand in yours. “i’ll take her!” 

“so get-together at yours or what, nott?” mattheo asked “gonna have to know which of your kids were conceived in hogwarts” 

“mattheo!” all of you scolded at the same time.

[mandy-asimp]

Safe and sound

Emily Prentiss x reader

Warnings: uhh some violence against Ian Doyle not too much tho, Emily's a bit delulu but aren't we all

Summary: emily begins to see your face around more, but it's impossible. You were dead. But when Ian Doyle is rumored to escape, you couldn't stay dead forever.

A/n: sum slight, sum sweet, sum short😋

She was walking to the steps of her apartment when she first saw you. She at first thought it was the sleep deprivation catching up. You couldn't be here...you...you weren't there. She told her self that as she walked up the stairs to her apartment.

Unlocking the door and feeling uneasy. That couldn't be right. She hasn't thought of you in awhile...she avoided you in her memory. You were apart of a time she...she can't let the team find out about you.

How did you find her? The question ran in her head as she sat at her table. Head in hands as she just tried to wrap her head around it.

Sergio jumped into her lap. He was wet. "Were you out in the rain, buddy?" She pet his back, but then it dawned on her. She didn't check the house.

She moved carefully, trying not to alarm the intruder if there was one. Checking each room carefully before heading into her bedroom. Finding the window open and a little puddle.

Shaking her head she just scoffed. "You're crazy, Emily. She's not here...it's impossible." She took a few deep breaths.

But before she left the room she put her perfume on the lock, just in case. She followed her night routine still on edge. Eventually finishing and trying to catch some sleep.

~

A thud woke her from her sleep, if you could even call it sleep. She looked quickly to the window and finding it to be the closed still. But she was up...she might as well check the house once more.

"Serg?...Buddy you making a mess?" She called out. Hoping it was just the cat. Yet, he was asleep in his bed. Completely unbothered. Did she hear a thud? He would've woken up, right?

Emily ran her hands over her face, trudging back into her room. She didn't bother checking anything as she climbed back into the sheets. Closing her eyes and once again trying for sleep.

~

Her eyes slowly peeled open. The way she was laying had her facing her bathroom. And her body froze in terror. There you were. Standing. Looking at your reflection so casually.

Your head snapped over to her but it wasn't you. Your eyes were glowing red and you had this look of disappointment plastered on.

Emily shot up, sweat dripping off her body. Her head instantly shot to look into the bathroom. There was nobody.

Why? Why were you suddenly plaguing her thoughts? She was so sure it was over...you were lost in the case. One minute you were next to her, and then the literal next minute...tears were streaming down her face now.

Through tears she checked the time, she was already running late. So quickly, she pushed the day so far back into her memory and wiped her tears. Quickly working to get decent for work and dashing out the door.

~

It's been three days since she saw you...or maybe saw you. Her mind was all sorts of foggy and it was playing into her job now.

They were on a case somewhere. Derek and her were talking to a lady about some cab driver. They had just finished and watched her walk away.

Her blood ran cold as she glanced to where she could feel eyes on her. You stood on the corner, ready to cross, but you weren't looking at her. A car flashed by and suddenly you were gone. She couldn't think anymore.

"Prentiss?" Derek waved his hand in front of her. His eyes moved to match where she was looking, seeing nothing there. "Are you ok?"

She hummed and came back. "Huh? Yeah...sorry I just haven't been sleeping very well. I feel like I'm seeing things suddenly." She tried to joke around it, but Derek was a good friend.

He knew it was more but he wasn't going to push while on a case. Maybe back at the BAU where Garcia can also help figure it out. But until then, they had a case.

"Well, let's get this case over with and then you can take as much princess sleep as a possible." He lightly joked. Gaining a small smile from the woman.

~

She was back at the door to her apartment. There was this green box outside. Neatly wrapped. She knew that wrapping all too well. It made her stomach twist in ways she hasn't ever felt.

Her breathing picked up a little bit. Then her phone rang, she was quick to answer it. "Hey Emily!" Reid's voice came through.

He went on about a movie, but Emily was too busy clearing her house. Having to turn down his offer as she grabbed her files. Saying her goodbyes as she got back up, catching a glimpse of the mirror.

She met your eyes and immediately adjusted her hold on her gun. "What do you want?" She whispered.

"What?" Reid's voice was mere background noise.

Emily turned around and just saw the box from her door. "You don't scare me..." she called into her house. Her phone got thrown to her bed. "You're above this!"

She turned around the corner in hope to catch you. But then it dawned on her again, you can't be here. It's impossible. The paranoia is eating her alive.

Emily came back into her room, seeing her phone still on a call with Reid. "Shit.." she whispered as she picked up the phone. "Reid?"

"Sugar?!" Penelope's voice came loudly. "Are you ok?!"

"Emily?" Reid came in, Hotch close behind him.

Emily let a sigh out, "I'm fine...I'm just really tired. Sorry for worrying you guys." She was quick to hang up her phone. Giving them no space to continue to question.

She let her head fall back and groaned. Laughing at herself once again as she got ready to leave for the night.

The wrapping threw her off still. She wasn't going to let it be the reason something does happen. She knew how you wrapped your gifts. You gave her so many. You even explained why you wrapped how you did.

"It one, looks way cuter and is easy to unwrap. And two, it gives more precision to be precise and make sure it's perfect for the receiver. Come, I'll teach you and you can use it to become the second best gift wrapper. After me of course."

Your smile was huge that day. The two of you spent the day watching movies as you wrapped up your Christmas gifts for her.

~

The next morning, she walked into the bullpen. Confused as everyone was watching Hotch's office.

"What's going on?" Emily frowned. Coming up to everyone.

A few shrugged, but before anyone could answer Hotch came out. "Prentiss can I speak with you?"

She gave a nod and dropped off all her stuff. Walking into his office and seeing him and a file. "Sir?"

"This was left on my desk this morning. I was wondering if it meant anything to you?" He handed over the file.

She opened it and it was practically blank. The only thing in the middle of the paper was a picture of her and half another person who was kissing her cheek.

She tried not to freeze infront of her boss but it was too much for her to not. "Emily, do I need to be worried about your safety?" He leaned forward. "I can have cops outside your apartment if needed."

She shook her head. "Can I...can I keep this?" Her voice was shaky. Hotch had only seen her like this once before. With her friend awhile back.

"Are you going to make any irrational decisions if I say yes? The team can help you if you-" he stopped when she shook her head again. "Is everything all right?"

She took a big inhale, letting it go slowly and nodding. "I'll be ok...can I...um have the day though?" She asked.

It was easily granted to her as she recollected her stuff and left without much to say.

She wasn't going crazy...you were actually alive. But that would make sense on how you've been disappearing within seconds?

She tried to make it work, thinking all the possibilities that could explain something. Her thoughts carried her into her apartment.

It wasn't worth checking anything, if you were already getting in and out then...why can't you just come see her?

Why is it secrets?

An unwanted game of cat and mouse?

What is keeping you from her?

You know why, Em...you know why. Your voice rang in her head. She could hear how soft it still was. How much emotion you could hold within your words even just the word 'the'. You were her second half. The one who she could crumble against and it'd be ok. But she lost you. She might not get you back.

She flopped into the middle of her bed and cried. She was finally mourning you. In her own ball curled up. Staring blankly at the wall.

And on one blink, you were there. She could see you standing there. Head tilted just slightly to the left and smiling sadly at her.

"Are you even real..."she mumbled. Emily was tired of seeing you everywhere and it not being you.

So when you moved closer and placed your warm hand on her cheek she gasped. It didn't even take a second before she was latching onto you and crying heavily.

You held her back in silence. Just letting her get everything out. You didn't mind it though. It felt natural.

It felt like the first time you held her. And she could feel it too. That both hearts were full again, designed to be one with each other.

"But you're..."she sobbed into you. Clutching you tighter as she began to struggle to breath.

"Hey, hey...just follow mine." You led the deep breathing. "There you go hun, steady breathing ok?"

She pulled back from you and really took in your face. Holding your face and crashing her lips to yours. It made you laugh a little as you kissed back. It was well overdue.

"I thought you died?" She dragged you to the bed, neither of you thinking as you laid down and let her lay on top of you. Your hand finding its home in her hair as you detangled it.

You hummed softly, "it was my only way to protect you. Sometimes, we have to make choices for the better even if it means the worse for ourselves. Doyle...he..."

The name made her tense slightly under your touch, "what about him?..."

"He...he had bad plans and I found out about them. I told Sean and he pulled me out instantly. They killed me off and reassigned me....I watched you from afar recently because...he's escaped. He's been watching you and your team. And if I knew any better...we're the final two. I wanted to see you one more time." You explained to her. Hating that this is what was happening to you both.

She held you even tighter now. "How's everyone else?" She was scared to ask. More scared for the answer as you took a deep breath in.

"They don't know I'm alive, but they know Ian is out." You answered quietly. There was more to why you showed up and you knew she was avoiding asking you anyways.

She was silent as she laid with you. But in her own mind, she was a wreck. She didn't want to really think about why you were here. She already knew.

"Will you keep me safe...for just tonight?" She almost sounded afraid. "Even if you're not here when I wake up...just one more night?"

The moonlight made her eyes sparkle in a way you would be a monster if you said no. So you did all you could, you pulled her so incredibly closed and held her till she fell asleep.

However, you were wide awake. You knew you next move. You were sworn to protect Emily Prentiss ever since you met Ian Doyle. He was a man of secrets and you pulled apart each one just for her.

You both were at risk here, but you just wouldn't let the risk go far for her. That's why it pained you to leave her before her alarm went off. You placed a delicate kiss to her hairline before climbing out the window.

You didn't leave her with nothing though, that morning when she woke up she saw the small box on her nightstand. It had your signature bow o top and a small note next to it. Till we meet again, i promise.

~

It had been awhile. Rumors are Ian Doyle was dead, but nobody could confirm it. Nobody but you.

You had caught him when you least wanted to. When it was right there with Emily. Sitting across from her and threatening her team.

"I'm going to take the only thing you care about...your life."

That was the only thing that man had to say for him to become your only focus. You had followed him for days. Left him clues you were lurking. You knew your presence made him a bit uneasy. That's what you did best after all.

You noticed how his actions towards Emily moved slower than planned. He was trying to lure you out with her, but it didn't work as well.

You were in this man's home. That was his only warning you gave. After that everything was fair game. Especially once you heard he was continuing his plans. It made your blood boil and you felt no mercy.

So, you followed Ian on a motorcycle, it was easy and fast, just your style. He walked into a pub with a few guys, but that never stopped you.

You got a table to keep them in sight while you out of theirs. And when he got up and went to the bathroom, that was your opening. With a silent fire, you made him defenseless. You took your time in there with him. Making sure he felt the years of pain he caused. Then you left him there for someone else to find.

Leaving the state, the country, anything to distance yourself then. You left for a few years. Five in total (there was a lot to clear up before you could). Finally though, you'd get to be with her.

You wanted it to be a surprise so you figured, what better surprise then at work? You had gotten in as early as possible. Slipping a little note and little box on her desk before leaving unnoticed.

And by eight in the morning, you had received a text saying it can't be true. It made you smile as you texted her back that you promised her to come back.

As she read it she fiddled with the ring on her finger, bringing Penelope and JJ's attention to it. They were having lunch in Emily's office.

"Woah! When did you get that?" The blondes instantly grabbed for her hand. Inspecting the dark red gem. "They must really like you..." JJ joked.

Earning laughs in return, "I got it awhile ago...from an old friend." There was a distant tone in each word.

Neither blonde believing it was just a friend. They shared a look and rushed off. Hiding in Garcia's bat cave until the end of the day.

Emily was going to find it weird, but she didn't want to ruin her mood. She was excited for your next appearance.

What she didn't expect was it to be at the bureau. When you waltzed in with a 'delivery'. You made a beeline for her desk with a goofy smile as she tried to not laugh at your getup.

"Are you Emily Prentiss?" You tried to contain your smile, failing miserably as tears sprung to her eyes.

She didn't care anymore she just hugged you tightly. She had you again and it felt right finally. Nothing was getting her as long as you were there.

The room stared at you two. Who were you that Emily was crying the way she was? They could only see your lips move but couldn't hear anything.

"I know sweet girl..." you hummed. Holding her head in place as she cried heavily. "Just follow mine." And you led the breathing once again. Calming her down to get her to look at you. "Well look at you FBI section chief Prentiss." You eyed her playfully. Getting a strong wack to your arm. She aged beautifully.

"You don't get to joke after what you did." She frowned seriously now. "You've risked yourself too far." She was silent for a second, knowing she wanted to know. "What did you to him? Is he really dead?"

"The night he was in a pub... He went to the bathroom and I was gone before his guys could even think of the possibility. He didn't deserve mercy." You kept it short. There wasn't much to tell anyways, you moved quick in your line of work.

"So are you.." she let her question trail off, but you knew what she was asking.

"In a sense, yes. There is no real harm against me or you. Therefore I have no reason to stay moving." You bobbed your head, letting Emily's smile infect you.

She fisted your shirt and pulled you close, kissing you sweetly but fiercely. And when she pulled away she looked at you with a hopeful shimmer. "Move in with me then. Stay with me this time."

You easily agreed to her, not needing to even think twice about it. And that's when you both heard a throat clear.

Penelope was behind on everything as she watched the end of you and Emily's moment. "I want a name, now." She demanded from her spot in the couch.

The two of you laughed at her tone, but you stepped slightly back for Emily to take the lead. It was her choice if the team got to know more about you or not.

"This is Y/n." Was all she said, but that's all you needed to know there was still so much for you two to talk about first. "I'm gonna take a second lunch," she smiled at her colleagues before collecting her stuff.

There were many unanswered questions as you left hand in hand with Emily. Penelope and JJ began to share many possibilities on what could be happening. But they would all have to wait till they finally did get their answers.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Eggplant (The Surprise, Part 18)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: nightmares, mentions of Emily's fake death, mentions of past sexual trauma (nothing graphic though), discussions of birth/delivery times (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.1k

Summary: You've always struggled with sleep and nightmares, but the third trimester is making it worse than ever. Thankfully, Emily is always there to calm you down and take your mind off the bad dreams.

Note: I know the gif is the man that we can't stand! But it was the most appropriate one! Just use your imagination! Replace him with reader!

Week 28: The Eggplant

You jerked awake, gasping and flailing, struggling to sit up against the weight of your baby bump. Sweat pooled in the dips of your collarbone and at the nape of your neck, dampening the soft strands of hair that rested there.

You blinked in the darkness, sucking in great gulps of air, feeling for Emily next to you. She was already up, already pressing her hand into yours and squeezing your palm, already drawing you into her chest, holding you protectively.

“Hey, hey,” she cooed, “it’s okay. You’re alright. It’s just a dream.”

Your heart raced, and you snaked your arms around Emily’s waist, burying yourself in her. You coughed, your breath still caught in your throat. She ran her thumb gently along the side of your face, wiping away the tears that lingered from the dream.

You’d always had more vivid dreams–and more often–than the average person. As a child, you’d even been diagnosed with a sleep disorder characterized by horrific nightmares. It had faded, but not gone away, as you grew up. After a lot of trial and error, you’d discovered that taking ashwagandha supplements before bed largely put a stop to the nightmares.

But you weren’t allowed to take ashwagandha while you were pregnant or breastfeeding. You’d been lucky until now–the nightmares had been few and far between, despite not being able to take your usual sleep aid. But when you hit the third trimester, they’d come back in full force. Almost every night, horrifically realistic, so terrifying that you were often scared to go back to sleep afterward for fear the dreams would resume. You’d tried melatonin, Benadryl, Tylenol PM, Unisom, and doxylamine. Tonight, you’d tried magnesium. The only thing it’d done was make you have to get up and take a shit in the middle of the night.

Your heart rate was slowing, but your body still shook. You grasped onto Emily’s t-shirt desperately, as if it was the only thing tethering you to the world. Sometimes the dreams involved your family. But most often these days they were about Emily.

“I guess that’s a no on the magnesium, huh?” Emilly whispered, her breath warm at the top of your head. “You want to talk about it?”

You let out a shaky breath, holding her just a bit tighter. “You died again,” you said, your voice so soft she almost couldn’t hear you. You were afraid to speak it into existence.

You could see Emily’s face without seeing it. Always wracked with guilt, always heartbroken. She always told you that going into WITSEC after Doyle, letting you and her team believe she was dead for nearly a year, was the worst thing she’d ever done. There had been no way around it; you knew it and she knew it. You didn’t like to bring it up, didn’t like to make her feel bad. She’d done what she had to do to protect herself, and as much as her fake death had devastated you–destroyed you, even–you couldn’t bring yourself to hold it against her.

“It was Doyle,” you whispered into her neck. “He made me watch.” You shuddered, and Emily grasped your face in both of her hands, turning you gently so she could look you in the eyes. She brushed a strand of hair out of your face and sighed.

“He’s dead, honey,” Emily said firmly. “I will never do that to you again.”

A tear ran down the side of your face, part of your brain still stuck in the dream, still watching Doyle hurt Emily again and again. Emily wiped it away, replacing it with a kiss.

“It’s okay, baby,” she reassured you, her heart aching to see you so scared. “I’m okay. I’m safe.”

“I’m sorry, Em,” you choked out, more tears coming now. It was three in the morning. You were on your second week of waking up terrified every night. Emily always got up with you. She had to be tired. You were exhausted. “You should go back to sleep.”

“Nope,” she protested lightly, drawing you down to the bed with her, pressing your face to her chest. “No crying, come on. It’s okay. You’re up, I’m up. Shh, just let me hold you, alright?”

You leaned into her touch, relishing the way her fingernails felt against your scalp, the weight of her arms around you, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, the up and down of her breath.

“What’ll help?” she asked. “You want to get your mind off it? Think about something else?”

You nodded, sniffling.

“Alright,” she yawned, stretching a bit to reach inside the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled out her tablet, the light from the screen making you blink.

