#he got the visions from Doyle

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Making a Move

Summary: Spencer's been seeing someone new, and the last thing he wants is to mess this up

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Word count: 1.8k

Hotch called a meeting over the phone, and the team is waiting for him and Rossi at the Roundtable. In the meantime, everyone else has made their stops at the coffee machine, Spencer included. He was having his second cup (the first one was from his apartment), but he didn’t need the team to know that. Although not as romantic as expected, his late night was worth the extra yawns and blurred vision. He’d rather the team not know about that too.

“What’s got you so tired, kid?”

Too late.

Morgan fiddles with a pen between his fingers. As he asks, his eyebrow arches; he’s ready for an answer. His question brings everyone’s eyes to him.

“Nothing,” Spencer says.

“Nothing?” He knows that’s not it. The pact to not profile each other basically ended before it started. “Cause this is the third time in the past two weeks you’ve come in here yawning like every ten seconds.”

“It’s nothing. Maybe I need more coffee.”

Garcia pokes her head up from behind her laptop. “You never have more than one cup of coffee at the office unless you really need it.” She’s still typing while looking at him. “You don’t even suggest it. Until now.” Typing halts, and Spencer sees the realization in her eyes. He knows he can’t stop the tide from coming. “Ooo, what’s his name?”

“It’s not a guy.” Spencer sips his coffee, sugar granules sliding over his tongue as he swallows.

“So it’s a girl.” Prentiss butts in with a smirk.

Spencer rubs his hand on his forehead.

“It is!” Garcia unleashes a squeal. “Okay, what’s her name?” Her magenta nails are out like a cat exposing its claws, and Spencer knows she’s prepared to start a free background check.

“He’s not going to tell us,” Prentiss says.

“What about her job? What does she do?”

A kindergarten teacher. “Not saying that either,” Spencer replies.

“Well, has anything happened between you two?” Morgan joins back in.

Just hello and goodbye hugs.

“Guys,” J.J. calls. She’s standing by the projector, remote in hand. “It’s Spence’s business. He’ll tell us when he wants to. Okay?” She uses her mom voice, and Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if the following words out of her mouth were, “If I hear another word about this, you’re all grounded.” It’s comforting, even though he knew she’d have his back.

Sighs of disappointment and protest around the table were not subtle, but they were as close to a verbal “okay” as she was getting. J.J. accepts it anyway and eventually takes a seat. Garcia leans over and asks about Hotch and Rossi, likely regarding where they could be. Spencer wonders the same thing; so they can get started.

And because Morgan keeps staring at him. He’s eager for Spencer to spill. He even leans over. “Seriously, kid, nothing?”

“I’m not afraid to tattle,” Spencer whispers back. He finds his book, The Life of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He read it a couple days ago, yet opened a page and busied himself with the paperback. Morgan’s eyes are still staring. He’s not letting this go, even if this briefing led to the jet. Spencer makes the mistake of looking back at him for a moment, and he has no choice. He turned the page of his book and mumbled, “I want something to happen, though.” He bites his lips closed when the words finally leave them.

Spencer’s opened the door, welcoming Morgan and his sleazy smile. Something he — hell — that they’ve all seen and grown too familiar with at bars and clubs. “Alright, that’s what I like to hear.” He shakes Spencer’s bony shoulder. “My man.”

Spencer can’t help but grin, not in response, but because of last night. He was worried you’d consider him cheap or creepy for choosing to watch a movie at his apartment instead of the theater. He was hoping to make a move. Spencer thought you looked so cozy in your polka-dot sweater; he wished he could reach out and touch the material. It looked so soft. But all the mistakes he made might’ve ruined the chance for that.

“What’d you do?” Morgan whispers.

“I sat too far away at first. I tried moving closer but… I didn’t want to come off as weird. Then I excused myself to get some water, but then it still didn’t feel right and —”

“So you chickened out?”

“I didn’t chicken out.”

He chickened out.

“Okay, well, it’s good you’re not all over her. You’re giving her space and showing her respect. But Reid,” He ruffles his hair. Spencer smiles, and it’s the only thing that keeps J.J. from giving a lecture. “You’ve been on three dates. She likes you, man. She’s probably waiting.”

“But what if she —”

“She does. And you need to go in knowing that and display some confidence. When are you seeing her again?”