“What are you doing?” you asked, blinking.

“We might as well get something done, if we’re up,” she said, cradling your head in the crook of her elbow, so that she could manage the tablet and keep you close at the same time.

She opened a Google doc that she’d titled Birth Plan.

“Birth plan?” There was a series of questions and fill-in-the-blanks on there, as if Emily had copy-pasted it from another website. “I thought the plan was to have the baby. That’s the birth plan.”

She pinched at your stomach, and you giggled, squirming. “No, you dork. There’s more to it than that. And I’d rather us make the decisions now, so when you’re in labor, freaking out, we don’t miss anything.”

“I think you mean when you’re freaking out during labor.”

You watched her roll her eyes and smiled. You loved teasing Emily.

“Okay, well, regardless of who's freaking out, we need a plan. So just�� lay your pretty head down and answer my questions, okay?”

You kissed the inside of her arm and nestled yourself comfortably against her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, let’s see…” Emily said, brows furrowed, biting at the corner of her lip. Her thinking face. She meant business. “Full name and pronouns, I already know that. Partner’s name and pronouns… Due date, provider… I can fill all this out without you.”

“So then, the birth plan really is just have the baby?”

“No!” Emily insisted, scrolling. “Here. Here’s some you can answer. Have you ever… had group B strep?”

“No.”

“Been previously diagnosed with genital herpes?”

Your face went beet red. “Jesus, Em! No!”

She smirked. “I know, I just wanted to see you blush. Uh… do you have Rh incompatibility with the baby?”

“I don’t think so? I feel like Dr. Delgado would have mentioned it by now.”

“I’m putting no. Gestational diabetes?”

“No.”

“Fear of needles?”

“No, not really.”

“Have experienced–” Emily stopped suddenly, her voice stuck in her throat.

“Experienced what?” you prompted. When she didn’t answer, you poked her leg with your foot. “Emily, experienced what?”

“It’s okay,” she mumbled. “I can answer that one for you.”

“Well, now I want to know…”

“It’s fine, Y/N. Let’s just move on.”

“No, Em, I want to know!”

She sighed and bit at one of her nails. You furrowed your eyebrows and took her hand.

“Have you ever experienced birth trauma or prior sexual assault,” Emily read, her voice soft.

“Oh.”

You were both quiet for a moment, your thumb running over Emily’s knuckles. “Well, I guess you did know the answer for that one…” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s keep going.”

Emily shook her head a bit, as if clearing clouds. “Uh… delivery plan… I’m assuming vaginal?”

You nodded. “What are the other options?”

“C-section or water birth.”

You shivered. “Yeah, definitely vaginal. I think I’d cry if I had to give birth in a kiddie pool.”

Emily cracked a smile, and you were glad to see her getting back to herself. “Who do you want in the room with you?”

“You.”

“Well, yeah. Anyone else, though? Your mom?”

“Just you,” you confirmed, kissing her hand.

“Whatever you want,” Emily confirmed, continuing down the list. “Do you want any music played?”

“Screamo.”

Emily laughed. “Can you imagine?”

“Alright, I’ll settle for punk.”

“I’m putting TBD,” Emily decided. “Okay, this next part is a big, long checklist, so just say yes or no, I guess.”

“Okay,” you agreed. Your heart rate was almost back to normal, your breathing calm and even as you snuggled into Emily. You were starting to feel sleepy again, and were trying not to fight it, not to let yourself get scared again.

“Lights dimmed?” Emily asked, making her way down the list.

“Uh… I guess so?”

“Room as quiet as possible?”

“Minus the punk music, yes.”

Emily fought off a smile, running a hand absentmindedly through your hair. “As few interruptions as possible?”

“...Yes?”

“As few vaginal and cervical exams as possible? Yes.” Emily’s voice grew quiet again as she read this one, and you squeezed her hand to let her know you were okay. “Hospital staff limited to my doctors and nurses only? I’m putting yes for this one, too. I don’t want any fucking students in there watching.”

You yawned, closing your eyes as you pressed your cheek against Emily’s chest. You were having a harder and harder time staying awake.

“Do you want to wear your own clothes?”

“Yes,” you mumbled.

“Your glasses?”

You looked up at her, confused. “As opposed to what? Loaner glasses?”

Emily shrugged. “No glasses, I guess?”

“No. I can’t see shit without my glasses. The baby would just be a blob.”

“So yes to your glasses… Do you want me to take pictures?”

“Of me giving birth?!” you exclaimed. “No!”

“But you’ll look so beautiful!” Emily argued.

“I’ll look like a hot plate of shit,” you shot back. “In fact, I might actually shit myself during labor. I don’t want any photographic evidence of that, thank you.”

“Fine,” Emily grumbled. “Putting no. Would you like to stay hydrated with clear liquids and ice chips?”

“What kind of question is that?” you asked, fighting off another big yawn. “Of course I want to be hydrated.”

“Do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know. Depends on how long it takes, I guess.”

“There’s no box for maybe,” Emily observed.

“Make a box, then, Emily. Jesus. You work for the FBI.”

“Mean…” she mumbled.

“Sorry. I love you.” At this point, you were half-asleep, Emily’s voice far away, as if you were underwater.

“Do you want me to catch the baby?”

“Catch the baby? What are they tossing it?”

“No, like… as he’s born.”

“As she falls out of my vagina?!”

“...Yeah.”

“Not really. I want you up with me so I can squeeze your hand and yell at you.”

Emily was quiet, and you grabbed for her hand, blinking your eyes open.

“Unless it’s important to you,” you told her. “If that’s something you want to do, then by all means.”

“No…” Emily thought out loud. “But I think I’d like to cut the umbilical cord, if that’s okay with you?”

You nodded, getting comfy again, sleep infringing on the edges of your consciousness.

“Do you want him placed on your chest right away?” When you didn’t answer, Emily prompted you again. “Y/N?”

She looked down to find you conked out, snoring softly, your arm wrapped around her stomach, legs entwined with hers. She smiled softly at you and kissed the top of your head, sneaking her hand under the fabric of your shirt to rub your back.

“I’m putting yes,” she whispered, typing quickly then turning off the tablet and setting it gently on the nightstand, careful not to shift too much and wake you.

Emily adjusted the covers so that you’d be nice and warm. She wasn’t a praying person, but she hoped against hope that you’d sleep through the rest of the night. You had huge circles under your eyes from so many nights of restless sleep. Emily was used to running on little sleep, but you weren’t. And you were growing a baby. You needed more sleep than usual, and you weren’t getting it.

She pressed her lips to your head again and again, making sure you were secure in her arms. She couldn’t go into your head and fight off the nightmares for you, but she could make sure that if and when you woke up, you felt safe right away. She could make sure she was there, make sure that the moment you gasped awake, you felt Emily next to you–real and alive and warm and very, very here.

[spencerreidswhore187]

False Confidence

Don't take yourself so seriously / Look at you all dressed up for someone you never see.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer and Y/N hate each other, they just don't realise they have been anonymously messaging for months.

Word Count: 2.8k

T/W: Mentions of murder and death

A/N: For @sackofpissandshit . I came up for the premise of this as a plate of prawns fell onto my head at work. Enjoy! ◡̈

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SherlockHolmes1887: You were right. 

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face; you replied immediately, the half-drunk coffee in your hand forgotten. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Feel free to say that again.

He did.  

Briefly, you looked up from your phone to cross the road. You were on the way to work having just received a message from Hotch. It sounded urgent. 

NapoleonOfCrime: So what made you realise that, as per usual, I was right? 

You had spent the better part of the night trying to convince him that Sherlock Holmes was in love with Jim Moriarty. You had met him online several months ago, on an Arthur Conan Doyle forum and have been messaging ever since. 

He, except for the one and only Penelope Garcia, was your best friend. You told him everything. Except for who you are. 

Early on in talking you both had agreed not to exchange names, tell each other where you lived or what you did for a career. You knew what SherlockHolmes1887 favourite film was (Star Trek), that he liked wearing mismatched socks and his mum used to call him ‘Crash’ because he would crash into things when he was younger. You knew that, like you, he had four qualifications, liked Sherlock Holmes and had an unhealthy obsession with coffee. You just didn’t know his name. 

Your phone vibrated. 

SherlockHolmes1887: “The greatest schemer of all time, the organiser of every devilry, the controlling brain of the underworld, a brain which might have made or marred the destiny of nations—that's the man! But so aloof is he from general suspicion, so immune from criticism, so admirable in his management and self-effacement, that for those very words that you have uttered he could hale you to a court and emerge with your year's pension as a solatium for his wounded character. [...] Foulmouthed doctor and slandered professor—such would be your respective roles! That's genius, Watson.”

Your phone buzzed again. You silenced it as you walked into the BAU elevator. 

SherlockHolmes1887: I reread ‘The Valley of Fear’ last night. 

You were about to reply when a voice cried out. 

“Hold the door!” 

Instinctively, you stretched your arm out between the closing elevator doors. 

The person entered beside you. 

If you had known who had asked, you would have let the doors shut. 

Dr Spencer Reid leant on his cane, drumming his fingers against its metal top as the elevator moved upwards. He had recently been shot in the leg on a case. You would never tell him but when that gun fired, you thought you were going to be sick. Your heart ached. It made you hate him even more.

“Reid,” you said, staring forward. You refused to look at him.

“L/N,” He replied. 

That was the most words you’d exchanged in days. 

When the doors finally opened again, you both headed towards the round table, where the rest of the team was waiting. 

You and Spencer were the last to arrive. 

It’s not like him to be late, you thought.  

You took a seat between Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan - you were sat as far away from Spencer as possible.

“Now that you are all here,” Hotch began, pulling you from your thoughts, “let’s begin.” 

Penelope connected her computer to the screen; there was a picture of a body. The flesh was rotten, decayed from what was evidently years hidden away. Your eyes are wide as you saw it: a long cut, rough and jagged, stretched from neck to naval. You recognised this signature. 

“The Brooklyn Butcher,” you said, interrupting the silence. 

Hotch nodded. 

It was a case that had occurred six years ago and ended up going cold. 

Spencer recalled, “Eleven women, all under the age of twenty-five, all with red hair, went missing and then their bodies always turned up three days later with a long knife wound across their torso.” 

“The only body,” you continued, “that was never discovered was Sharon Lewis’. The first to go missing. The wife of Mitch Lewis, the prime suspect during the investigation.” 

“Why wasn’t he arrested?” Derek asked. 

Spencer answered before you could, tucking a strand of his brown hair behind his ear. Why did you want to run your hands through his hair? 

“There was no evidence. The police’s only theory was his wife was his first kill and he killed all the other victims who resembled her in an attempt to relive the thrill of the kill.”

“He had an alibi for Sharon Lewis’ disappearance,” you added. 

“Correct - they also never found her body. They couldn’t prove their theory without her body.” 

“Well,” Hotch said, “they have now.” 

“Sharon Lewis, aged twenty-four, was the first victim in the Brooklyn Butcher killings. Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head.” 

JJ leant back in her chair and pressed her pen to her lips, “So the cut was postmortem?”

“According to the coroners.” 

“But that was not the case for the rest of the victims?”

“No,” Hotch replied. 

“Our UNSUB gained confidence in his kills.” 

Lewis was likely his first-ever kill. You wanted to message Sherlock and ask him what he thought. He was intelligent beyond belief, you were sure he would add valuable insight to this case but you couldn’t tell him. Then he would know you worked for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. You couldn’t let him know that. He couldn’t know who you were. What would he think then? When he knew you were more comfortable around dead bodies than real people.

“How was the body discovered?” Spencer asked. 

Hotch had that dark look in his eyes, the one he got when an UNSUB scared him. You hadn’t seen that look in his eyes since Haley died. 

“The body was left on an empty police vehicle parked outside a station in Brooklyn. There was a note attached to it.”

Penelope clicked a button on her laptop and the slide changed to a screwed-up piece of paper nailed to the shoulder of the body. 

Hotch read it aloud, “You have three days before I kill another. Happy hunting, the Butcher.”

He stood up from his seat, “Selene Harker was reported missing twelve hours ago. We leave for New York now - wheels up in twenty. Penelope, you’re coming with us.” 

She smiled nervously, you gave her a discreet thumbs up. 

Everyone stood up from the round table and headed towards the door, you had grabbed the handle when Hotch stopped you.

“L/N, you need to stay here.”

You froze, confused. 

He continued, “Reid has not been cleared to fly by his doctors yet and I need you to go through the old Mitch Lewis interrogation clips, find out whether he told any lies. Stay in touch.” 

With that he left the room, leaving you there with Spencer before you had a second to protest. 

You weren’t really sure how you did it, it’s an ability you’ve had since you were a kid. It’s how you were flagged by the FBI. You could tell when people lied. Everyone has a tell and, like the lie-detecter you are, you knew how to spot it. 

When you and Reid had first met, three years ago, he had told you all the statistics about lies: “Did you know,” he had said, “10% of all lies can be defined as exaggerations, though 60% of all lies are considered to be deceptive.” 

You remembered how you had nodded, anxious as it was your first day. 

“Of all liars, 70% of them claim to be willing to do it again. Every week, Americans tell 11 lies. In a study of 11,366 lies told by 632 people over 91 days, 75% of them lied between 0 or 2 times per day.”

“You know a lot,” You had laughed. 

Reid seemed kind. You liked kind people; you dealt with a lot of horrible people growing up. 

“I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187.” 

That was the first time you and Spencer had ever spoken and it was the last time you ever spoke like friends. 

You spun on your heels to face Spencer. 

“You leave me alone and I’ll leave you be. Understood?” 

“Understood,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes. 

“God, you are so infuriating.”

“I hate you,” he retorted. 

You noticed the way his jaw tensed. 

You grinned, “Lie.” 

Spencer groaned and left the room. Through the window, you saw him take a seat at his desk. 

Laughing, you walked into Penelope’s office and pulled up the police footage. 

You were three hours into the Mitch Lewis footage and he had told three lies. 

The first was that he did not know what happened to the other victims. Although, this could mean he had read about the case online. 

The second was more interesting. Lewis said he was at the pub when his wife disappeared. Even though there was security camera footage to confirm this, he was lying, 

The third made your head spin. He said he didn’t kill her. True. He said he didn’t know where she was. Lie. 

You paused the interrogation and contacted Hotch to tell him what you had found. He replied telling you to take a break as they searched for Mitch Lewis. 

In an attempt to distract yourself, you reached for your phone and messaged Sherlock. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Hi.

He replied almost immediately. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Hey.

NapoleonOfCrime: So you read ‘The Valley of Fear’ in one night just to try and prove me wrong? 

SherlockHolmes1887: If that’s how you want to interpret it :) 

NapoleonOfCrime: And?

SherlockHolmes1887: And…they are very much in love. It’s almost blindingly obvious. 

NapoleonOfCrime: “It has been an intellectual treat for me to see the manner in which you have grappled with this case.” The definition of enemies to lovers.

SherlockHolmes1887: Enemies to lovers? 

You don’t think you ever smiled as much as when you did with him. 

NapoleonOfCrime: It’s better you don’t ask, or else I’ll be sending you links to Moriaty x Sherlock fan fiction.

SherlockHolmes1887: What are you doing right now?

Your fingers danced along the tiny keyboard on the phone screen.

NapoleonOfCrime: Work. You? 

SherlockHolmes1887: Work. 

NapoleonOfCrime: How is it? 

It made you nervous that he didn’t reply instantly. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Don’t worry, this isn’t me trying to figure out what you do or who you are. I like the mystery. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Horrible. But it’s not really work that’s the problem. There’s a girl. 

It hurt a little to know there was a girl, of course it did, but you didn’t mind. What you cared about was how he seemed distressed. 

NapoleonOfCrime: If you want to share, I’m a good listener. 

He typed for what seemed like an eternity. 

SherlockHolmes1887: We, her and I, have worked together for years. She’s smart and funny and beautiful. So beautiful. But she hates me. I messed up when we first met, I was so nervous around her that I just ignored her. Whenever she tried to speak to me, I would walk away or just act like she wasn’t there. And, now, I am finally more confident, she can’t even be near me without glaring in my direction at least once. 

You yearned for someone to talk about you that way. No one had ever told you that you were beautiful. You didn’t need someone to tell you because you didn’t believe it, it’s just that sometimes, on the inevitable bad days, you want to feel wanted. 

NapoleonOfCrime: I’m sure if you explain it to her, she will understand - you said she’s smart. I can see why you like her. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Yeah, I fell hard. 

I fell hard. 

You recalled what Hotch had said, “Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head.” 

You recalled how the cut was messy and hesitant whilst the rest were neat. 

 You recalled how it was done postmortem whilst the rest were the cause of death. 

You ran out of Penelope’s office, straight to Dr Spencer Reid. 

“Spence,” you shouted.

You were both alone in the room. 

Spencer looked up from his phone. It was strange, to see him on a phone. You had always thought he was the type of person to hate technology. Instead, he seemed thoroughly invested in whatever was on his screen. 

“Who are you messaging?” You asked, acting causal.

“No one,” he said.

Lie.

“A girl?”

“No.” 

Lie.

Spencer’s face had gone bright red. It was cute; it made you smile. 

Why did it make you smile? 

You decided to change the topic before your face went red. 

“Do you have the coroner’s report?” You questioned. 

He dug through the many files covering his desk and held it up for you to see. 

Blunt force to the frontal lobe, that confirmed your suspicions. 

You stared into Spencer’s brown eyes.

“I know what happened to Sharon Lewis.” 

You explained how it must have happened. Sharon was reported missing by her friend at 19:37. She was supposed to be meeting her a 18:00. Mitch Lewis was at a bar from 17:30-20:01, this was confirmed by camera footage. This means that Lewis can’t have kidnapped his wife. Or, perhaps, she never went missing. She tripped getting ready to see her friend and fell down the staircase. She would have died upon impact.

Spencer nodded in agreement with your theory.

“When Lewis got home and saw his wife’s body sprawled out at the base of the stairs, he saw an opportunity…” 

“He dragged her downstairs to the basement, explaining the deep scratches on her back noted in the coroner’s report.” You said, “Lewis worked in construction, he had a table and tools down there, he said so in one of his interrogations. He placed her on that table and cut her. He butchered her. And then did the same to others to try and recreate the high of killing his wife.” 

“We need to call Hotch.” 

Four hours later and Mitch Lewis had confessed and was in police custody.

Derek and Emily had found Selene Harker chained to the very same table Lewis had carved his wife like a cold slab of meat. 

The team was on their way back from Quantico.

You found Spencer sitting on a bench outside the FBI building. Spinning the silver ring your grandmother gave you around your index finger, you sat down next to him. 

You both stared forward, at the road. 

You were glad that you weren’t the only one who was affected by cases like this. You were glad that you weren’t the only one overwhelmed by empathy. Your mother once told you that empathy without boundaries was self-destruction but you were just glad that after so much time in this field, you still felt something. 

Spencer eventually broke the silence. 

“It scares me, Y/N, how easy a life can end.” 

Spencer clutched his cane so tightly that his knuckles went white. 

Gently, you eased one of his hands off it and held it in yours. 

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears. It was deafening. 

“You know, when I was a kid, I was always tripping over things. I walked into doors, tables, you name it. My mum would call me ‘Crash.’”

He laughed dryly whilst your world began to crumble around you. 

You dropped Spencer’s hand. 

“Sh-she called you what?” 

Spencer turned to look at you, confusion and worry were etched across his face, “Y/N? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

It’s not that you were upset, in fact, you felt almost the opposite of that. 

Your voice was steadier than you expected when you spoke.

“He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson.”

“Y/N?”

“He is the organiser of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city.”

“It can’t be.” 

Spencer held his face in his hands. 

“Disappointed, Sherlock Holmes 1887?”

You said it mockingly but you were terrified of what Spencer would say. 

“No, Napoleon of Crime. Not even a little bit.”

True.

“You told me to explain how I felt to that girl so here goes. The first thing I noticed about you was your smile. I saw it from the other side of the room. And, Y/N, it was contagious. Just looking at you made me smile. You are so beautiful and so intelligent and I have wanted to tell you how desperately I liked you since the day we met.” 

He cradled your cheek with one hand. 

“And now I know that this whole time, as well as being the person I can see myself falling in love with, you are my best friend, my favourite, my person.” 

“I hate you, Spence,” you say just before you kiss him. 

Smiling against your lips, you hear him whisper, “Lie.” 

[hotchscoffeecup]

how do we carry on?

pairing: hotch x bau!reader

rating: m

word count: 4.8k

genre: angst, hurt no comfort

summary: emily was your confidant, your best friend. when she dies at the hands of ian doyle, you find comfort in your boyfriend, aaron. when you find out that she’s alive and that hotch had known all along, your world falls out from under you. can you and hotch come back from the decision he made for the good of the team?

*if this gains enough traction i might follow up with a pt.2 to give it a happy ending*

The criss-crossed lines of the tile floor blur together as you stare blankly between your feet. The tops of your thighs have gone numb from digging your elbows into them, using your cradled hands as a pillow for your forehead. You couldn’t go home, not until you knew.

Rossi had offered to go on a walk and get a coffee, but shitty lukewarm hospital coffee was the last thing you needed. You hadn’t meant to write him off, you just couldn’t justify doing anything to distract from the fact that she was on that operating table, that Emily’s life was literally hanging in the balance.

The rest of the team was no better off than you are right now. Penelope’s knitting needles clack relentlessly, the scarf inside of her purse growing as her hands keep busy so her mind doesn’t focus on how hard she’s trying not to cry. The last time you’d poked your head up, Derek hadn’t moved from the waiting room windowsill where he’d been standing still as a statue staring out at the cityscape. If Spencer didn’t stop shaking his leg, you feared he would wear a hole straight through the tile. JJ exits the waiting room as often as she returns, her liaising days quickly coming back, making her their only link to the operating room. Hotch’s behavior is no different. His cell rings every ten to fifteen minutes, no doubt the Bureau wanting to know how the hell this could happen. It’s the only sign that time is actually passing and you’re forced to accept that you’re not stuck in some fucked up purgatory-esque hellscape where time stands still, torturing you as your dear friend’s life teeters between worlds.

What you wanted, what you needed was for him to hold you; to place a kiss against your temple and tell you that everything would be alright. It had to be alright.

He couldn’t show favor to you though, not now. The team didn’t know about your relationship with him, though you believe a few have their suspicions. You’re all too observant for your own good. Not much goes unnoticed by anyone. So when JJ walks back into the waiting room, everyone shifts toward her to try and get a glimpse into her facial expression and body language for any sign of an update regarding Emily’s condition.

Instantly, you know something is wrong. JJ’s eyes flit from one person to the next, not lingering very long on anyone. Spencer is the first to stand and you follow suit. You close in, forming a small half circle. Behind JJ, Hotch stands in the doorway, brow straight as he folds his arms across his chest.

“JJ?” Her name is an anxious plea on Penelope’s lips.

JJ’s eyes drop to the floor as she presses her lips together. She takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes, yours the ones they land on as she speaks. “She never made it off the table.”

A choked sob echoes from Garcia as she falls into Derek’s arms, his features fixed as he stares ahead though his knuckles flush white as he holds tightly onto Penelope. Rossi pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he mutters something to himself; a prayer, maybe. Spencer envelopes JJ in a desperate embrace, as if clinging to her will somehow make her words any less true. Afterall, how can they be? Emily can’t go down, not like this; not after all she’s survived.

Someone says your name. Your brow dips, but you don’t respond. You need to see Emily. Your feet move of their own accord, guiding you through the waiting room. Someone grabs your arm and you tug away from their grasp, set on pushing onward and finding the OR.

Someone repeats your name, and you can’t help but latch on to the deep tenor that belongs to Hotch. You halt in your tracks and close your eyes, tears leaking over your eyelids and down your cheeks.

“I need to talk to Emily,” you say, your voice small.

The way Hotch says your name is laced with pity and you hate the way it sounds on his tongue. He pulls gently on your arm in an attempt to reel you into him, but you resist. You bite your lip to still its trembling. Yanking your arm free, you press on into the hallway and stumble toward the double doors that read in bold letters: Authorized Personnel Only. Fuck that. You’ve got a badge, that’s authority enough. Before you can push through, firm hands twist around your arms.

You push back, but their grip tightens. “Stop,” Hotch urges authoritatively. You turn into him and pound your fist against his chest, a sob cracking free from your mouth. “She’s not gone,” you cry. “She’s not gone. She’s not—” Your legs tremble with the wave of grief that crashes over you and you can’t hold your weight as it does so. Falling to your knees, Hotch reacts. His arms fold around your waist, catching you as you collapse into the wide plane of his chest. Your ribs ache as your lungs inflate with each rapid, sobbing breath. Your vision turns fuzzy at the edges as you try and fail to slow your breathing. It feels like you’re dying as the waves of grief assail you over and over again, battering you, body and mind, in an unrelenting tumultuous current of sorrow and pain as the wicked reality sets in. Emily is dead. You barely feel Hotch’s hand in your hair cradling you against him. As he murmurs apologies and sympathies in your ear, you don’t see the weighted look he exchanges with JJ.

•

The funeral comes and goes. The day is too beautiful for Emily not to be there to see it. You sit on the porch at Hotch’s house, breathing in and out as you watch the daffodils dance in the afternoon breeze. You smooth the fabric of your dress down over your knees, the satin wrinkled from the way you clenched it during the service.

Your phone buzzes in your purse. The number of messages and phone calls you’d ignored continues to rise, but you can’t bring yourself to express any gratitude for their condolences. You can’t bring yourself to feel anything except the crushing weight of grief.

You picture Emily sitting beside you on the wooden porch swing. Last Summer, you’d sat here with her as the team gathered for a Fourth of July Barbecue. Jack had made invitations and delivered them to the team at the office. He’d been so excited and so were you. It was around then that you and Hotch had begun to toe the line between colleagues and something more; a morning coffee dropped off at your desk here, an extra visit to his office there. You’d sat here with Emily watching as Rossi backseat barbecued Hotch on the grill. She’d caught you smiling at him alongside the fondness in your gaze. She’d clocked you from a mile away.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” Her laugh had tinkled from lips, ringing like a morning bell.

“What are you talking about?” you’d asked, trying and failing to school your features into a mask of indifference.

“I’ll tell ya, it’s a big swing, but if you hit it, that’s a home run for sure.”

You’d nearly choked on your lemonade, coughing and gasping; drawing the attention of the others.

“Wrong pipe!” Emily had called while pointing at you and clapping a hand against your back. “She’s good!” In a low voice she’d added, “Though I’m sure with him, it’d be just the right pipe.”

You’d elbowed her in the ribs and bust out laughing together. For the longest time after that, she’d been the only person that you’d confided in about your burgeoning feelings and relationship with Aaron. Through that, she’d quickly become your closest friend on the team.

A couple of kids shout at one another, laughing, as they ride past the house on their bicycles; shattering the memory. You dip into your purse and withdraw your phone, pressing a button and powering it down. The screen door creaks on its hinges and Hotch steps down onto the porch, the planks shifting beneath his weight. He sits beside you and offers you a mug. The scent of coffee reaches your nose and you accept it, thanking him quietly. Aaron had taken his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. He stretches an arm around your shoulder and draws closer to you. He kisses the side of your face and stares out at the yard.

“It was a beautiful service,” he offers.

“Aaron, don’t.” You close your eyes and take a breath. You hold the coffee with both hands, rubbing your thumbs up and down the warm ceramic. “Please don’t make small talk with me about this like it’s all so fucking normal.”

He sighs and apologizes. “I just wish I could make all of your hurt go away.”

A shudder runs through you and you nestle in closer to him, taking a sip of your coffee as you do so. “I don’t think it’ll ever go away.”

•

Her brown eyes stare back at you, though the photo paper could never capture the light that flared within them when she was alive. Of all the faces you could have seen up on this wall, you’d never anticipated hers being one of them.

Every day you stop by her portrait on the wall of fallen heroes. People talk about her less and less around the office. The team doesn’t stop, though your conversations are stilted and often end in awkward silences; no one really knowing how to carry on once the conversation slows to a natural end. You speak often with Spencer about the ways in which you’ve been grieving, the sleepless nights and early mornings. Derek is reserved. He’s angry above anything else. He feels betrayed by Emily and a part of you understands that. She’d not told any of you after all. You’d be remiss if you’d not also spent some of your time grieving in anger. Of all the times you’d stayed late after work, gotten together to hang out on weekends, or gone out for drinks, she had never indicated anything was wrong. You had told her everything, confided every one of your fears and hopes into her and you’d thought that the street had been going both ways. God, you’d never been so wrong.

“Conference room in fifteen,” Aaron says as he walks past you, hand grazing your back as he does so.

You smile tightly and nod, glancing once more at Emily’s photo before making your way to your desk in the bullpen, ignoring the fact hers still sits empty and unoccupied beside yours. How has it been three months already?

•

“Emily!”

Your eyes dart around the room frantically searching as your heart thunders in your ears. You feel the organ pounding against your ribcage, threatening to break free of it. It only takes a second for you to realize it had been a dream.

Aaron rolls over and sits up, threading an arm around your back and rubbing your hip with his fingers. “Another nightmare?” he asks, words tinged with sleepiness.

You nod, yawning as you rub your eyes. The dreams are further apart, but at least every other week her face haunts your subconscious. You can’t help but wonder if it’s some sort of self-punishment as life goes on and the days get easier.

In reality, you don’t know if it’s easier or if you’ve just forced yourself to become numb to it all, compartmentalizing the pain of losing your best friend because if you didn’t you don’t think you’d be able to leave the house and do what you do day after day.

“Are the appointments with the therapist helping?” he asks.

Another question you don’t know the answer to. On some level, yes. Talking to someone who knows nothing about you or her or anyone else on the team is good. You don’t have to walk on eggshells, worried you're going to dig open a wound the others are equally fighting to heal by talking about her or how much you miss her or wish she was here. On another level, you don’t open up fully to the doctor. There are some layers of this injury you don’t want to see heal and scar over. If you do that, it’s like you’re telling Emily that you’re over her death, as if it’s something as easy as that, something you just get over. No, some things need to stay fresh, to serve as a reminder that Ian Doyle is still out there. The man who took your best friend away from you and your BAU family is breathing and she’s not. You clench your fists, the sheets balling up in your hands as your resentment burns deep inside you. Yes, that’s it, the idea of him walking around thinking he’s gotten away with this is enough to stoke the flames simmering deep inside you.

You take a deep breath, mentally imagining the flames subsiding, and they do. They dial down, but they don’t disappear. You glance down at Aaron, who snores softly beside you. His fingers still curl around your hip and a faint smile graces your lips. He tries, you know he does, but this is exhausting for everyone. He bears the brunt of it at the office. He fought to be the one to meet with the team and conduct the grief interviews, not wanting a stranger to come in and sift through your friends’ and colleagues’ pain over what happened. God knows how much bureaucratic red tape he had gotten tangled in right after the fact, the higher ups demanding how such a blunder could occur right under their noses. Aaron had put out the fires though, as he always did. Reaching around his back, you withdraw his hand from your hip and tuck it by his side, not before pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

You glance at the clock before lying back down. 4:15AM blinks back at you on the digital clock face. In forty five minutes the alarm will go off and it’ll be another day at the office. Settling down into the pillows, you press your back into Aaron’s body, yours molding against the planes of his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His arms slinks around your waist and pulls you in as if you can get any closer than you already are. He tucks his chin over your shoulder and his lips brush against your jawline.

“I love you,” he whispers and you relax into the safety of his embrace.

“I love you, too, Aaron.”

•

Nights are hard when Aaron is gone. Pakistan is nine hours ahead and all Hotch has to communicate with anyone is a satellite phone, the number for which you don’t have access to. Whenever Hotch calls, the caller ID flashes the word ‘Unknown’ across your screen. There have been several times you’ve missed him due to being asleep or at work. Each call missed feels like being sucker punched. Every time you talk, a part of you worries it’ll be the last time. You didn’t use to have this fear, not until Emily. Despite staring death in the face on a week by week basis, most of the time playing Russian Roulette with the Grim Reaper himself in each unsub you cross paths with, somehow you never thought he’d actually take someone you love from you; that he’d take down one of the team. You never thought there’d be a last conversation with Emily, and now she’s dead.

Dead. The word is a heavy stone, sinking from the cusps of your mind to the pit of your stomach. It sits there, a persistent ache idling deep inside of you. It never relents and it never allows you to forget.

There are nights you dream that Aaron is dead too, that somewhere far away and beyond your control, he’s dying on the ground, bleeding out, and no one knows. You don’t even know what he’s working on and he can’t say; despite your relationship there are still levels in which Hotch’s clearance supersedes your own and the need-to-know red tape keeps you out. Afraid to close your eyes and dream of his unseeing, you stare at the blades of the ceiling fan whirling lazily overhead of the bed you usually share with him.

“I miss you,” you whisper to no one; and you don’t know who you’re talking to anymore.

•

“He’s back?” your heart flutters in your chest, equal parts excited and anxious at the prospect of Aaron’s sudden return. You push off your desk and swivel in your chair to stand, rushing down the hall and leaving Reid behind as you make your way hastily to the conference room.

The door is cracked and a gleeful sound eeks past your lips as his tall frame comes into view. You slip in before anyone else arrives and throw your arms around you. Inhaling deeply, his familiar teakwood scent envelopes you just as his arms do. You move to pull away, but his arms tighten around you.

“A second more,” he whispers, and there’s an edge to his voice.

You write it off to jet lag and sink into his embrace, though you notice how slight he feels against you. Finally, you pull back and cup his face in your hands. The scruff of his beard is prickly and you laugh as you take in his rugged appearance. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with this much facial hair.” You swipe your thumbs over the hair on his lip and he tilts his head, kissing the inside of your hand. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply before lifting them to meet yours. It's then you realize how tired he looks. The bags under his eyes are puffy and purple, almost as if they’re bruised. His forehead is creased, brow furrowed; definitely not how you pictured him upon reuniting.

“Aaron is everything ok—”

“I need you to know I would never hurt you,” he says quickly, interrupting you.

You purse your lips, brow pinching at the sudden admission. As your lips part to speak he directs a pointed look at you, the depths of his brown eyes wavering. “I love you,” his voice cracks, “so much.” He swallows, his throat bobbing as he does so. “Please remember that.”

There’s a hollow feeling in your gut, a chasm opening wide where every anxious and painful thought that you’ve tried to keep buried since he’s been gone begins to claw their way out as a thousand different outcomes play out in front of you. “Aaron, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer your question as the rest of the team trickles into the room, sitting at the round table or standing as suspense fills the space. It’s tangible. Everyone’s posture is rigid and tense in anticipation of whatever it is he has to say.

“Seven months ago I made a decision that impacted everyone on this team,” he begins, eyes firm.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably beside you. Rossi leans forward, fingers steepled under his chin.

“As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood,” Hotch continues and your ears prick at the sound of her name. Why would he bring her up? No less, her condition the day you all lost her. You all know this.

“…the doctor’s were able to stabilize her.”

Your lips part but no sound comes out as you raise your eyes to meet his. They meet yours for the briefest of seconds before flitting on to the others.The next words to leave his mouth sound far away, interrupted by the blood now pounding in your eardrums. “She stayed there until she was well enough to travel…given identities…”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel as though you may choke on it. Air doesn’t seem to be able to bypass it and you have to remind yourself that you can breathe even though it feels like all the oxygen has vacated your lungs.

Penelope is the first to speak. “She’s alive?”

Spencer’s brow quirks as he tries to rationalize what’s being said to him. “We buried her.”