“Tonight. We’re getting ice cream.” Spencer tries to suppress his lips curling. It doesn’t work.

“See. Now let me give you some pointers.”

It’s been a while since Spencer’s built such a natural rapport with someone, especially someone in a field furthest away from the grim glimpses of humanity he sees.

He surprised you with a visit during your lunch last week. The vibrant colors in your wardrobe match your classroom. The walls covered in handmade decorations and class-made crafts are a refreshing difference from the dark basements and fluorescent-lit interrogation rooms. The light in your eyes when discussing your students is something Spencer doesn’t get to see often, and he didn’t want to lose it by moving too fast.

Displaying confidence was something that came naturally to Morgan. “Displaying” didn’t feel honest, Spencer thought,  more like a front. Then again, that’s what all displays really were. Spencer’s only known how to be himself. Morgan does have a point, though. He’s already been on three dates. So being himself has worked so far. But he’s sure he needs a little more.

On the walk to the agreed-upon spot, Spencer grips the strap of his satchel as he trudges uphill. It helps him burn off the nervous energy as he gets closer. But when he sees you sitting at one of the outdoor tables, he’s reminded again why he should be. You’re wearing a flowy yellow dress and white tennis shoes. The one difference from last night is the ends of your hair, brunette roots leading to dark pink ends.

You stand up and start walking toward him, beaming already. “Hey!” Your arms are already out, and you hug. Spencer notes you smell like coconut.

“Hey, you,” He tries to make it sound natural. His hand lingers at your waist for a second. “Your hair,” That same hand touches the ends. “It’s pretty.” He smiles, taking in your individuality. He thinks about how much you and Garcia would get along.

“Thank you,” your brightness radiates as you giggle. “It’s the most I can get away with at school, so I figured I might as well push the limits while I can. Plus, the kids love it.”

Spencer’s brain immediately goes to statistics about school dress codes and how they likely change the following year. He holds back. Morgan’s taught him that sharing statistics can apparently kill the mood. He even reminded him before Spencer left (early). “I’m sure they do.”

Your eyebrows quirk. “You okay?”

“Yeah, doll, I’m fine.” He tries again, but it’s taking everything for him not to cringe in front of you.

“No, you’re acting weird.” You cross your arms.

“Am I?” Spencer’s chest tightens.

“Oh yeah.” You snicker. “What’s up? Tell me about it.”

Spencer doesn’t exactly know how to say, “I really like you but I’m terrified of messing this up so I’m attempting to put on a terrible impression of a macho man because I want to kiss you and I feel like being myself isn’t going to get me anywhere” in a form that’s going to sound coherent and not like a crazy ramble that ends in you running away. So he doesn’t say it at all.

“Spencer,” You reach out to hold his hand. “You can tell me.”

“I…” He feels like he’ll stumble over his words before he gets a sentence out. He looks at you, and your grip tightens a little. He returns the gesture. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Mess what up exactly?”

“Well, this.” He moves his hand where his thumb is on top. “I like you a lot.”

“Oh, well, I like you too!” You say. “We’re on the same page there. So how could you mess this up?”

“Because I don’t know how to make the first move. I don’t want to push you.” The wind blows, and both of you push hair out of your faces, and Spencer tries not to lose his thoughts. “I even let one of my coworkers give me pointers on how to be… smoother.”

You try hard not to laugh, but it slips out, and the insecurity on Spencer’s face spreads. “Is this the one you told me about? Dirk Morgan?”

“Derek Morgan. But, yeah, him.”

“Okay, Doctor,” You step closer, and now both your hands lead up to his biceps. Spencer cautiously moves his hands to your waist. He’s hesitant about public displays of affection, but you started it, and he won’t be the one to end it so soon.  “I’m going to bring you into my field for a minute. I’m assigning you a pop quiz.”

Spencer’s mouth quirks a little, wondering where this is going.

“I have no doubt you’ll ace it.”

“I’m usually good at acing things. Exams, tests, quizzes.”

“Good. It’s one question: am I dating Derek Morgan?” Your thumbs glided back and forth against his cardigan.

“Are we dating?”

“We’ve been on dates. Therefore: dating.”

“Then, no, you are not dating Derek Morgan.”

“Congratulations, Dr. Reid, you got a 100.” You push yourself up on your toes to kiss him gently. You both pause for a moment. His hands trail to your back as yours glide to hang on his neck. His breath is extra minty for six in the evening, and it made you realize that was the move he wanted to make. “Feel better? Now that that’s out of the way?”

Spencer leans in to kiss you again. His response is clear when he pulls you in to make it deeper, but still innocent. When you open your eyes, you can see the weight that’s been lifted, a weight you lifted.

“Next time you feel like making a move, you’re more than welcome to go for it. Okay? You have my permission to go for it.”

“What if I don’t know your boundaries?”

“Just ask.” You put your feet flat on the ground, but other than that, neither of you moves or shifts eye contact. “Spencer, I like you the way you are. You don’t need some sort of smooth rhetoric to make me fall further for you.”

Spencer, once again, fails to hide the smirk as it grows. “You’ve… fallen for me?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” He says quickly. “It’s more than okay.”

Thank you for all the love from the last fic. I'm glad so many of you liked it 🥹 For anyone curious, I don't have a schedule. I just write and upload when I have something. I'm focusing on getting back into writing so feel free to send oneshot ideas if you have any. Thanks again 🩵

“Good. Now let’s get ice cream.”

[sl33paholics]

Good day to you <3 !!! Can you please write to headcanon about the antagonists of season 3 of "Baki" (Spec , Yanagi , Dorian , Sikorsky and Doyle) where they kiss S/O (like: forehead, cheeks, etc..) ??? I will be very grateful if you notice >3< ❤

Death Row Inmates Kissing Their s/o Headcannons!

Warning(s): errrrrrr the death row inmates themselves are a warning enough. Mentions of their crimes and a hint of spice (if you squint) a hint of crack on Spec's end

also sweethearts my requests are now closed I have 7 more that I've been neglecting I'm sorrY

Ryuukou Yanagi

Can't Let You Go Just Yet Kiss (on da lipz)

For Yanagi, you're his spouse before he got sent to prison, then becoming a death row inmate (bc he couldn't keep his hands to himself 🙄)

You'd occasionally come whenever you had the chance, although you couldn't bring gifts for him to keep in his square type of cell, the two of you would always exchange letters resulting in scheduled meetings with one another with HEAVY surper vision from the guards

Due to his poisonous hand, Yanagi carefully tries not to do anything out of line whenever his mind is on autopilot. The two of you would catch up on things. How's the outside life been treating you? Are you adjusting to living alone without him home? Is work going well? You know, the usual questions

As time ticks, the two of you begin to reminisce of your lives before it was struck because of Yanagi's stupid actions, sure, you don't agree with his murderous behavior but you'd stick by his side regardless

Yanagi would grab your forearm and pull you towards him. You were just looking so good. The short king couldn't resist kissing your beautiful ass

What felt like an eternity, you felt his hot lips making contact with yours as he had a firm grip on you, holding you close and deepening the kiss, sending frictions down your spine

Hell, the two of you were so lost in thought that the guards finally had to step in and SEPARATE you two as they put the man back in handcuffs.

Safe to say you'd be making more scheduled visits in the near future 😛

Hector Doyle

Unbreakable Snuggle Up Kisses (on the neck)

You're the man's fiancé.

You would've thought that after him being responsible for many killings as an assassin, now being on death row, he expected you to leave. Leave, move on with your life, not being tied to a monster who wishes to finally taste defeat.

But you didn't. And that's what confused him.

With someone with his stature and nature, the thought of his one love finally leaving him did cross his mind a lot when he was in that cell. Only for the guards to bang on his sell and tell him he has a visitor.

To see you at the visitors' longue patiently sitting waiting for him as you analyzed the room, it made him let out a sigh of relief (but not loud enough for the guards to hear 🤫🧏‍♀️)

Doyle IMMEDIATELY sat next to you (although security clearly stated to sit across but bffr they don't want that smoke) getting all up in your personal space, staring down at you with intensity. The man starts to interrogate you. How's life doing? Have you seen anyone ever since he got locked up? Are you doing well on your own? Did anyone know you were coming to see him today?

Without a single thought, he wrapped his arms around you. His one and only, resting his head on your neck and feeling his hot breath on your skin. It felt nice. The man you've been separated for months is now here showering you with affection.

The silence between you two is nice, but it came to a halt when you felt short and wet kisses from Doyle. You quietly tried to move him away, but the red-haired man didn't care.