You did. You helped carry the casket. You felt the weight of her dead body and watched it sink into the earth. If that wasn’t her, what the fuck or who the fuck did you actually put in the ground?”

“As I said I take full responsibility for this decision,” Hotch continues, eyes downcast. “If anyone has any issues they should be directed towards me.”

The blood pounding in your ears is deafening. When Hotch looks up, you search his eyes and can’t help wondering if you know him at all. All of the nights you literally made yourself sick from crying and he held your hair back as you dry heaved over the toilet and your body spasmed from the grief of losing your best friend, he’d known that she was alive. For a moment, you think you may be sick right there at the round table at the thought of it all. Derek is speaking, his voice tight with anger but you don’t hear him. Heads turn and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as a haunting feeling creeps up the back of your spine.

Turning around in your chair, everyone else stands but not you. If you do, you know your knees will buckle and fall out from under you. Spencer and Penelope are on their feet, moving briskly to greet the ghost of Emily.

Except she’s not a ghost. Her skin is not the cold blue-gray pallor of death, but pink and bright, the blood beneath her flesh very much pumping through a heart that’s beating. Her dark brown hair is sleek and shining, her bangs grown out and styled; her part now to the right. You watch her arms fold around Spencer and the way he squeezes her in turn. Penelope follows suit, tears streaming down her cheeks as she smiles widely. Derek stares on, features fixed in a cross between anger and shock. Emily approaches him with apprehension. An apology leaves her lips as she draws him in for a hug and his arms tentatively wrap around her. When she turns to you, your muscles tense. Those deep brown irises flicker back and forth across your face, searching for a reaction. You don’t give her one. Instead, you push past her, avoiding any and all physical contact with her, and dip out of the conference room.

You hear Garcia call your name and Derek shouts about having a case. You don’t care. You bypass your desk, not even bothering to get your purse. Your keys are hanging on a carabiner on your belt loop. Ignoring the elevator, you shove your way through the entrance to the stairs and move down them so quickly you’re surprised you don’t lose your footing and tumble down them. Down and around you go, your footsteps echoing as your heart slams against your ribcage. You slap your badge against the keypad that lets you exit the building, ignoring the greeting from the security guard at the front. As you push through the front doors of the office building, you barely make it to the bushes before you fall to your knees and retch.

•

A car door slams followed by the double beep which locks them. You close your eyes and inhale deeply as you prepare to face him, hands clenching around the sweater you were packing. A tear slips free from your eye as you breathe out and look toward the ceiling, as if the answers to why all of this had to happen are written up there. This is not how your reunion is supposed to be. You’d pictured his homecoming for weeks; thought about the outfit you’d wear to dinner and the lingerie you’d bought to wear just for him when you both got home, opened a bottle of wine, and made up for all of the time lost while he was away. That is how tonight is supposed to go.

Now you’re leaving, and you don’t know if you’ll be coming back.

The lock on the front door jiggles before the gears click into place. It squeaks on its hinges as it swings open. Five beeps follow and you can picture his fingers pressing against each button on the alarm system. His keys clatter as he drops them on the table. As his footsteps edge closer to your bedroom, you count each one. The sound that usually means safety and security, now sends a shiver of anxiety throughout your body.

He appears in the doorway, eyes rife with exhaustion and the bags beneath them puffy and swollen. His cheeks are flushed and his nose is pink, as if he’d been crying. Maybe he had been, god knows you had. His eyes flit between you and the bag you’re packing. His lips part and a small sound of desperation slips past them.

“Baby, please—”

You hold up a hand, curling your fingers into a fist. Your lip curls as you speak. “Don’t,” you breathe. You swallow the lump that quickly forms in your throat as you drop your hand, zipping the bag shut.

The inner corners of his brow draw upward and you can hardly stand to look into his pleading gaze.

“You have to understand—”

“Understand, what? Aaron?” You ask sharply, struggling to hold back the thick hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

He places a hand on his hip, fingers tucking back the fold of his unbuttoned shirt as his thumb hooks into his belt; a gesture you’re all too familiar with as he does the same thing with all of his suits. His other hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose. He pauses, inhaling as he tries to find the words. After a moment, he scrubs a hand over his face and turns his gaze to yours.

“I wanted to tell you so badly,” he says. When he looks at you there are tears in his eyes. “I hated myself, watching the agony this decision put you and the team through. I wanted to tell you and take away your hurt, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to the team. Just because you’re my girlfriend, I can’t—” He turns his hand and slams his hand against the doorframe causing you to flinch. “Dammit!”

Your voice is soft, but sure when you speak. “You can’t bend the rules.”

It’s what you’ve always worried about, both of you. You always knew the job could come first, especially with him being the Unit Chief. You always understood that that meant no preferential treatment and that is something you never would’ve asked him to do. You just never anticipated it happening like this, a complete and total life altering mind fuck.

Aaron drops his hand and it slaps against his thigh in defeat as it falls to his side. “What was I supposed to do?”

You cross your arms over your chest, fingers curling over your biceps to try and still your shaking hair. You hang your head and a curtain of hair falls across your face, “I don’t know, Aaron.”

He kicks off the doorway, moving towards you with his hands outstretched. It happens without thinking, the way you flinch away. Pain flashes in his eyes and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the stomach the way it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

His hip is close to yours, his body angled away from you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulder as he looks down. “Don’t do this,” he whispers.

Your lip quivers, chin wobbling in response to the tears you’re trying so desperately to hold back. “I have vacation I’d been saving.” You pick up your bag and throw it over your shoulder, not daring to look up at him because you know if you do you’ll shatter into a thousand shards of glass at his feet.

As you move toward the door, you pause. For a split second, you entertain the thought of dropping your bag, running across the room he’d chased you around so many times before, and throwing yourself around him. You consider all the things you want to say and scream and cry about; all of your anger, sadness, betrayal, grief, and love. You crave him so terribly in that moment because his have always been the arms you’ve run to when things become too much to bear.

Instead, your chin dips toward your shoulder as you speak, but you don’t raise your eyes to meet his. If you do, you don’t think you’ll be able to leave. “My gun and badge are in the safe.”

As you make your way down the hallway, you have to bite your knuckles to stifle a sob just as you hear one leave his lips from the bedroom.

You don’t turn back.

[inlovewithgreta]

could you do more governor!Joan and prisoner!reader? maybe some angst or more smut? I love your fics :)

Here's more Governor Joan and Prisoner reader just for you!! Thank you for the request as always, and thank you for loving the fics!! xo

Jealousy - Governor!Joan Ferguson x Prisoner!Reader

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Summary: Joan does not take you being near Franky Doyle lightly.

Warnings: degradation, semi-public sex, oral sex (r!receiving), once again not proofread in the slightest..

Word Count: 1.8k

Taglist: @celasteria @shslbunnylover @bellatrixsbrat @coffeebreath23 @janewaykove

© Do not copy, repost, or modify any of my works.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were confused as to why Vera had ushered you to the Governor's office so soon after you were just outside in the yard. The authoritative figure only called you in if she needed information, but nothing out of the ordinary had happened in which information would need to be given.

Your stomach churned when after a few hasty knocks, Vera announced your presence before the Governor herself sent the deputy off for the rest of the night.

Hands fidgeted in front of you as you stood behind the now closed door, unmoved. Big, brown eyes were watching you like a hawk as the older woman stood tall next to her desk.

"Come here," she demanded, arms folded over her chest.

She looked slightly annoyed, and to your knowledge, you hadn't done anything wrong or withheld vital information from her. Yet you still did as you were told, and walked until you were mere inches from her, eyes cast down in obedience.

A surprised gasp came from you when Joan grabbed a fistful of your shirt and pulled you flush against her body. Your hands involuntarily grasped at her hips to steady yourself as you finally locked eyes with the woman.

You took her all in, hair slightly disheveled as if her fingers were running through it constantly, ruining her usually perfect bun. Her eyebrows were knitted together, and her lips were formed into a small frown.

Those who didn't know her, would just assume she was acting her usual self. But you...well, you knew her more intimately, and knew something was clearly bothering her.

"What have I told you about Franky Doyle?" She asked, finally speaking out.

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion, not expecting her to bring up the brunette. "I— what?" You shook your head.

"Do not play dumb with me, slut. Answer my question. And answer it now." Her grip on your shirt merely tightened, and you knew moving would be impossible with her deathly grip.

"You told me to stay away from her..." you answered after a moment, recalling her previous words.

She had not asked you, but demanded you to stay away from her, knowing you were just Franky's type and not wanting the woman to lay her hands on you.

After all, Joan was never one to share her toys.

"And have you? Been staying away from her?" She knowingly asked, lifting a high brow.

"No, Governor..." you sheepishly lowered your eyes, cheeks growing a deep crimson at your confession.

"Such an attention seeking little whore.." she spat. "I leave for two days and this is what I come back to? You getting all handsy with her?!"

"I'm sorry..." you apologized, looking back at her with big, puppy dog eyes. "I won't do it again, Governor. I promise." Your hands gently stroked her wide hips, in hopes of soothing the woman.

That was a little trick of yours. You had quickly found out that Joan melted at your touch. Your soft, sweet, and tender touches would always ease her stress, and you used it to your advantage.

"Let me make it up to you." Your lashes fluttered as your hands eagerly wandered to her belt buckle.

"Someone's a little impatient," she noted, visibly relaxing as your hands crept under her shirt to touch her bare stomach.

"Can you blame me? Watching you get all hot and bothered with jealousy is kind of hot.." you admitted, digits roaming across her smooth skin. "Besides, I missed you so much these past few days. A girl needs some attention around here."

"Always such a little slut for attention," she growled, taking your lower lip between her teeth and tugging. Joan had no choice but to sink into your smaller figure, finally giving in to her desires.

She needed you just as much as you needed her. And yes, it was wrong. But God, did it feel so good.

Her tongue swept across your bottom lip to soothe her harsh bite as she took full dominance over your lips. Her kiss was demanding, and this time you felt yourself melting into her touch, allowing yourself to hum quietly when her hands groped your breasts.

"But Franky doesn't touch you as well as I do, now does she?" She husked against your lips, and you merely shook your head.

You hastily unbutton her shirt, needing to feel more of her. Joan would normally punish you for actions like this, but knowing how pathetically needy you were for her, she would allow it.

And when a hand found itself shoved into your pants, while the other gripped at the back of your neck, subtle moans fell past your lips as she touched all the right places.

"And she doesn't get the joys of fucking your pretty little pussy, isn't that right, slut?" She nipped at your lower lip once more.

"N-No, Governor!" You whined pathetically against her lips as you arched your back and gripped the cold wood of her desk behind you.

Joan tugged at the fabric of your clothes, only pulling apart for long enough to strip you free and leave you bare in front of her.

"You're mine. Do I make myself clear?" You gasp when Joan lifts you atop her desk, then kneels before you.

Your gaze is settled entirely on her, licking your lips at her unbuttoned shirt that showed off her perfect chest. Her eyes were blown out, and your fingers tugged at her messy hair in deliberation.

"Yes, Governor.. I'm all yours," You watch the movements of her tongue and quiver as she eagerly strokes up and down your folds.

You let out a quiet moan as you watched the woman shoving her face between your legs to devour your pussy like it was your last meal.

"Just like that, Gov. Taste me. Touch me."

You buck your hips as her tongue explores every inch of your cunt. Joan couldn't stay mad, not with you. You were her kryptonite. Her weakness. And she never thought she'd see the day where she would have any.

Just as Joan was to pay attention to your aching clit, the lights suddenly went out. You gasped at not only being surrounded by darkness, but the fact that Joan didn't stop.

Her movements only increased as she lapped at every inch of your pussy, licking a strip up your folds to then suck at your clit.

"G-Gov, the lights!" You moaned, but still didn't dare to move.

Joan chuckled between your thighs. The vibrations went straight to your core, forcing your back to arch as you threw a leg over her shoulder.

"And just like that, my little slut. Nobody will bother us for the rest of the night." You felt her smirk.

Even as the darkness enveloped both of you, Joan didn't let that stop her from finishing what she had planned to do to you. It was exactly what she was waiting for.

With everyone gone for the night, she now had a renewed determination to fuck you senseless. As a whine fell past your lips from her tongue leaving your cunt, Joan began to leave a fiery line of kisses on your thigh.

She was teasing you. Wanting to take her time with you.

You were sure your arousal was dripping down onto her wooden desk for you to clean up after, knowing Joan always made you clean up after yourself.

You let yourself relax as she explored your lower half, bracing your palms flat against the mahogany behind you.

"Fuck, you're so hot," you moaned out as Joan licked a strip up your core once more. "Fuck my pussy, Governor. It's all yours."

Her tongue circled your clit and decided now was the time to stop holding herself back. Joan's head dove between your spread thighs once more, using her tongue to ravage your pussy.

With Joan's strong hands holding you still, your head fell back as a string of moans filled the quiet room. The woman was greedy, stroking her tongue long and hard against your cunt. Hips bucked wildly.

"God, you taste so good," she hummed between kitten licks.

Both of you lost track of time as Joan, was working your body, and you were a moaning mess atop her desk. Every stroke of her tongue ignited a fire deep within you, heating you up from the inside out. Beads of sweat formed along your hairline as you chased your climax.

Heavy footsteps snaked you out of your thoughts, head whipping towards the door with wide eyes. You knew Joan had heard it when she sucked harder, only eliciting louder moans from you that you had to cover with a hand over your mouth.

"Be fucking quiet," she seethed, tightening her grip around your thighs so hard that would for sure leave marks in the future.

You jerk to move, but Joan's grip on you was deathly. She was going to finish what she started, no matter the cost.

You're on the edge and Joan can tell by your leg spasms. Your moans were muffled, but still loud, and your heart was thumping in your chest as you watched feet pass under the door, luckily not stopping.

As much as you knew you should've stopped, the thrill of them walking in sent you completely over the edge. Your body rocked into Joan's as you couldn't hold back anymore.

"Fuck!" You whined into your hands, legs merely closing in on Joan's head as she didn't let up on her tongue.

Taking your lower lip in your teeth, Joan ate your pussy through your orgasm as you came along her tongue. Hard.

You barely managed to hold back your cry as you shuddered. Body clenching over and over again as Joan swallowed every bit of come that came leaking out of your pussy.

Your body sagged against the desk, completely spent from your climax, and Joan hummed in approval before wiping her glistening chin with the back of her hand.

"Fucking janitors..." she mumbled, "Remind me to fire them for staying so late."

You hummed, and Joan couldn't help but let her lips twitch into a smirk as she finally took in your state.

Your legs were shaking, breathing was heavy, and sweat trickled down your forehead as you leaned against her wooden desk.

"What's so funny?" You asked, as Joan stood up and wrapped her arms around you.

"The fact that I know Franky could never fuck you like I do," she hovered over your lips.

You couldn't help but to playfully roll your eyes at her words. "Still on about Franky, huh?" You teased. "Jealous over little old me? I'm flattered," you smiled, pulling the woman in to a deep, lustrous kiss.

"Don't get cocky," she said, pulling your hair back and eliciting a sinful moan from you. "Now hurry up and get dressed, you still have a cell to get back to."

You heavily sighed, hopping off the desk, and surprisingly not falling on your face thanks to Joan's firm grip on your hip to keep you standing.

"What about you? It's my turn to take care of you," you asked, quickly pulling your clothes back on your body.

"I can take care of myself," she smirked, knowing the image she just put in your head at your dramatic groan.

You crossed your arms and stood rather impatiently at her door as she quickly fixed herself up in her mirror, the smirk not leaving her face at your dramatics.

Joan was nothing but a tease and a jealous woman, but she was loyal. And you knew she would wait however long it took for you to get out so she could take you wherever she pleased.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

general masterlist | pamela masterlist | taglist

[olderthannetfic]

Opinion on the comments in some of the the @ao3topshipsbracket polls: a wildly popular ship is not the same as one that had an actual impact on fandom history. Most popular ships have little to no impact outside their own fandom. Which isn’t to say that ships can’t have impact on their own fandom history, just that they don’t have much impact on general fandom history as a whole.

I understand that the polls aren’t actually measuring fandom history but this got me thinking about what has actually and I think these are the ones:

Spirk - origin of slash fandom shipping and laid the groundwork for fandom/shipping in general

MSR - responsible for the term ‘shipping’ and was the driving force behind the beginning of fandom/shipping on the internet and the creation of fanfiction.net

BTVS - (unfortunately) gave rise to the idea of being ‘anti’ something and ship wars

Harry Potter - most affected fandom on livejournal by the censorship which led to the creation of ao3

Thoughts? I couldn’t think of another fandom/ship that has huge impacts outside of their own fandom.

--

Strikethrough made people more eager for AO3, but the original inspiration was a for-profit fic archive made by venture capitalists.

The X-Files' big archive was Gossamer. Was MSR really influential in the creation of FFN? I don't remember that.

What ships have a big impact really depends on era and how you're looking at things. K/S and MSR are the obvious ones from long after the fact, yes.

Starsky/Hutch was what really split Media Fandom from literary SF fandom. Star Trek started the split, but it was people getting into a buddy cop show that made it clear that fanfic zine types weren't just about science fiction anymore, not even "mass media" SF in place of book SF.

Bodie/Doyle was the moment people stopped being media fans and started being Slash Fandom specifically. The US fandom had barely even seen the show: they were there for the slash zines.

Jim/Blair fandom gave us sentinel/guide AUs. The Sentinel as a canon sure as fuck didn't.

Ranma fandom set the pattern for every dumb "which girl will he end up with?" fight in anime fandom forever after.

IDK if we can blame 1x2 as opposed to Gundam Wing fandom for inspiring people to many other incomprehensible math equation ships in every anime fandom with dumb number names.

Popslash popped a bunch of prudes' RPF cherries, then LOTRiPS did, then J2 did, then hockey did, then BTS did.

Free! and then Yuri on Ice started the long slide from anime fandoms mostly refusing to leave FFN to newer anime fandoms being on AO3. YOI also lured a lot of people into anime for the first time.

Wangxian got a bunch of "Ewww, no anime ever! Western fandoms 5eva!" people into Asian fandoms at long last. (Whether this was a good thing is a matter of opinion. Hahaha.)

--

I really think it depends on frame of reference.

[theseventhdimension]

"Dumbass" "Your Dumbass."

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Male! reader

Word Count: 1k+

DNI: Fem Aligned

Author's Note: sooo sorry I haven't uploaded in like a week, assignments stressin' meow-ut 😿😿

In the high-stakes world of the BAU, where intense field operations and unpredictable encounters were the norm, injuries were a frequent occurrence.

Honorable Mentions Include:

Elle- Shot by The Fisher King, and had her wound dug into.

Penelope- Shot in the stomach, then attacked again after being released from hospital.

JJ- Shot in the abdomen by Grace Lynch after she escaped from federal custody.

Emily- Stabbed with a broken table leg by Doyle.

Spencer- Kidnapped by Tobias Hankel, tortured and drugged.

Now, typically, when someone got hurt on a case, the whole team shared the worry equally.

Knife wounds to the chest, bullets lodged in the body, or even severe bruises and broken ribs from a brutal beating.

These were the injuries that had the team pacing back and forth on the sterile floors under the harsh hospital lights, almost as if they themselves were the ones on the verge of death, the team was connected in a way like no other.

The thing is, this time Hotch hadn’t been shot or stabbed or tortured or even beaten up, no.

He didn’t even need to go to the hospital.

He had fallen.

Not just fallen but tripped.

Tripped so embarrassingly that his ankle had gotten lodged between a couple of rocks at a particularly treacherous, rocky final crime scene. And then..

*THUMP! *

There he was, laying on a crumpled bullet-proof FBI vest which could do nothing to help, trying to ignore Prentiss’s laugh from behind him and the shooting pain resonating in his foot, clutching his ankle to numb the feeling somehow.

AND to make matters worse, the case had already concluded. The unsub had been shot on site before he could carry out his final murder, taken away to hospital before being brought into custody, and the last victim was safely reunited with her family.

All that was left for him to do was to make it back to the ambulance without incident.

..Unfortunately, he didn't even manage that.

Considering he, well, couldn't get off the ground.

And It wasn’t until a pair of arms, yours, he recognized, pulled him to his feet did he realize he couldn't put any weight on his foot whatsoever.

“Don't even think about walking, I’ll carry you.” The words finally settled in his brain leading his eyes to widen.

“What? Uh, no… no really it’s fine, I can just walk over, and I'll meet you back home, okay?” His voice came out strained and shaky, but still full of authority. The quiver in his voice was obvious, clarly showing the pain he was trying to hide.

“I’m carrying you, and this time, I'm the one ordering.” Okay, nevermind. That was kinda of hot(chner).

Bit of a weird order though, but who was he to say no to direct orders from his husband, he supposed.

As you lifted Hotch over your shoulder, an amusing thought popped into his mind: picturing himself trying to carry the hulking mass of Morgan in the same way, flopped over your shoulder like a sack of vegetables.

You noticed him huff out, the quick up and down of his stomach vibrating your shoulder.

“What’s so funny? You’re in pain..!”

You tried to lecture him, you really did, but that soft feeling that you had for him, his dark hair, raven eyes, and silent smile melted your insides.

"Nothing, just wondering what procedure this falls under… if Morgan had sprained his ankle, would he be hanging over your shoulder right now like this?"

God, you loved his jokes. But, this was not the time for them.

“Please.. just! This is serious!” You urgently told him.

You were noticeably worried. Your hand tapped gently at Hotch's lower back as you held him, as if to reassure yourself that he was there and okay.

..But why?

He could understand the worry if he'd been in the victim's place; Kidnapped from her home, held captive in a dark basement for weeks, barely fed, and taunted with threats.

But that wasn’t him.

He tripped.

As if you could read his mind, that softness returned just as you put him onto the side of the ambulance to sit on the edge, your eyes scanning his face for any signs of discomfort.

"..Every time you're out in the field, I wish I could bend the rules to keep you at a desk job instead! Where you're safe, protected, and ..won't end up dying somehow.."

You could feel tears pricking in the corners of your eyes as your voice starts to crumble slightly.

"..And I know it sounds absurd, but what if you'd tripped a few seconds later and fallen off that edge? I couldn't- I wouldn't have been able to save you."

Hotch's hand caressed your cheek with a gentle touch, his smile serene. "I'm fine," he assured softly. "I just need to ice my foot, and I'll be completely okay." His lips brushed against your cheeks, leaving you fighting a broad, flustered grin, before gently meeting yours in a fleeting kiss.

You glanced around the landscape, a hint of amusement in your voice as he spoke softly,

“Well neither was hoisting me over your shoulder like a bag of potatoes, was it?”

When you both got home, you gently helped him to the couch, propping his foot up on a cushion and fetching some ice.

Sitting beside him, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Hotch leaned into you, sighing softly as the tension melted away. Your hand traced soothing patterns on his back, the warmth of your touch a silent promise of safety and love.

“See? this is what I needed,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just you and me, I think this is helping more than the ice..”

“Always, Aaron." You smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple, "I’m here, with you, always am, always will be”

As the evening settled around you, the worries of the day seemed to fade, leaving only the comfort of each other’s warm presence, and one icy cold ankle.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Baki Short Stories: My Beloved Best Friend

Yandere Hector Doyle x GN Reader

Very slight Yandere if you squint

For my dear friends @hectordoylesmalewife & @amisalami03

“Look at that outfit… that is a cry for help.” Hector Doyle sipped on his taro bubble tea as he pointed out a ‘medium ugly’ man to (your name) at the mall. “Doesn’t he know neons do not suit his skin tone?”

(Your name) put their chin in their hands to subtly glance over at the target of Doyle’s criticism. He wasn’t wrong about that man’s outfit being horrendous but he didn’t have to be so mean. “It is a terribly match up, but who are we to judge?”

Doyle clicked his tongue and uncrossed his legs. The redhead leaned forward and pouted at (your name). “Well aren’t you just a sweet little thing?” Doyle then gestures to their pastel purple outfit. “Little miss sugar plum fairy.”

“Oh hush, twinker belle.” (Your name) playfully hit his arm, the assassin blushed a bit. “You do actually look nice with red lipstick and that black dress on.”

“Of course I do. I look good in everything.” Doyle haughtily stuck his nose up in the air. “I’m beautiful.”

(Your name) giggled at their best friend. Doyle was such an enigmatic person but for some reason, he opened himself up to them. The two of them were two peas in a pod despite their vastly different personalities.

Doyle was never afraid to say what was on his mind while (your name) kept to themselves.

“As much as I’d love to keep making fun of people’s questionable choices in clothing, I would like to know what you have been up to lately. How did that date go the other day with that painter?” Doyle inquired about (your name)’s love life. The redhead already knew the answer but he still wants to hear it from their point of view. It wasn’t hard to hide a body.

“Well… he never showed.” (Your name) sighed softly with a frown. “I’m starting to think I’m cursed.”

“You have me.” Doyle grabbed their hand and ran his thumb over their knuckles. “I’m always here for you. You can just hangout with me.”

(Your name) smiled brightly at Doyle, his heart stopped for a second. They had no idea how enchanting they were… how they made Doyle’s heart leap in his chest. Of Doyle’s feelings.

“I do don’t I? You’re seriously the best, Doyle.”

Doyle quickly recovered, the man glanced over at a sweets shop in the mall. “How about I treat you to some sweets to cheer you up?”

“If you’re buying it with your own money and not someone else’s.”

“You know I’m a criminal so you can either accept my kindness or I’ll buy myself chocolates and eat them in front of you.” Doyle leaned on his hands and gave (your name) a grin.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh but I would. And I’ll lick my fingers in front of you.” Doyle places his palms flat on the sticky mall table. “Now do you accept my kindness or do you wish to be a voyeur to my voracious appetite for sweets?”

(Your name) sighed, “okay. I accept the exploits of your thievery.”

“Good because I also stole you some bath bombs from lush and a few products from Sephora.”

“You need to be stopped.” (Your name) giggled but Doyle only gave them a grin.

“But then who would take care of you?” The two continued to bicker between giggles and smiles. Doyle’s arm loosely wrapped around their waist. “I’d do anything for you.”

For now he’d accept his position in their life. He could be patient. He will continue to be their beloved best friend until the day (Your name) realized that Doyle was their soulmate. That they were meant to be…

“I’d do anything for you.” Doyle repeated softly to himself as he glanced down at (your name) bright smile. “Anything.”

[dearorpheus]

Are there any non-fiction you can recommend for people who are fascinated by your blog (especially the elements of dark eroticism, morbidity and horror)?

🖤 love that you are loving!

i will try to stick to non-fic (also refraining as best i can from re-recommending texts from previous asks but there is of course bound to be some overlap): - The Severed Head: Capital Visions, Julia Kristeva -> read about Aubrey Beardsley's illustrations for Salomé (x, x)

and supplement w Baudelaire's Une Martyre "in which the narrator lovingly contemplates the beauty of a woman's severed head at rest upon a nightstand"

- Masochism: Coldness and Cruelty & Venus in Furs, Deleuze - The Sadeian Woman: And the Ideology of Pornography, Angela Carter - Aesthetic Sexuality: A Literary History of Sadomasochism, Romana Byrne - Perverse Desire and the Ambiguous Icon, Allen S. Weiss - "Must We Burn Sade?", Simone de Beauvoir -> read also about Erzsébet Báthory, the Bloody Countess. supplement your readings with Borowcyzk's Immoral Tales (1973), Julie Delpy's The Countess (2009), Alejandra Pizarnik's La Condesa Sangrienta and/or, if you have the stomach for it:

Lorna's death in Hostel Pt II (2007), inspired by the Countess^

- Anaïs Nin's diaries + Henry and June - Abject Eroticism in Northern Renaissance Art, Yvonne Owens

Hans Baldung Grien "gave powerful visual expression to late medieval tropes and stereotypes, such as the poison maiden, venomous virgin, the Fall of Man, 'death and the maiden' and other motifs and eschatological themes, which mingled abject and erotic qualities in the female body"

- Satanic Feminism: Lucifer as the Liberator of Woman in Nineteenth-Century Culture, Per Faxneld - The Library of Esoterica's Witchcraft - the biographical Taschen on H.R. Giger's oeuvre—biomechanical, Lovecraftian-tentacular fused limbs, bodies, systems, overtly phallic/yonic symbology, darkly psychedelic... very much fantastically erotic; I have my eye on the 40th Anniversary Edition

Giger, as we know, having designed the xenomorph from the Alien (1979) series to have an intensely sexual evolution:

- DEFINITELY read about+explore ero guro (see also: Bataille's L'histoire de l'œil / Story of the Eye! though it is fiction)

brief introductory articles here and here but it's truly so rich and decadent... delve into it!! film, lit, manga, history, so on... -> watch Nagisa Ōshima's In The Realm Of The Senses (1976) too

- if you can read French by any chance, Le Corps Souillé (The Soiled Body) by Eric Falardeau looks incredible; if not, this excerpt alone is delightfully provocative even in isolation - similarly, L'espirit de plaisir: Une histoire de la sexualité et de l’érotisme au Japon (The Spirit of Pleasure: A History of Sexuality and Eroticism in Japan) by Philippe Pons and Pierre-François Souyri is something I'm hoping might see an English translation

^an excerpt from an interview with the authors

- The Art of Cruelty + The Red Parts, Maggie Nelson - Crucial Interventions: An Illustrated Treatise on the Principles & Practice of Nineteenth-Century Surgery, Richard Barnett - The Butchering Art, Lindsey Fitzharris - Death, Disease and Dissection, Suzie Grogan - The Theatre and Its Double, Antonin Artaud - Men, Women, and Chainsaws, Carol J. Clover - House of Psychotic Women, Kier-La Janisse - The Monstrous-Feminine, Barbara Creed - Dead Blondes and Bad Mothers, Sady Doyle - The Lady From The Black Lagoon, Mallory O'Meara

[jenniferjareauwife]

i don't write for emily :/

// sorry! i forgot to say it’s jj x reader

Doyle

pairing: jennifer jareau x fem reader

category: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: stabbing

word count: 761

summary: jj looks out for you after you were stabbed by doyle and it blossoms into a romance

My vision was blurry and I didn't know where I was. Nothing made sense anymore. It was dark...there's Emily. She's...she's ok? She was smiling but I swear I heard screaming just a few minutes ago. What was happening?

I flinched when I felt someone's hands on me. Not him again. Please not him. I turned my head as much as it would go, feeling weaker by the second. "Hey y/n." She had blonde hair and looked familiar but I was too tired and weak to connect the dots. "It's JJ. We're gonna get you out of here, ok? Just hold on." I screamed in pain as I felt something get ripped out of my stomach before someone started stuffing something back in again. "They're just packing the wound, it's ok."

"JJ."

"Yeah. It's me." She held my face in her hands as she knelt above my head. "We're gonna get you home safe. Everything is ok. Emily is safe too, ok?"

"Hm." I groaned in pain.

"Hey hey, eyes on me. Just breathe through it."

"Hurts."

"I know it does, but it's keeping you alive." Her voice was quiet, it was really soothing. "We're gonna take you to the hospital now, ok?"

I woke up in a bright room, sitting a bit upright on a comfy bed. "Hey. You're awake." I turned my head and saw JJ. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she looked tired.

"Hi. Why are you here?" It didn't look like anyone else from the team was here.

"One of us had to stay back. I volunteered."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm not babysitting you. I'm keeping you company. What you went through was traumatic. You shouldn't be alone." I gulped and nodded. "Are you hungry? I have a few jello cups."

"I'm honestly just really fucking tired."

"That makes sense your body has been through a lot." She moved her chair closer to me and handed me the jello. "You're gonna need some food anyways." I smiled, it was nice to have someone looking out for me.

Two weeks later I was still in the hospital and JJ hadn't left. She was with me any chance she could. "Hey. I brought you a new book I thought you might like." My chest felt lighter when I saw her, like my anxiety was gone now.

"Thanks." I took the book from her but I didn't read the back cover or the inside jacket.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"I've been in this room with you every hour for the past two weeks. I know your tells." She sat down in her chair and moved closer. "You can tell me. It's better to get it off your chest than to let it bother you."

"I don't want to be here. I hate being stuck here. I want to be out with the team, doing something. I want to know that I'm helping people."

"You are helping people and that's what got you hurt. It's ok to take breaks every once in a while."

"But I don't want to take a break."

"Hey. Listen to me." She grabbed my hand and I felt my heart skip a beat. "You're not missing out, ok? You're just doing what you need to do to be at the top of your game when you get back." I gulped, knowing she was right.

"Ok."

A week later I was finally discharged from the hospital. JJ had her arm around my waist for stability as we walked through the parking lot. "You ok?" She asked as I tripped, gripping my waist so I didn't fall and pulling me up. Our faces were inches away and I kissed her without thinking.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry-" She cut me off with a kiss.

"I was waiting for you to do that." My face flushed a deep red.

"Y-you were? I-I didn't even k-know you liked girls." She kissed me again, finding my stuttering adorable.

"If I didn't like girls would I be kissing you? Taking every chance I can to touch you?" I shook my head no, leaning in for another kiss. It was only the fourth one but I was already addicted. She just stared into my eyes, caressing my cheeks while holding my face like it was the most beautiful thing in the world. "Let's get you home, yeah? I'm sure you miss your bed."

"I really do." I got into her car and felt a sense of peace I hadn't felt in months as we drove back to Quantico.