With his large arms around your body and his kisses becoming more sloppy to the point where he was damn near bitting you to mark your neck up, you couldn't help but to enjoy the fact that getting caught sent a shuddering thrill down your spine.

It only stopped when a few guards had to drag him away from you and cuff Doyle up again. Only for that sly dog to look back at you with a smug grin and him mouthing, "I expect to get another visit from you soon~" while getting escorted back to his cell.

Dorian

A quick, goodbye kiss (on your cheek cheeks)

A longtime partner of his. It was honestly sad to see him delve into his murderous ways, resulting in him being on death row and awaiting his fate.

No letters. No gifts. No nothing from you, surprisingly.

You couldn't fathom the fact that this could either break your marriage completely. It was only until then a serge of letters flowing through your mailbox that Dorian was egar to see you.

So why not make a schedule to see him? It can't be that bad.

Man, as soon as the day came, his big self hugged you so tightly you thought your eyes were gonna pop out.

Somehow, seeing him in this state really made you feel happy. His heavy belly laugh, alongside Dorian sharing his experiences on prison, it really made you two become close again just within a short amount of time.

Hell, he looks like Santa (if he didn't go on the deep end) if you squint hard enough 🤷🏾‍♀️

Dorian would also share short stories that he would remember during his time in the military many many MANY years ago to you.

For the first time, that lost spark that faded all those moons ago finally came back to bring life to your stale marriage.

But when it was time to leave, you didn't want to. Much to Dorian's surpise, you wanted to extend the visit since it's been forever since you've felt this way.

However, it wasn't up to you to decide.

Before he was escorted out, Dorian gave you a big fat kiss on the cheek, and one on the other. It made you cheese up, for your grown age

You're DEFINITELY going back to see him more often.

Sikorsky

A Distracting Kiss (on your forehead)

You were originally a fling turned partner

The thought that you slept with a killer before finding out his true ways definitely shocked you to your core

So it was a surpise when you received a letter to come visit him. You really didn't want to go but hell, you had nothing to do and decided to go anyway

Gosh. The wait and anticipation sent you over the edge while waiting for his arrival, making your hands sweaty. So, seeing his big build stomping towards you as the guards removed the cuffs was pretty intimidating and low key terrifying

The two of you sat in silence. The prison smells. Not the cleanest tables and chairs. Dirty ass walls. Without a single thought, you commented on how this building looks, only for Sikorsky to let out a loud chuckle at what you had to say

The two of you made small talk. It was awkward. You'd thought he'd be the one initiating conversation, but nooo it was YOU

Time was ticking, and the two of you were getting nowhere. You were getting upset. He invited you over only for him to just sit there and stare.

It wasn't until you mentioned that you planned on moving overseas. It's like he had a shift of attitude and wanted to be involved jn what you had to say 🙄

The two of you got so lost in conversation you didn't even keep track of time until the guards began to walk up and ruffled Sikorsky to stand up, but you kept talking

It was only then you felt his huge hands cup your face and bringing you up towards him, giving you a rough smooch on your forehead before you sat back down on the hard metal chair as the men were taking Sikorsky back into confinement

Safe to say that you will be coming back again

Spec

What do I even put for this guy??? (All types of kisses)

Ever since that man escaped from underwater, it's been nothing but hell

But you weren't expecting him to immediately crash at YOUR place

WTF??

You woke up to your face being smothered in kisses from the big bald man with your doors being busted open from the brute force

You wanted to scream out but really, being tied to this man as a middle-aged person was very difficult

You had to deal with the torment of SPEC. The guy doesn't understand the meaning of "personal space" or wanting to be alone just for a good hour

While lounging on the couch, he's there pecking your cheeks with small kisses until you get sick of it

Spec the type of guy to give really, really rough kisses on the lips. He doesn't know when to control himself, often leaving your lips swollen or bruised but will pamper you for being able to handle him

If you just so happened to be in the shower, his tall ass is towering over you while giving you neck kisses, you warned him not to get out of control. This is Spec we're talking about, you're going to have hickeys on your neck and throat

The only time I see Spec being gentle with you whenever you're back from your job, sore and exhausted, he would give your forehead the best kisses ever. Even if you have to deal with them sometimes being sloppy

You love the guy. Even if he's psychotic, an asshole, and many other things combined, you can't deny you love when he spoils you with affection ❤️