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Prologue

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Prologue Word Count: 4001 Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue

~~~

You released a tired, relieved sigh as you and the rest of the team exited the elevator and walked back into the bullpen. You'd just landed back after a week in Utah chasing a serial killer who turned out to be a mormon. He killed in the name of burning out the false children of God from humanity - literally. The Unsub managed to burn six innocent people alive before they apprehended him.

'I cannot wait to go home for a hot bath and a good glass of scotch,' Rossi said, rubbing at the kink in his neck from the sleep home on the plane.

'Ditto,' Alex said. 'James is home for the weekend, and he has promised me some home made pie that I am very much looking forward to.'

You smiled as you reached your desk, the echo of the others adding to the conversation of what they were looking forward to when they got home warming the usually busy room as they passed you. A sense of comfort and relief washed over you as you placed your go-bag on your desk. Hearing all your friends' voices back in the office after a mission was never a guarantee, so you relished every time you heard them, regardless of the conversation.

You looked up when a figure entered your peripheral vision, and that comfort and warm feeling spread further through you when you saw who it was.

'What about you, Y/N?' Spencer said by way of greeting, a soft smile gracing his own tired features. 'What is waiting for you at home on this fine Friday evening?'

You paused to think about it for a second, a content smile tugging at your lips at the thought. 'Well, unless I've been robbed in the last few days, I will be enjoying a nice glass of moscato while I order pasta from the restaurant below my apartment, and snuggle in with my book that I've spent literally months trying to finish,' you said dreamily, the thought of good food and good wine and a good book sounding almost too good to be true. But Garcia had informed the team before landing that no new cases had been submitted and so you had the weekend to yourselves.

'That all?' he asked, amusement dancing on his lips.

You chuckled, shaking your head. 'I know. First Friday night home in DC in a while and I am choosing to stay at home instead. The utter shame of it all.'

You both laughed, and it pleased you to see his amber eyes light up after the long week you'd had.

'I didn't mean that as a bad thing,' Spencer said, brushing a stray curl from out of his eyes. Even though it was the shortest length it'd ever been, some rogue curls still managed to dangle out of confinement every once in a while. 'What book are you reading?'

'Don't laugh at me, but... The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.'

Spencer's brow furrowed curiously. 'Why would I laugh? I love Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's work.'

You shrugged, casually leaning against your desk as you crossed your arms. 'I know, it just seems a little silly that a federal agent is reading some old detective stories.'

'Actually, Doyle was one of the forefathers of detective fiction, as he brought in the concept that the science of deduction isn't just physical evidence but psychological observations. He created a space where all the sciences we know today can help in solving crime, and actually paved the way for more psychological avenues to be taken more seriously in academia and law enforcement. If you think about it, without Sherlock, you and I may not have our jobs as profilers right now.' Spencer paused when he realised he was rambling, and despite your soft, encouraging smile, he saw the tired blankness in your eyes.

Spencer licked his lips before speaking again. 'What I'm trying to say is... I don't think it's silly at all.'

You nodded your thanks although you knew you didn't need to. 'So what about you?', you asked in return. 'What will entertain Dr. Spencer Reid on this "fine Friday evening"?'

His words repeated back to him kept the smile on his face, more importantly the life in his eyes. But he began to fiddle with the strap of his satchel bag, and you couldn't help but notice he slightly swayed. Like he was nervous or something. It was cute.

He was cute.

You forced the rising heat in your cheeks to stay underneath the surface to not give away your embarrassment or your inner thoughts. Thoughts you'd been having since the day you'd met him six years ago. Thoughts that you'd suppressed so as to not interfere with your work, and then later so it wouldn't ruin your hard-built friendship.

When he told you about Maeve, you'd had mixed feelings. Of course, you'd been ecstatic for him that he'd found someone he could be himself with, and even more so when he disclosed to you that no one else knew about her - just you. But you couldn't deny the twinge of sadness that pulled at your heart knowing that that someone he could be himself with wasn't you.

But you hadn't hesitated, hadn't faltered when he'd needed a shoulder to cry on when Maeve was killed. Once he decided to open up and accept help, you were first in line to help keep the young doctor afloat in his sea of grief and loss.

It's been over a year since Maeve's death now, and while she would always remain important in his heart, he had, for the most part, moved on, slowly getting back to be his usual, quirky, logical self.

The past year and a bit has only brought you two closer together, and as much as you have tried to hide how amazing that makes you feel, you've had plenty of conversations with Penelope and others on the team about finally asking the boy wonder out. It's not like you didn't want to, but if Maeve was his type of girl, you just weren't sure you were what Spencer was looking for in a romantic partner. Besides, you were happy with your friendship.

It was by far the most precious relationship you had aside from your family - why ruin it?

You quickly realised you'd both been silent for a while, Spencer still not having answered your question yet. 'Spence?' you prompted gently.

The cute doctor managed to grasp his satchel strap fiercely and ground himself back in the present. 'R-Right. I too have a book at home. The one you got me for my birthday, actually.'

'Oh yes!' The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes. You'd been hooked from the first line, and by the time you finished, all you could think about was how much you thought Spencer would enjoy it. So you instantly wrapped up your own personal copy and waited for Spencer's birthday to roll around. You never told him it was yours, you just hoped he didn't notice the slight bend in the spine or minuscule tears in some pages from you flipping them too quickly. 'I've been meaning to ask you if you enjoyed it or not. I just assumed you'd read it already.'

'We've just been so busy with cases lately. I haven't had time to even consider picking it up.'

You rolled your eyes. 'Come on, we both know you could've finished that book on one of our plane rides.'

He shrugged, eyes dipping for a moment before landing back on you. 'I know. I guess... I just wanted to give it the time and attention it deserved,' he settled on, and the honesty in both his words and his eyes threatened to steal your breath.

A silence that rested between comfortable and awkward settled upon you two. This had happened many times in recent weeks although you weren't quite sure why. Regardless of your hidden feelings and the tragedy of Maeve, neither of you lost your comfortability with one another.

'So... we've both got book dates tonight,' you said in an attempt to break the silence. The rest of the team was still chatting just a little away from them, but it felt like it was just the two of you sometimes when you talked.

'Well, actually, maybe...' Spencer started, and his fingers were twitching again. 'I was wondering if maybe you'd want t-to bring your book over and... join me, tonight.'

The request wasn't an unusual one. In fact, you'd conducted your own mini book club between the two of you on plenty of occasions. Mainly because you both found out you were the kind of people that liked your personal time and space, but didn't like the thought of being completely alone. This wasn't new, but it warmed your heart all the same at the gesture.

'That sounds great, Spence!' you said heartily. 'Give me half an hour and I'll be around at yours-'

'Actually,' Spencer interrupted, 'I was thinking we could grab some dinner together first. You know, like at a restaurant or some place you can sit in at.'

'...Like a date?' you asked softly, breathlessly. The words just kind of slipped from you before you even contemplated how they would affect Spencer. It just felt natural and right.

Your heart pounded like a jackhammer between your ribs, but you were more concerned at what expression Spencer would pull in the next five seconds.

To your relief, he smiled that small little smile of his that spoke volumes of his insecurity but also of his genuine intentions. 'Yeah. I guess it is like a date,' he finally replied.

Oh my goodness. He was nervous. His words were rushed and higher-pitched in tone. but you still managed to understand him, as well as what dinner implied.

A half-smile pulled at your lips. 'Dr. Spencer Reid,' you began softly, half-scared, half-excited to speak the words you'd been holding back for so long. 'Are you asking me out on a date right now?'

At your words, his anxiety seemed to disappear, as he stopped fidgeting with the satchel strap and took a daring step closer to you. 'I guess I am.'

You couldn't stop it now, the smile of pure joy you'd been holding back from splitting your face open. After years of suffering silently, of repressing the truth, it was all worth it for that one question.

'So what do you say, SSA Y/N L/N,' he quipped cheekily. 'Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?'

The answer was right there in the tip of your tongue, almost spewing from you, when your name was called out across the bullpen for all to hear.

The globe of silence and serenity that had built around Spencer and yourself suddenly shattered as you both, alongside the rest of the team, turned to Hotch standing in his office doorway. But while you all looked at him, his hard gaze was honed in on you.

'L/N,' he called again, having your attention now. 'Can I see you in my office, please?'

You looked between him and Spencer, unsure who to answer first. In the end, you were still technically on the clock so you nodded at your boss and said, 'Sure, I'll be in there shortly.'

'This can't wait, I'm sorry.'

It was the seriousness and discomfort in his voice that caused you to throw aside your personal agenda, giving Spencer an apologetic look before quickly making your way through the bullpen, up the stairs and into his office. You tried not to look at your team too much as you did, but you felt their gazes on the back of your head nevertheless.

They were just as confused as you were, then.

'Close the door,' Hotch instructed gently, to which you obliged. He pointed to the seat on the other side of his desk. 'Have a seat.'

'Everything okay, Hotch?' you asked, taking a seat in the chair. 'Oh no. Did I make an error in one of my reports again?'

'No, nothing like that,' he reassured you, which didn't help your already built up worry. For a moment, it was just you two sitting in his office in silence; you waited for him to explain his mysterious actions, while he seemed to struggle to find the right words.

He never struggled to find the right words.

You leaned forward in your seat, worry furrowing your brow. 'Hotch. What's wrong?'

'Nothing is wrong, so to say,' he insisted, but his frown remained. 'I've just been in contact with your old unit chief from Organised Crime. They believe there is an underground operation being conducted by gang leaders in Manhattan that involves the transporting, selling and purchasing of girls and women in the prostitute industry.'

'Okay,' you drawled out, more confused than ever. 'What has this got to do with us?'

'It doesn't,' Hotch answered immediately. 'Just you. Your old unit chief wants you back to go undercover in the case.'

'What?' You stood up from your seat instead of shouting, but goodness it took all your strength not to. 'Why do they need me? They have a whole squadron of agents to choose from.'

'They want a profiler to help them find out who these people are first, then go undercover and become part of the operation's inner circle and report back to them,' Hotch explained, although his tone displayed his displeasure in saying so. 'Y/N, you have more experience in undercover missions than anyone else on this team, even before you joined us as a profiler.'

You knew his words to be true, but the reality of it all was an ever-growing weight on your chest. 'What they are asking, Hotch, could take weeks, months even. Those kind of people will not trust so easily,' you tried reasoning with him.

You couldn't help but look through the blinds to your team still standing and talking outside in the bullpen. To Spencer, who had joined the team since you had left, but just looked at the window as if he could find out what was going on behind the glass and blinds if he looked long enough. It broke your heart to think you wouldn't see him for months, maybe even years.

Because that was the thing with undercover missions. Once you assumed the life of someone else, your old life became non-existent. That meant no contact with anyone outside of the case as a safety precaution.

That meant no talking to Spencer, or anyone in the BAU, until the case ended. Or unless you were killed, in which case you wouldn't be able to do a lot of talking anyways.

You turned back around at the sound of Hotch standing from his seat and coming around the desk to speak directly in front of you, no walls to hide behind. 'You know I wouldn't be asking if I hadn't tried to change their mind first. But even I can't argue that you are the best agent for the job.'

You nodded your understanding even if you hated to admit he was right. 'I guess it's not one of those jobs that I can decline, is it?'

Hotch shook his head regrettably. 'Head Chief requested for you personally. You've already been taken off the roster here at the BAU so you're not disturbed by other cases.'

Hearing that was just rubbing salt in the wound, and you hated the burning feeling of tears rising at the back of your eyes. You were already gone from here, like a ghost that didn't realise she was one to begin with.

Hotch's hand rested heavy on your shoulder as he comforted you. 'We can discuss your return to work when your mission is over. You will always have a place with us, Y/N.'

You attempted a smile, but it was strained as you tried to force back tears. You wiped at the strays that dribbled down your cheeks, pulling yourself back together before speaking again. 'All right. How long do I have before I am expected in the Big Apple?'

'There's someone waiting for you at your apartment already. They'll take you to their headquarters when you're done packing tonight.'

You sucked in air as you felt your whole world tilt unstably. Tonight. You had to leave tonight. Again, you found yourself seeking out Spencer through the half-closed blinds.

'So what do you say, SSA Y/N L/N? Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?'

You bit your lip as you blinked your tears away, trying but failing to ignore the cry of your heart as its strings were pulled harshly. 'Tonight?' you asked in the hope you'd misheard.

But no such hope existed, unfortunately.

'Yes,' Hotch said, that one word the final nail in the coffin of your impending suffering. 'I'm sorry. This goes without saying, but don't mention any of this to the team as you leave. Only myself and Section Chief Cruz will know where you are and the details of your mission.'

You huffed out a joyless laugh. 'Hiding truths from a team of profilers is like playing poker with a mirror attached to your face,' you said, and you didn't bother to hide your displeasure and sadness when you did. 'They're going to ask questions, and they will find out the truth eventually.'

'Let me worry about that,' Hotch said gently, letting go of you and leaving a cold mark where his hand once was. 'You've got bags to pack.'

'Right.' You sucked in a few deep breaths before making your way to the door. tears burned at your eyes again but you couldn't let the team see you like this. You couldn't let Spencer see you like this.

Because you had a job to do. And you always finished a job.

Before you could open the door handle, however, Hotch stopped you once more. 'Y/N.'

You looked at him, forcing an expression of blankness and indifference. 'Yes, sir?'

He must've seen your inner struggle, as he offered one of those genuine smiles of his that were oh so rare. 'We'll see you when you get back,' he said.

It wasn't a promise or a done deal, but it was the most hope you could ask for right now. So you smiled your thanks, nodded your goodbye, and opened the door back into the bullpen.

Immediately, all eyes set upon you and the room grew quiet. Your first instinct was to cry, then to run, then to blurt everything out because you hated keeping secrets. But you remembered what had just been said, and you whipped a bright smile onto your face to hide your despair.

'Don't you guys have homes to go to?' you asked cheerily, walking down the stairs as casually as possibly. You would've bee-lined for your bag, but if you moved too quickly they would suspect something. 'I recall hot baths and scotch were awaiting most of us, are they not?'

Thankfully Rossi took the bait, and picked up his go-bag in a huge huff. 'The lady is right. I spend enough time with you people as is, I am not wasting anymore not drinking and soaking.'

'Soaking in what? The bath or scotch?' JJ asked, also picking up her go-bag to make her way back to the elevator.

The group devolved into laughs and other jests, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you picked up your go-bag and followed them. Before you could though, a gentle call of your name halted you in your tracks, out of both politeness and frozen fear.

'Hey,' Spencer started, looking between you and Hotch's office. 'What was all that about?'

'Oh, uh, nothing super important,' you said, scrambled as you words were. 'Just a paperwork issue. Again.'

He broke out in smile that set your heart aflutter despite your inner turmoil. 'You know, you really shouldn't do paperwork on the plane when you're tired if you're just going to make a mistake. You're better off leaving it to the morning when your brain and body has rested enough to comprehend what the paperwork is asking of you.'

'Well sorry if I don't want to do a mountain of paperwork when I come back into the office,' you countered, grateful for the playful distraction as you made it over to the elevator. The others were just piling in when Spencer halted you again.

'So...' he dragged out, eyes flickering between you and teh floor nervously, '...what do you say?'

'To what?' you asked.

'To dinner. You didn't have time to give me an answer before.'

Shit. Your voice failed you now as you grasped at words - any words - to tell him. Your heart screamed yes, but there was someone waiting for you back home. A home you wouldn't be visiting for who knows how long.

Capitalising on your gaping mouth, you forced out a yawn and feigned covering it up out of embarrassment. 'Oh my goodness, sorry about that. Um, actually, now that you mention it, I am pretty beat. I'm just... going to go home and sleep it off if that's all right.'

It pained you to see his smile drop at your words, to see the hope leave his beautiful eyes at your rejection. And you knew you shouldn't say anything or make promises you couldn't keep, but you couldn't just leave him with no hope.

'Maybe next week sometime,' you offered, hoping your smile could bring some of that light back. 'You know, you've never tried the Italian Restaurant under my apartment before. We could go there. On me.'

Instinctively, you reached for his hand, relishing in the warmth it held and brought into you. To your relief, he didn't pull away. Instead, you got your smile back, and a little light returned to his eyes. You were kind of glad you wouldn't be around when the light left him completely.

'Okay,' he said softly, surprising you with a gentle squeeze of your hand in his. 'It's a date.'

'Yeah,' you replied, trying and failing to push aside the fluttering sensation his words gave your heart. You were only prolonging not only your pain, but his.

Selfish. So selfish.

'Come on, you two,' Derek called out from the elevator. 'I can't hold these doors open forever. Savannah will kill me if I miss our dinner reservations.'

You both quickly made it in to the elevator before Derek let them close on you, and then you were caught up in the chaos that was your team. You weren't sure how you got onto the topic of what scotch goes best with what foods, but you didn't care. It made you happy to know they never let the weight of a dark case get in the way of living their own lives to them fullest.

You all reached the car park and before you could make a run for your car, Spencer called out to you. 'See you Monday, Y/N!'

You turned back around to face not only him, but Derek, JJ, Penelope, Alex, and David as they all slowly went for their cars too.

You caught yourself staring at them, taking their happy faces in one last time before you left them behind. Hotch said you'd always have a place with the BAU, but you weren't sure how long this mission would take. And if you'd be replaced by then.

You forced a smile onto your face and waved them farewell. 'Yeah, see you then.'

You hated the bitter taste the lie brought to your mouth, but you managed to keep it together long enough that you got in your car and drove out of the car park without any more issues. That's when the tears came.

You wouldn't be there next Monday, and were not getting that date with Spencer next week.

It hurt you more to think that you may not get that date at all.

[milliesfishes]

꣑ৎ౨ৎFairytales (Part Three)꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: fluff, angst, forced marriage, slight violence pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: last part of fairytales :) author’s note: I hope you enjoy! I spent awhile on this one <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

One can never catch freedom if they chase it.

You wished your story had begun with 'Once Upon a Time' so there was guarantee of an ending wrapped up in a pretty bow. Oh, the ideal. You and your knight riding away into the sunset, newly married with the brightest of futures waving from the horizon like a rosy sunset.

As of now, that ending was no more than a daydream.

Three princes had arrived from kingdoms not too far, vying for both your affections and your hand. You hardly took it seriously. After all, this was but one of many instances where men with more royal blood than brains attempted to charm you over dinner.

The king's displeasure with you was tense for the entire event, and you did your best to ignore the storm brewing in Nicholas. You imagined that it was Billy sitting across from you instead of a prince, telling you about his day or teaching you about the stars.

He hadn't written since the night in the woods, where you'd felt like you came alive for the very first time. Never before had you been able to just be with him until then. Before there had always been a look over the shoulder, reminders to speak in hushed tones. That night though, released from your title and your jailer, you breathed easy.

It was the complete opposite of how you felt in the present moment, laced into a dress that was pushing your breasts up to your neck and making your waist collapse in on itself while you tried and failed to pay attention to what your unwanted suitors were saying.

As you feigned interest, your hand came up to the silver heart charm on your collarbone, tracing the little embedded design. You'd sent letters, of course, and the doves had come back empty handed, so you knew they were getting to him. But he hadn't sent so much as a single word back. Was he safe? You thought over the content of your writings, trying to imagine if something had made him upset. But all you could recall were the usual things you talked about (dreams, hopes, wishes, how much you loved him).

The night concluded with little fanfare, and you bid each suitor good night at the king's side. When the doors shut, you curtsied and made to go off to bed in the hopes that Billy's dove would be waiting for you, but the king held out a hand before you could escape.

"The princes," he started, eyeing you warily. "What did you make of them?"

It was clear as water what he was asking. Lifting your chin, you said in demure tones, "I am unsure of any decision at this time, Your Majesty."

Nicholas huffed through his nose, then seemed to lighten, eyes trailing up and down your figure. "You are aware of the alternative if you fail to choose a suitor." He seemed slightly pleased about the situation, and your body tensed, hand going up to play with your necklace once again. "With your history, perhaps it would be best to move forward with that."

In that moment, any hopes of this being a game shattered. The lust in his eyes conveyed something that made you want to tear at your eyes and crawl out of your skin. If you didn't know any better, you would say he had purposefully sent for men he'd known you would disdain, to make his desired outcome more possible.

But as you stared up into his eyes, you knew you would do anything to avoid that fate.

He raised his eyebrows at your silence, a tiny smile creeping up his lips and nearly making you shiver. "I will speak with the archbishop tomorrow-"

Mind working quickly, you blurted out, "What if we hosted a ball?"

The outburst made him pause. Brow furrowing in confusion, Nicholas squinted before responding, his voice dry. "A ball?"

"You've...you've been wanting to host a gathering," you managed, the words tumbling from your mouth as you tried to find footing on a solid reason. Anything to delay it. Anything to delay it. "And besides, it would give me an opportunity to...get to know my...suitors...better. Or perhaps find a new one among the invited nobles."

He appeared taken aback by your suggestion. Never before had you expressed a single modicum of interest in the men presented before you. And normally you wouldn't have offered up the chance of more time with them, but this situation was precarious. You would take a night of dancing with supposedly well-bred princes if it prolonged any suggestion of marriage to such a vile man.

Nicholas appeared incredulous. You held your breath, sure he would say no. He would see through your thinly veiled plan and insist you marry him at once.

He surprised you when he said, "I will allow it." Your shoulders slumped just slightly, but stiffened again when he said, "But if by the conclusion of the evening you have found no one to at the very least court, we will move forward with the second option."

Swallowing, the weight of the responsibility apparent on your shoulders, you nodded, aware this was likely the best possible outcome. "Fine."

"Good." Nicholas caught sight of a courtier motioning to him from the nearby door and waved you off. "Best you retire for the night. We will discuss details come morning."

How easy it was for him to decide and discuss pressing matters of your future as if they were nothing more than the weather. You envied him for that.

Clutching your skirts, you hurried quickly up the stairs like a storybook maiden to her tower, heart racing when the door was shut behind you. The sun had long sunk into the earth, darkness engulfing your space. Stars winked at you through the window, the moon peeking out a corner. Deciding not to ring for your maid, you squinted at the little table beside the door and lit the candle sitting in its golden holder.

Lifting it to observe your surroundings, you nearly had the fright of your life when you saw Billy casually sitting on your window seat, stroking the neck of his dove, which had a little envelope attached to its foot.

Putting a hand to your heart, your shoulders moved up and down as you breathed in, recovering from the shock. "You frightened me."

"Sent this hours ago." Billy nodded to the dove, fingers making quick work of untying the message. He set the bird on the windowsill, watching it fly away briefly before turning back to you. "When I came to our spot you weren't there. I was gettin' worried."

"It was a long day," you said apologetically, setting the candle down on your vanity surface and beginning to remove pins from your hair. Out of the corner of your mind you saw his shadow stand, and before you knew it a pair of arms were wrapping around your midsection, his familiar scent steadying your heartbeat like a comforting hand.

Setting a handful of pins on the table, you removed your tiara and shook out your hair, then turning to bury your face into him. He kissed the top of your head, one hand rubbing your back, callouses catching on the silk of your dress. "That bad, huh?"

"It's the king," you murmured into him. "I wasn't aware of how serious he was about marriage..." You shuddered slightly, and Billy's arms tightened around you. There was a blanket of silence that covered you both for a moment, sheathing you in a comfortable place where you couldn't be disturbed. Hesitantly whispering into this void, you said, "I managed to put him off."

"Smart girl. 'Course ya did," he muttered, brushing some of your hair behind your shoulder. Though his motions and words were casual, you could hear the uncertainty behind them. "What'd ya do?"

"I convinced him to hold a ball," you sighed, pulling back from Billy and facing the other way, folding your arms over yourself. "To find a suitor. Whether it be one of the ones I met today or some other nobleman. But I..." Tears stung your eyes as the suddenly very real possibility fell upon on you. "I'll have to marry either way. I don't want to, Billy-" the rest of your sentence was lost to tears, and you covered your face with your hands.

He gave you a moment before you felt his hands on your elbows. Turning and clutching at his shirt, your body shook as awful images swam before your eyes. You in a white dress, on the arm of some faceless stranger, or worse yet, the king. Someone else kissing you, someone else...

Billy's hand came to hold the back of your head, pressing it to his shoulder as he let every crystal tear that rained down your cheeks sink into the fabric of his shirt, leaving little dots in the blue fabric. His body began to sway slightly, rocking you back in forth in a soothing motion that stirred the beginnings of quelling your fear.

There was no outside world in his arms. Though time seemed to speed up when you were encased within them, you hid there as long as you were able. He was a vision in your darkness.

You lifted your head from his chest like a rabbit poking its head from a hole in the ground. He thumbed the side of your cheek, leaning in to kiss your nose gently. The brim of his hat poked your forehead, and you looked up at him with hearts in your eyes.

Then you were pulling him down easily, hesitating before pressing your lips to his. It was a whisper of a kiss that he returned, but when you nudged your nose against his cheek, he took the cue and deepened it.

Billy's hands were at your waist, squeezing lightly as his lips dragged over yours. He held your waist against his, making you arch your back at the feeling. But his hand came to support you, splaying over your spine and the other on your head guiding your mouth forward to meet his.

Hands finding the handkerchief around his neck, you tugged at it, beginning to step backward. Billy followed, chasing your lips as he pressed hot, needy kisses to them. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you let yourself fall back, bringing him sprawling down on top of you. The plush mattress swallowed you, surrounding you both in the pink covers, embroidered with little flowers. He did the gentlemanly thing and rolled you over so he was on the bottom, and you weren't crushed by his weight.

Billy held you by your waist, one hand on your back gently pulling your body into his. You pushed his hat away, off the bed, shifting so your legs were on either side of his waist. He paused briefly, lifting you under your arms to sit upright as he did too. Looking into your eyes, he let his hands slide down your sides, skimming the edges of your breasts. You searched his eyes, trying to read them when the only light was still flickering on your vanity table.

"How far d'ya wanna go, baby?" he whispered, catching your lips in the softest brush. "This ain't...this ain't just kisses."

You pawed lightly at the buttons of his shirt, eyes focused on them though you knew his were firmly set on your face. Fingers hooking on the first fastened one, you breathed, "I don't want anybody else to have me this way. Just you." Lifting your eyes to meet his, you reached for his hand, lifting it to cover your heart. "I want you to have me first."

Billy tenderly lifted your hand to his mouth, kissing your fingers. He murmured against them, "'m happy just bein' with ya, sweet girl."

"I want you to be the only one who's had all of me." Your breath hitched on the last word, and he opened his eyes. Though the air was black, you swore you could see the oceanic blue of his eyes through it all. Every word that fell from your mouth you meant. You were tired of wearing his love like a secret.

Leaning against him, you nudged your nose against his. "You have my heart and my mind and my soul. Take the last part. I'm giving it to you."

Billy's silence was filled with awe. He just looked at you for a moment, and you were unfortunately reminded of the way the king did earlier. But it was in comparison. Nicholas' stare was wicked and conniving, looking to devour you like a step to his pedestal. But the man in front of you, your love, your life...his gaze held a feeling bigger than the whole sky and everything in it. Billy touched you as if you were precious, like he didn't deserve you. And the fact that he didn't think he did meant he was the only one worthy.

You leaned up, kissing him softly and closing his hand over your breast. He nuzzled your cheek once, hand sliding to the back of your dress and beginning to fidget with the buttons. Your mouth was busy on his, and so you couldn't convey how impressed you were when he managed to undo the top part, pushing it down your chest.

Your undergarment was white, edged with lace, with a little rose in the center. Billy took one look at you and dove in, lips trailing down your jaw and falling down your neck, fastening to your collarbone in slow, hot kisses. Head tilted back to give him better access, your hand tangled in his hair, encouraging him to keep going.

Reaching around yourself, you pulled your shoes off and tossed them aside, eager fingers unhooking his buttons. Once his shirt was off, you looked at him fascinatedly, curiously running a hand down his chest and looking up at him questioningly. He smiled, touching your hand on him. "'s okay. You can touch me. Wantcha to."

He held you close as you explored him, patiently endeared. Billy leaned in to kiss you carefully, murmuring against your lips, "You're beautiful, darlin'. M' pretty girl."

Billy turned you over, setting you down against the covers and slowly working your dress off your body, his hands worshipful. The way he looked at you was nothing short of adoring.

The movements of his lips ebbed and flowed as he took his time with you, holding you close as he made you feel things that were sacred to him only. He was your light, your love, the best love you had ever known.

When it was all over, he laid beside you, hair messy, eyes soft. His arm was absentmindedly flung above your head, fingers brushing through your strands. It was a symphony of affection, the way he looked at you. Lying facing him, knees tucked slightly up with one arm covering your breasts and the other hand clasped with his free one between you. Your thumb traced his fingers, and he let you.

"Did it feel good?" he whispered, and you smiled at the concern in his tone.

Nodding slightly, you shifted, snuggling closer to him and enjoying the image of him, bare and settled on your rosy sheets. Even though he contextually didn't, for a moment he belonged here. In your bed, with you. "It was wonderful," you breathed, eyes sparkling.

Billy bundled you in his arms, kissing your temple and soothing a hand over your back. He murmured, "My angel."

It was sunrise before he left, not immune to your pleas for him to stay, but also wary of the setting. You sleepily watched him dress, burrowed in the covers of your bed, his spot still warm beside you; sheets rumpled, blankets folded aside. The brand-new morning light bathed him in an incandescent glow that made you question whether he was real.

He began to button up his shirt, and with every movement, you could feel the impending doom of his departure. When he retrieved his hat from the floor and tugged his boots on, you sat up, saddened and holding the sheets to your chest.

Billy sat on the edge of the bed, giving you an apologetic smile. "'M sorry, baby."

"It's okay," you said softly, thankful to even have had a few hours asleep in his arms. Billy stood, retrieving the nightdress you hadn't put away from the morning before, draped over a nearby chair.

He bunched it in his hands, holding it open. "Lift your arms f' me pretty. Don't want 'em to find ya sleepin' like this." You smiled, still half hazy from your previous unconscious state, raising your arms so he could pull the nightdress over your shoulders and guide your hands through the sleeves. When he'd pulled the garment down to at least your thighs, he gave you a fond look, pulling you in one last time and kissing your forehead, his nose brushing your hair. "I love you."

You picked at the embroidery on the covers, managing a sweet smile as he stood up, running a gentle hand down your face, lingering as long as he could. When he was halfway out the window, he blew you a kiss, softly saying, "I'll write."

And then he was gone, the sun peeking over the horizon where his body no longer blocked it.

The lively spirit of the night was present in everybody except for you.

You'd had your feet stepped on more times than you could count, nobles and lords feeding you lines that were meant to be charming but came across as unflattering. Standing there, in your pale rose gown that fell off your shoulders, cascading in ruffles to the floor in a full skirt, you had never felt more alone.

The music was wonderful, the dancing animated. Young women were chattering with surrounding nobles, and you wished them all the best. The king was seated on his golden throne to the right of you, and his stare was apparent, though you could not see it. Your hand, as usual, was on your heart-shaped necklace. Its previous owner was present, and when she had come to greet you as was custom, she had eyed it curiously, letting some subtly snide remark pass her lips. The whole interaction only made you miss Billy more.

You were painfully reminded of the night you'd met, of seeing his azure eyes under his mask, of the way he'd made you laugh in a way nobody had been able to since your father had departed for his battle.

Bowing your head and looking down at your feet, you took in a breath. The night was nearly half over, and you'd gotten through the first part. Perhaps you could find someone inconsequential to dance with. Looking up, you craned your head to see if there was a nearby gentleman you could approach, maybe pretend to flirt with so he'd ask you to take to the floor. Anything to remove yourself from the king's side.

From where you were standing, high upon the podium of a grand double staircase where partygoers came up one side and exited the other, a motion in the crowd was visible. Someone had arrived.

Your plans to find a dance partner were briefly scrapped as you smoothed your skirt, preparing a gracious nod in your repertoire. Expecting a lord of advanced years with a girl your age hanging off his arm, you lifted your chin.

Eyes widening, hand falling from your necklace to hang limply at your side, the sight was not at all what you had foreseen. Instead of an aged duke, the refreshing sight of Billy greeted you. Only he didn't look like Billy at all.

His hair was combed and smoothed, his usual outlaw's clothes replaced by ones of a finer manner. He looked so handsome, so at ease, like he'd been born into this world. As he walked through the crowd, heads turned, but his eyes were focused on you.

Ascending the stairs, he folded a hand over his chest, bending in a gallant bow. You had seen him do it so many times, which is how you realized this one was slightly mocking as he looked at Nicholas. It warmed your heart, and you held back a giddy smile.

"Your Majesty," he greeted the king. Then, turning to you, he lifted your hand to his lips, a spark in his eyes as he kissed it. "Princess."

You bent your knees slightly; a little curtsy. "My lord." Allowing the tiniest smile to lift your lips, you showed him your recognition.

Nicholas frowned at the newcomer. "You appear exceedingly familiar," he began. "Were you in attendance at the masquerade hosted here last year?"

"I was, sir," Billy nodded, and you bit the inside of your cheek. Nicholas wouldn't know that he likely knew his face from wanted posters.

"I remember him," you cut in, giving Billy a secret smile. "He was a wonderful dancer if I recall."

"If it isn't too bold," Billy responded. "Might I have a dance now?"

"You may," you said modestly, still holding his hand. He let go and offered his arm, which you gladly took.

Sweeping you up in a dance, Billy smoothly followed the steps, nearly making you swoon. As you twirled and clasped his hand, you whispered, "How ever did they allow you in?"

"It's amazin' what a little cleanin' up will do to a man, darlin'," Billy grinned, dipping you slightly. "Nobody's recognized me yet."

Laughing slightly and shaking your head, you squeezed your hand clasped around his. "I can't believe you've done this."

"But you're happy I did?" he questioned, twirling you again.

"Very," you nodded, smiling brightly.

The dance ended, and you curtsied to his bow. Billy kissed your hand again, the only part of you he could kiss at the moment without arousing suspicion. He held your hand between your bodies, searching your eyes. "Needa tell ya somethin'. Can we talk, sweetheart?"

"Of course," you nodded, letting go of his hand. Looking back at the king, you saw him whispering to a courtier, not sparing you a glance. Taking Billy aside, you stepped out into the empty hallway, hoping the king was still occupied. Truthfully, you weren't allowed to be alone with a man without a chaperone, but you were long past that with Billy.

The second you were alone he had you in a kiss, holding the side of your face. Pulling back with a smile, he murmured, "You're beautiful. Prettiest girl I ever saw."

"You look handsome," you whispered, fingering the collar of his shirt. "Where did you find these?"

"Few from a noble's house," he smiled. "Few from townspeople kind enough t' help me out. Told 'em I wanted to dress up for my girl." Billy settled his hands on your waist. "They remembered ya from the festival."

Giggling, you threw your arms around him, leaning in and kissing his cheek. Frowning, you drew back. "You shaved."

"Couldn't show up for my princess all scruffy," he mock-frowned. "Wouldn't be right."

"Oh!" you traced his newly smoothed cheek, eyes following your finger. Then you caught his eye again. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

Billy looked you over, seeming to take you in as a spectator does a work of art. He brushed your hair behind your ears, pecking your forehead once. "I had a thought, baby, after the festival. 'n when you mentioned the ball I saw an opening. I'm already pretendin' to be a lord tonight. What if..." he swallowed, his hand finding rest on your cheek. You leaned into it, smiling softly. "What if I pretended a little bit more? 'n we went to the king 'n you told him you found someone?"

Lips parting slightly, you blinked a few times, astonished by his suggestion. He looked nervous for your reaction. Then, your face collapsed into a relieved smile, and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. Through the sudden motion your tiara nearly fell off, but his hand came up instantly, steadying it on your head. You sniffled, weeping because he'd somehow managed to find a way to fix it all. "Oh, Billy."

"You wanna do it, sweetheart?" he questioned as you pulled back to look at him.

Nodding quickly, you squeezed his hand. "Yes. Yes, I want to."

Billy brought both his hands up to your face, kissing your forehead once, his touch full of joy. "By the time he figures out who I am it'll be too late, sweet girl. Maybe even by the time your father comes back."

"He'd like you," you smiled, knowing it to be true. Then your face fell slightly. "He'll be so upset to see what Nicholas has done to his people."

"I know, baby." He kissed both your cheeks, nudging his nose against yours. "But it's gonna get better."

"There have been whispers about him returning soon," you said softly, holding his wrists. "But I am unsure of their truth. I don't know if Nicholas would tell me if he received any word." Biting your lip anxiously, you felt panic start to overtake you. "Being out with you that night...seeing all these good people whom the current king has wronged, I... it's so awful, Billy-"

"Hey, hey, baby," he murmured, folding his body around yours in a comforting way. "It's okay. 'S all okay. That's what my men 'nd I are tryin' to right. We can only do so much but sometimes it's enough." Billy kissed your hair, burying his nose in it. "When your father comes back it'll get better."