[bau-drabbles]

haunted

emily, one of your close friends in the bau, comes back and after months of crying over her death you're not sure how to feel. it hurts the most when the deception also comes from aaron, the man you've loved for so long

a/n: idk how i feel about it. it's very rushed because half of it was deleted and i couldn't be bothered to go back and rewrite it properly.

aaron hottie angst again because his pain is so beautifully upsetting. kinda long so enjoy 🤍

part 2 :)

"everybody, have a seat" aaron's voice is more tense than usual, as if he was about to announce some bad news. your heart races but you walked in, grabbing a seat next to morgan. jj stands beside hotch and she looks almost worried, toying with her fingers. your brows knitted in confusion, wondering what was so urgent

"why, what's going on? everything all right?" spencer asked, his brow raised.

"seven months ago, i made a decision that affected this team. as you all know, emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with doyle," hotch began

"but the doctors were able to stabilize her and she was airlifted from boston to bethesda under covert exfiltration. her identity was strictly need-to-know. and she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. she was reassigned to paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security" he finishes but there's pin drop silence in return. his arms had folded over awaiting a response but everyone was shocked to say a thing

your heart feels like it's plummeted at the bottom of the earth, the breath completely knocked out from your lungs. you hope someone announces its a big joke but hotch looks at all of you expectantly. jj has her head slightly bowed, unable to make any eye contact and its then you realise she knew all along.

"she's alive?" you didn't even think you said it out loud but aaron looks at you, his brows in a tight frown. you see the truth spilled on his face and it stings immensely knowing how he saw you in your vulnerable moments and still decided not to say a thing

he knew all along

"but we buried her" someone else says but at that point you completely blank out, sinking further in your seat. hoping the ground would swallow you whole and remove the burden crushing your heart.

"as i said, i take full responsibility for the decision. if anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me" aaron looks at you again but you don't bother looking in his direction.

all those times, every single tear, every second of sadness, all of it was.... fake?

"any issues?? yeah, i got issues-" morgan started, standing up towards hotch. but he doesn't go far for garcia speaks again. her eyes are brimmed with tears, walking quickly towards the door

"oh, my god" and you turn, unable to register the vision in front of you

"i am so sorry, i really am. not a day went by that i didn't want to...really, i... you didn't deserve that and i'm so sorry" the voice you thought you'd never hear again in this lifetime spoke. there she genuinely was, in the living breathing flesh. garcia grabs her in a hug and they share a tearful laugh about something you can't hear.

"there is so much i want to tell you guys and-and i will, i promise" the woman you spent crying in private about for weeks was now alive, like nothing had even happened.

garcia embraces her tight again and jj, morgan, rossi and reid followed suit.

it doesn't comprehend there she genuinely was, actually physically standing there. so many emotions had run through you, unclear of which one it was. all you can think about was her in your arms actively dying and you crying as you screamed for medics to come.

so you remained silent, while everyone had hugged her you stood just looking. unsure of what to feel, unsure over how to act. it felt foreign and you get lost in the reality of the situation, not realising she had made her way towards you

"y/n..." emily walked closer a smile on her lips but you couldn't reciprocate it. how could she so... nonchalanant about everything? those nights you spent crying, the nights your heart had felt so hollow in your chest, all of that burned in your mind.

the anguish, the pain, the guilt, all of it was an illusion.

and aaron, the man with whom you had trusted with your whole life glanced at you through the corner. he doesn't know what to say, what could be said? unintentionally he had lied to you, comforted you through pain that didn't even exist. he saw you vulnerable after her death, he was the one that pieced you back. and now it felt like all the parts he held together were coming undone.

"emily" you nod, a tight lipped smile on yours. even just being in her presence is enough to tip you over the edge so you distract yourself, holding the file. how strange, a mere seven months ago you two were the closest of friends.

and now you barely even knew her

"i-" she opens her arms slightly to embrace you but you open your hands to give her the information. touching her felt too soon, you needed some time to think.

"this is the file with doyle and everything going on with the kid. we don't have time to spare" you nod, quickly hand it to her and walk straight for the coffee. it wasn't caffeine that was going to help you tonight but it didn't hurt to try

•••

"hey..." morgan finds you staring blankly at the wall with the pictures, trying to find the next step in the kidnapping. and no matter how much you tried to regain your composure, it cracked piece by piece. exposing your facade and your true feelings behind the matter.

you were determined to keep a straight front for your team but every time you saw emily and jj and especially hotch, it felt like a challenge you weren't sure you'd win

"hey" you continue to take through the information, trying to piece the murder but there's so much on your mind it all feels like its vanishing in the air. like nothing is registering in your brain.