The guilt of the crown was weighing on you, everything suddenly washing over your being. The chance of your birth had spared you, and that was the only difference between you and the women you'd met at the festival. You loathed yourself for not seeing it sooner- the effect the king's practices had on these good, hardworking people. So much so that they had to celebrate in secret the traditions of their town.

And the fact that Billy was at the center of it all made you feel blind. How could you have not seen it so clearly before?

"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears choking your voice. "I'm sorry I've been too privileged to see everything outside the castle walls. I do so want to help..."

"Oh, my baby," he muttered, hand holding the back of your head. Billy rubbed your back, rocking you back and forth soothingly. "Sweetheart...you've already done more than you know."

"By being naive?" you asked bitterly, hiding your face in his chest.

"By lovin' me," he whispered, and you lifted your eyes, clutching at his shirt. Billy's eyes were tender as he said, "Sweetheart...the idea that the princess could love an outlaw like me is unthinkable. Most would never think it possible. But you..." he shook his head, seemingly in awe. "You never judged. Your heart was open. That's more than most of the people in that room-" he nodded at the doors to the ball and you followed his eyes. "-could ever say."

"I wish to do more," you said softly.

Billy leaned in, pecking you once, then again. "You will. By marryin' me. That, sweet girl, that severs the line separating us."

You looked up at him with bright, loving eyes, feeling the truth of his words. Billy meant it. He had never said a thing to you that wasn't sincere. In a rush of passion, you pulled him down for a kiss, showing him how much it all meant to you.

It was needy, his hands gripping your waist as the rushed intensity of your love was mounted to this level. Soon, you wouldn't be separated, free to love in the daylight. He would be yours, golden and loving and free.

The doors burst open, and you automatically clung to Billy, terrified. When the king came forth, you were frozen, before remembering your lover's ruse. Straightening up, you still held his hand. "Your Majesty. This is-"

"I'm very aware of who this is," the king replied cooly as a pair of guards filed in, pulling Billy away from you and holding him stiffly by the arms, much to your horror. "Imagine that. An outlaw sneaking into the ball."

"He's a suitor like any other," you protested, going to Billy and taking his hand. You tried not to let your fear show.

"Hardly, for a woman of your status," the king glared. "I assume this is who you have been sneaking out to see? How common." His fierce gaze nearly pierced you. "Your night is finished. Take him to the dungeons."

"No!" you cried out, not caring if anyone behind the doors to the party heard. Billy tugged on your hand, trying to calm you, but your emotions were already in control. "Please...Your Majesty, he has done nothing wrong."

"The list of charges against his name would suggest otherwise," Nicholas replied cooly, stepping forward and grabbing your arm like a snake sinking its fangs into skin. "I hope you've had your fun- any chance of choosing for yourself is over. We are going back inside and promising you to the first prince I see."

Your breathing quickened, tears springing to your eyes. "Don't do this...let me go-!"

"I have been more-" Nicholas yanked you forward so you stumbled into his body. You immediately tried to distance yourself, his proximity making you shiver in the worst way. Gritting his teeth, he used his leverage on your arm to shove you to the ground. Your skirts spread around you, making a pathetic scene. "-than generous, allowing you to dally for this long. It is about time I took control you wretched-"

"Don't you-" Billy began to struggle against the guards, who stood steady, when the king began to insult you. Looking around at the chaos of the situation, your lower lip trembled. The love of your life bound and about to be imprisoned, and you the same in different circumstances. Mind racing, you saw only one solution, and it wrenched itself from your throat.

"I'll marry you!" you burst out, and everything stopped. Billy's movements hindered, and the king's grip on your arm loosened. When you had their attention, you steadied your breath, though tears were welling up in your eyes. "I will marry you if you let him go free. Just this once. He has not committed any crime on these premises. Let him go..." you turned to Billy, meeting his desperate eyes. "And he will never return."

"No!" Billy shook his head, beginning to resist the guards again. "Sweetheart-"

"Silence." Nicholas' voice was firm. He huffed a breath, looking slightly off put, but pleased nonetheless. The expression frightened you. He reached a hand down, smoothing over your bare shoulder and making goosebumps sprout from your skin. Nodding slightly, he said, "We will be married as soon as possible." Signaling to the guards, he barked, "Take him to the gates."

"Wait," you spoke up suddenly, and he turned to you. Fidgeting with your hands, you whispered. "A moment alone? Please?"

The king raised his eyebrows but gave a single inclination of his head. "For my future bride, yes." Waving a hand at the guards, he said, "Five minutes. And then make sure he leaves." Nicholas turned and left after that, giving Billy one final look of haughtiness. It was his childish last play. I have what you want.

When the doors were shut behind him, the guards stepped to the side, releasing Billy, who rushed to you immediately, kneeling beside you. In his arms before you knew it, your body shook, tiara falling from your head and landing with a soft thump in your skirts. He didn't bother to fix it this time.

"Sweetheart...my baby..." Billy was running his hands over your body, checking for any sign of injury. When he found none, he drew you tight against him, kissing your hair over and over. "My girl...you shouldn'ta done that. Shoulda just let me get caught, I woulda found a way out..."

"No," you shook your head tearfully. "He would have had you executed. I couldn't let him."

"My best girl," he murmured into your head. When you drew back to look at him, you could see that his own eyes were wet. "I'll find a way back to ya, I'll-"

"You cannot ever come back," you sniffled, voice hitching on your sobs. "I will be under strict watch once I marry him. It is too much of a risk. Please Billy, you have to promise me you won't ever return."

"Don't do this," he begged, holding your face in both hands. He kissed one cheek, then your nose, then your lips. Your eyes stayed open, and you felt a wave of pure sorrow descend over you at the longing he exhibited. "We'll find a way, baby. You 'n me, it's always you 'n me-"

"Billy?" you choked, and he stopped. Reaching up, you pressed a kiss to his lips; more passion-filled and full of light and all the most wonderful things than any you had shared before.

He returned it, and you swore you could feel his tears on your cheeks. Billy's lips caressed yours in a way you knew you would remember forever. Daylight no longer.

A guard cleared his throat, and you drew back slowly, knowing your time was up. Billy grasped at you as if he was committing your being to memory. "I love you, sweetheart. I'll never stop."

"I love you," you breathed as the guards moved forward, taking your lover by the arms and pulling him away from you.

You stared at them until they disappeared completely, then unsteadily picked up your tiara, settling it on your head. The princess once again. Not his princess.

Getting to your feet, tears falling, you made the journey to your room. Shutting the door, you wept openly, body wracked with your sobs as the gravity of what you'd lost overcame you.

Your love, your one love, detained by your only hate.

Marriage can either be a promise or a punishment.

Looking in the silver framed mirror in your bedroom, you held back tears at the sight of your reflection. Your dress was a stark white, though you knew with satisfaction that the virginal color was no longer appropriate. A tiny pink rose dotted the center of your neckline, your one say in the making.

The sky was grey, matching your somber mood with the promise of rain. At least it would match your tears later on tonight.

The king had insisted on marrying within a week, which surprised you. Knowing him, you would have thought that he'd want to show off, throw the most lavish ceremony anybody had ever seen. But instead, there were but a few witnesses to be present.

Turning your head to look around at your room, the pink no longer seemed cheerful. Once you married Nicholas, this would no longer be your space. Knowing him, he would force you to sleep in his bed. There wasn't a more dreadful place you could imagine.

Something caught your eye, and you moved toward it when you saw what it was. Your veil dragged behind you like a death sentence. A letter. The one from Billy you'd missed after spending the day with princes.

Snatching it up, you broke the seal, eager to read what were now his last words to you. Your eyes scanned the page, and impossibly, you felt more tears on your face. You'd cried so much over the past week, and the last line of Billy's letter made water push its way into your eyes once again.

My love, my life, my darling, I love you no matter what.

Covering your mouth, you turned away, eyes closing. Maybe you would appear at the alter with a tearstained face, but that was the least of your worries.

You couldn't do it. You couldn't promise yourself to a man you utterly despised when there was a man you loved right at your fingertips. Hang the law, hang Nicholas' will. You would run away with Billy wearing your wedding dress if you had to.

Scrambling to your desk, you grasped for your pink feathered quill, dragging stationary over and scribbling a quick note to Billy. You would bribe one of the maids to bring it to the place the doves were kept and send it.

There was a shuffling at your window and you jumped, eyes wider than the moon when you saw Billy of all people stumbling through. Leaping to your feet, you shook your head. "No. No! Billy you can't be here they'll hang you-"

"Darlin', listen," he interrupted, cutting you off and coming to grasp your elbows, his eyes excited. "I heard from a few folks 'round town- your father was spotted riding in. He's on his way home."

Gasping, you searched his eyes, finding truth. As if he'd ever lie to you. "He's coming home?"

"He's comin' home," Billy repeated, and you threw yourself into his arms, elated by his news. After nearly a year of being absent, of leaving you unintentionally to the mercy of a horrible man, your beloved father was returning. Though, you supposed, if it hadn't been for your father's departure, you never would have met Billy. And then the realization of what he'd done found you. He'd heard about this and then ridden all the way to tell you.

Smiling, you opened your mouth to say something, but then your face fell. "He...he didn't write me," you whispered, brow furrowing in confusion. "I thought he would have..." And then it hit you.

Billy frowned, holding you around your waist. "Sweetheart? What'sa matter?"

Staring at him, you took in a breath as you uncovered the truth. There was only one person who could have intercepted your father's letters to you, only one person who had motive.

A tidal wave of awareness overwhelmed you, filling your body with adrenaline. Despite the raging storm on your insides, you took in a breath, standing up straight. Calmly, you took his hand, giving him a sweet smile. "Come with me."

Still looking confused, he said, "Baby-" but you cut him off with a shake of your head, tugging his hand and pulling him along behind you, taking your bouquet of pink roses in your other hand.

"Trust me." you kissed his cheek, and he visibly melted, following along behind you and making sure not to step on the train of your dress.

The stares of the servants you passed in the hallway were ignored. You knew the two of you made an odd pair- the princess in her wedding dress and a famed outlaw. Nobody stopped you though, likely due to the look of raw determination on your face.

Kicking open the door to the chapel, you could feel Billy tense beside you, but he did not falter, staying at your side. Standing at the alter, you saw Nicholas turn, his face descending into a frown.

Taking a step forward, he nearly growled, "What is he-"

"My father is returning," you announced, your voice echoing in the nearly empty expanse of the palace's religious space. It would have been peaceful if it were not for your simmering anger.

Nicholas faltered, seeming shocked. "How-"

"You wanted to marry me as leverage," you spat, chest heaving as emotion overtook you. "To keep your power after my father returned. That's why you insisted on doing this so quickly, why you withheld his letters to me. Because you knew that if I knew he was coming home I would never marry you." Letting go of Billy's hand, you took another step forward, still holding your bouquet. "I will never-"

A sharp noise sounded in the pews as Nicholas brought his hand to your face, the force of the move sending you sprawling to your knees, bouquet dropped to the tile. You collapsed into your skirts, holding your reddened cheek and keeping your head down.

"Fuckin' bastard," Billy swore, getting to his knees and gathering you in his arms. You looked up at him, eyes wide, observing him glare at Nicholas.

He reached forward and yanked you from Billy's arms, making you stumble as you resisted. "Whether your father is returning or not, he isn't here now." Beginning to drag you to the front of the church, he gave a shout. "Guards! Arrest him!"

You cringed, waiting for the sound of boots on the checkered tile of the church floor. But they never came.

Looking up, your eyes darted from Billy to the nearby soldiers, waiting for them to seize him. Their stillness was eerie to you.

Finally one stepped forward, stick in his hand clicking as his brow furrowed. "Is it true that the king is returning?"

Reigning in your breaths, you nodded, stilling in Nicholas' grasp.

The man lifted his chin, looking at his fellow guards, who wore similar expressions. Then they all dropped their staffs, moving nearly in sync.

Bracing yourself for the sounds of your lover being captured, you were frozen with shock as they moved right past him, the one who'd spoken gently pulling you from Nicholas' grip.

He looked at the men, mouth slightly open as he watched their actions. "What-" A punch from another guard cut him off, and he fell to the ground, mouth bleeding onto the chapel floor.

The guard who had spoken nodded approvingly, commanding, "Take him away. The true king will decide his fate once he arrives."

A mix of relief and joy was filling you to the brim, and so too did the knowledge that Nicholas' reign of terror had finally ended. You turned to the guard to thank him, when he addressed Billy. "You provided the funds for my wife to receive help when she was ill." He began to walk you over to your lover, and you immediately latched onto Billy, burying your face in his chest. Your arms came around him, and the guard's next words were muffled as he said, "We had seen the both of you in the garden before. But the former king's word meant little unless it was a direct order."

Billy said something back to him, and the sound of footsteps retreating was heard, the shouts of Nicholas in the background silenced by the shutting doors.

Lifting your head to look at Billy, you felt a wide smile overtake you, and pure, unfiltered joy became your north star. He leaned in, pressing a series of kisses to your face and holding you tight in his arms. "Are you alright, baby? You hurt?" His hand felt your afflicted cheek, and you leaned into his touch.

"I'm okay," you whispered, seemingly unable to stop smiling. "I'm okay, Billy. For the first time in so long."

He shook his head in grateful disbelief, leaning in and raining soft kisses all over your face. "It's over, baby. It's all over. Oh my girl...my sweet girl..."

You wrapped your arms tight around him, feeling lighter than air, higher than the clouds. There was no title or rank now, only the clarity of the battle finally won.

Billy didn't seem to want to let go of you as he whispered into your hair, "Let's getcha back to your room 'n into somethin' else. Look so pretty, but I wantcha to be comfortable."

"You'll stay?" you questioned, looking up at him with doe eyes.

He smiled, chucking you under the chin and kissing your forehead. The spark of love in his eyes had become a raging wildfire. One you could cozy up next to for hours so long as you were in his arms.

"Darlin', I ain't ever leavin' again."

Sunlight was glorious.

Succumbing to its glow, you breathed in the fresh air, opening your eyes to fix upon the delicate willow leaves. The careful breeze made them brush slightly against each other, and your lips turned up slightly at the sight. Peace was settled over your being, gracing you and whispering that everything was okay.

Rolling your head to the side, your smile expanded, lips parting a bit as the sight of your lover greeted you. He'd been staring at you the entire time, his gaze lovingly devoted. No longer was he forced to exist only in the quiet nooks and hidden gaps between the weight of your royalty.

You reached your hand out, the ring on your finger glistening as you took his hand, clasping it in yours. Billy pulled you closer with it, letting go to lift you up onto him, legs slotted between his. He kissed your hair, breathing in the scent of the natural rose perfume the garden offered. Resting your head on his chest, you let the steady beat of his heart relax you even further.

"My wife," he murmured against your head, and you felt his gentlest of kisses raining on your skin. "My sweetheart..."

Giggling, you lifted your head. "Just because we are allowed to be together, it does not mean we can be so...open."

"Agree to disagree, darlin'," he said into your cheek, lips pressing into it. "Everyone knows we just got back from our honeymoon. 'Sides, we're alone out here. The roses don't mind a little lovin'."

Sitting up on his hips, you braced your hands on his chest before he came upright as well. "But someone could see us."

"Ahh, let 'em." He trailed kissed down your neck to your collarbone. "The king seems all too happy to have me as an in-law. We won't get in trouble."

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and just resting your head there. "He likes you."

"He likes that I make his daughter happy," Billy corrected, grinning.

"No, he does like you," you leaned up, kissing his cheek. He kept his scruff limited, but you still were able to enjoy the scratch of it. "You're so good. Better than many a man of the nobility."

He rubbed your cheek with his thumb, pecking your other one softly. When you were alone, it seemed to be hard for Billy to stop kissing you, even for a second. His nose poked your cheek as he trailed his lips over your face.

Snuggling closer, you burrowed your body right against his, so you were nearly one person. Billy cooed, holding you against him with a gentle hand on your back. "Sweet girl..."

"He's expecting us for dinner soon," you commented, still thinking of your father.

Billy chuckled, his fingers lightly running up and down your spine. "We'll make it in time. I wanna look at my wife some more."

"You look at me often," you laughed, looking up and giving him a chaste kiss.

"I've had to look atcha for so long in darkness," he started, suddenly rolling you over to an onslaught of giggles. Billy held himself up by his elbows, gaze almost permanently fixed on you. He brushed his lips over your nose. "Don't know if I'll ever get used to seein' ya in the sun. It's like seein' an angel." The last few words were spoken in a sort of quiet awe, and you couldn't help your soft smile.

"I love you," you breathed. You only got two words out before he kissed you, the last one spoken into his mouth.

"My princess," he muttered worshipfully. "I love you."

As the sun began to set, you let him soak up every last bit of the image of you in the light, kissing every inch of your face and torso. He was the hard-earned prize of your fruitful fantasies of knights and rescuers. In every way he had saved you, not treating you as a damsel in distress, but as a woman worthy.

In the blue of his eyes you found solace, in the space of his arms comfort. Billy had shown you your own personal world of stars, of things you had want of. He gave it all to you, every bit. The world was no longer limited, and you were not enclosed in the gilded cage of before.

He wrote your 'Once Upon a Time', sealing it with a storybook kiss and a flourished end. Your happily ever after.

Previous Part

[gendiebrainrotreceipts]

I have a submission about consequences of gender brainrot and in some way about how it’s socially contagious (the latter part is my guess since I don’t have exact proofs)

So there was this website in the 2010s called Rookie lead by Tavi Gevinson which essentially was an online magazine for girls with feminist perspective and I’ve been rereading some of the old articles and one in particular caught my attention.

It was an article from 2011 written by Sady Doyle (29 years old at the time) basically with the purpose of normalising different body concerns teenage girls can have about periods, size and shape of their breast (how all kinds of shapes and sizes of breasts are normal and fine), bodily functions, etc. The one part of this article though was about how being trans is normal, it explained the difference between being cisgender and transgender and Sady said since she’s a cisgender and have never experienced feelings that her body doesn’t match her gender she invited her trans woman friend Queen Emily to write the part. In this part this trans woman talked about how it’s fine to go on blockers or hormones, how being trans is persistent sense of wrongness about your sexed body and social role and etc.

Then I went to look up Sady Doyle on the internet to see what she’s up to nowadays and you could probably guess that she’s a he/they now and had a top surgery in 2022. This made me so sad how back in the day she wrote about being okay with your breasts, she specifically mentioned that she hasn’t experienced any disconnect between her body and gender to get to being trans with top surgery 11 years later. And she was an adult back then. So to me it speaks of social influence this whole current gender and transgender ideology has on people of all ages let alone teenagers and how people can get affected so much by all of this if they are living and working in this environment that in the adult age they start questioning themselves and don’t question the gender bullshit

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