"hey" jj comes in and you stiffen up, quickly catching some files and exiting the room. she calls your name but you simply walk straight for the hallway. true, it was a childish thing to do but you couldn't look at any of them without the overwhelming urge to break down.

aaron, however, catches you in the hallway and you step back not wanting to even touch him, unable to look at his deceiting face.

"i know what you've been through. i understand that you're angry but i hope that you understand that this is not about you or me. this was about saving emily" his tone is sharp, firm but you see the hurricane of emotions in his eyes.

the most dominant being sorrow. but that wasn't enough for you, you almost wanted him to experience the pain you'd felt.

"why do you care about what i think hotch? it never mattered before, evidently" you match his tone in return, trying to go about him.

"y/n i know you're disappointed how we handled emily but it wasn't in our control, we couldn't say anything" he stops you and you don't even want to look at him, he knew how hard it had been on you. and he still didn't breathe a word of her survival.

"you couldn't or you wouldn't?? don't pretend to care what i've been through hotch. i came to you crying for weeks on end and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth. not fucking once. what did you expect? i'd hug prentiss and all would be well? give me a break" you scoffed, pulling away from him. he stood stunned for a moment, his brows scrunched in a confused frown

"i know and i understand-" "i don't think you do. we have a kid that's about to die hotch, now is not the time" you utter, glaring as you walked by him.

•••

the plane ride was silent, moreso than usual. you noticed the glances your team was giving you but as long as the job was done efficiently, there wasn't really anything to say, you'd talk on your own time. just you and your book was enough for now.

all that was interrupted when a voice cut in. a voice you thought you weren't ready to hear just yet

"declan is little shaken up but the doctor said he'll be fine" she smiled at you, eyes looking at you but you refused to make any contact

"good. we got there in time" you commented, turning the page.

"yes..." she taps her fingers on the table, unsure on how to continue the conversation. part of you hopes she walks away, not ready to listen to her just yet.

"well we're going to rossi's tomorrow night. i want to see if he really can cook. are you coming?" she asked hopefully, a small smile on her lips

"i don't know, i'm not so sure i can make it" you leaned your elbow on the armrest, continuing to read the same sentence until she left.

"look, l/n, i know you're mad at us because we didn't tell you what really happened, and... i understand that. but i promise you, we had no choice" she begins and she sighs a little before looking directly at you.

"you mourned one friend, i mourned seven" she chuckled lightly, trying to make you see from her perspective. but you couldn't, the betrayal rang far too loudly in your ears.

his especially

"it's not a competition emily" you put your book down, directly looking at her eyes. everything you had been bursting to say left your lips before you could even comprehend it.

"you didn't carry my coffin, you didn't cry over someone that was presumably dead. do you know how many times i was angry at myself for not doing more? i kept replaying that moment when i held you, near enough lifeless and completely covered in blood. and all i could do was beg you to breathe and stay with me. you didn't take medications because every time you closed your damn eyes, all you could see was your dead friend in her own blood did you? don't pretend we're the same emily, you have no idea what i went through" with every word, you could feel the anger boiling deep inside of you. the annoyance coursing through your veins like wildfire.

"you could've given us a hint, a sign, anything to indicate proof of life. but i had to hold the pain over your death for months. so forgive me if i don't want to go through that again" your tone was sharp, picking up your book back to indicate the conversation was over

"y/n i'm sorry i-" she began softly but you shook your head

"look emily, i appreciate what you're trying to do. really. and i'm happy that you're back but i need time and space too. i can't do this job efficiently otherwise. so please..." you indicated for her to leave and she reluctantly stood up, wanting to say a million words. but none of them seemed quite correct

you hoped no one would come and try to talk, just wishing this plane ride would end quickly and you'd be in the safe sanctuary of your bedroom

and for once your wish is granted

•••

the precinct was empty, dark and cold. replicating how you felt on the inside.

your bag was in your office and you hoped everyone was gone, you couldn't handle seeing their faces.

it was hard, because on the one hand your friend was back. you wanted to rejoice, and hug her so tight but the way it all happened... it felt wrong.

"y/n" and there it is. the voice you definitely didn't want to hear tonight

"aaron" you reply in response, turning around to face him. he looks dishevelled, almost as if he had to run to catch you back here. on any other day before, it would've made you fawn over his adorableness but it didn't stir a thing in you now.

"i know what i did was inexcusable. i know you're hurt, i know it could've been handled better. i realise that but you have to understand that this wasn't my order. if you had known, it would've put you in a compromising position too" he comes close until he's standing a foot away. his eyes are aligt with an emotion you've never seen him use before, pleading

"i just can't get over it hotch. i'm so happy she's back and under different circumstances i would've celebrated it. but i can't because you lied to me. for months and months" you want to fall in to his arms, to forget about everything that had transpired tonight but it would solve nothing. so you stay where you are, the ache in your heart growing by the minute.

"and for that i deeply apologise" before, this would have solved your problems. but now it felt like the gasoline added to the fire.

"you don't care about me aaron and i'm fooling myself if i keep pretending that everything is okay"

"i do y/n, i just need time. i just-"

"how much time?? how much longer can i be expected to wait?? how much longer can i pretend that you actually care about me-"

"i do care!" "oh you do?? you watched me cry for months. does that sound like caring? and you never want to progress further in this. how can i be with someone who doesn't care? emily coming back was just the icing. you'd use anything and anyone to get what you want hotch. you don't care about anyone, much less me"

"is that what you think of me?" he whispers, eyes narrowing at you

"it's what i know of you. from the moment i met you to now. i thought it was fine at first. but i can't do it. do you have any idea how.... hard it is to love you?" every word was a dagger to his heart, twisting and twisting until it was difficult to breathe.

"i'm done. i need a break. from you, from the bau, from everyone" you let out a shaky sigh, hugging your bag closer to your body. the man before you was your lifeline and now it felt like you were drowning in the depths of him. the only way to save yourself would be to remove yourself from his grasp, to pretend that he, your lover, never existed. he was aaron hotchner, your boss. he would never be the man you were so desperately and hopelessly in love with.

"y/n please don't-"

"i'm taking my holidays. don't contact me, don't find me. i just really.... don't want to see you ever" with that you stormed out of the room, away from him and his presence. away from his beautiful face you came to adore, away from all the memories you would forever cherish until your last breath.

but no amount of miles between you both could ever be enough

[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.

[beatlesbookblog]

Man on the Run: Paul McCartney in the 1970s by Tom Doyle

So when I first got back into my Beatles hyperfixation, the first thing I did was learn all about Paul and the history of Wings. Which is strange because when I was a fan of the Beatles the first time around, I didn't like anything of Paul's but I guess that's what growing up does to a person lol. While, I became more aware of the band's history through the documentary that Paul did with his daughter Mary, Wingspan, I wanted to know more. So I did what any person would do - I went to the public library. There, I found this book.

Tom Doyle is a music journalist and explains in his intro that this book was spurred from multiple interviews he did with Paul himself. Mixing quotes, anecdotes, and the history of Wings chronicled through their albums, Doyle makes a narrative that is similar to what Paul did with Wingspan. Yet, Doyle's story has a little bit more of the nitty gritty stuff. The stuff that Paul would have left on the cutting room floor.

Though I wouldn't call this a definitive history of Wings, I would definitely say this a good source to anyone who is interested with the band. Doyle goes right to the source, using quotes from many of the people involved as sources for this book. I think because of this, it gives this book some credibility! Using the perspectives of other band mates plus even using Paul's relationship with John during the 70s as a storytelling device helps to create a bigger picture of Paul's career with Wings.

I also found the actual prose and writing style of the book to be fairly entertaining, but I believe that could be Doyle's background as a journalist. He does weave an interesting story that shows not only Paul's vision for the band throughout the 70s as well as Paul budding as an artist after the Beatles, but Doyle uses snippets from the other members who were around when the book was published which adds different perspectives. Wingspan does not offer the complete other perspectives. There are some audio snippets here and there, but it solely focuses on Paul's reflections and memories. Not to say Paul would intentionally leave things out, but there were stories in this book that probably would have been left aside when giving the full narrative of the band.

Again, while the book is good, do not consider this a final source of everything Wings. I relate this book to Wingspan as it gives a similar vibe in its way of telling the version of events. I do think using interviews and quotes from other people involved does give it slightly more credibility than Wingspan, as that was just Paul conversing with Mary while telling the story of Wings. The different perspectives does make a difference when documenting the history of the band, and it makes a good pair to Wingspan (though, I know there's a Wingspan book, I haven't read that yet). Consider this your stepping stone into Wings and maybe by reading this book you'd come to appreciate the band just a little bit more!

------

Rating ⭐: 8.5/10. It's a good book if you want to know the contextualized history of Wings and want a launch pad to research more about the band as well as Paul's career in the 70s.

Further Reading (and watching + listening) 📖🎧: This podcast episode with Tom Doyle talking about the book, watch Wingspan (I think there's a free version on YouTube), and probably read the book as well! Also keep an eye out for this documentary in the future, though I'm not sure if Doyle is working with the documentary or not.

[storiesofsvu]

Back to Home

Emily Prentiss x reader Covers a bingo square. Warnins: language, hurt/comfort, deals with Emily coming back from the dead. Not sure if it's as good as I'd like, but I was just rolling off the fact that I hate that everyone was so upset with *her* rather than Hotch/JJ who lied and kept it secret all that time. And this is what we're left with.

Tears slowly streamed over your cheeks as you sat in the hard plastic hospital chair for what felt like hours. Your vision blurred; your ears buzzed with noise but you never really heard anything anyone was saying as the team slowly began to leave the emergency room. It had honestly even been a bit of a miracle you’d made it there in the first place, getting the unofficial call from JJ once they’d realized what was going on. While you were part of the FBI, you weren’t in the BAU, you normally wouldn’t have been let in on a case like this. The room was practically spinning, your cheeks were stained with the remnants of tears you had cried out as your fingers twisted the diamond ring on your left hand, one that Emily had given you less than a month ago. A promise of a future together, of plenty of memories to build, a life to grow, one that had been torn away from you in a matter of hours tonight. JJ’s words still ringing in your ears, ‘she didn’t make it off the table.’ You felt a sturdy hand wrap around your shoulder and without looking up you could tell it was Aaron, no doubt feeling responsible to make sure you got somewhere safe tonight,

“I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.” Your voice choked out, rough and raw from holding back sobs earlier.

“I know.” He squeezed softly, “but we can’t stay here much longer. Doyle’s still out there, we need to get you back home Agent Kennedy.”

“Agent?” Hotch’s voice rang clear through your mind and you blinked out of your memories.

“Kennedy?” JJ’s voice was softer and fully shook you out of your nightmares and you finally looked back up at the two of them.

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head with an apologetic smile before you gulped, “I’m… not sure I understand…”

“Emily is alive.” The woman’s voice was soft, her small smile even softer as she sat across from you, her eyes attempting to read your face, “she’s been in hiding since Doyle got to her.”

“Like.. witness protection?” You asked. Normally your brain should have been able to wrap around this in seconds, processing it like the agent you were, but every single fibre within you seemed to have come to a halt. If someone had asked you what one plus one was you would’ve answered eleven.

“Sort of.” Hotch replied, “but the important thing is that we now have Doyle in custody.”

“He escaped Korea… are you sure this is even safe?” You finally looked up at him, tears threatening to spill over your cheeks, “I cannot lose her twice.”

“She’s the only one who can help us get to Declan and end this.” JJ assured, her hand reaching out to squeeze at your knee and you nodded.

“The team doesn’t know yet. I just wanted to make sure you got a heads up. She’s on her way here now.” Hotch commented.

“What?!” Your head shot up, lips parted as you sucked in a breath, “she’s… here?”

“We’re meeting in the round table room in fifteen if you’d like to be there. If you’d prefer a private reunion we can arrange that but there isn’t much time, we need to get to work asap.” The blonde offered and you shook your head.

“No…no..” You wiped away a stray tear, “if you give me even just a moment alone with her I’m not letting her go. And I know this is important. Just… give me a minute to.. get myself together.”

“Alright.” Aaron nodded, swiftly moving past you with a brief squeeze to your shoulder so he could gather the team.

JJ stayed with you, knowing that if you were to be left alone you would never move, frozen in your confusion, in your need for this to all be true yet the terror of it being a nightmare. That if you were to leave Hotch’s office you’d find yourself wandering into the roundtable room to find it empty, that this was another one of your recurring dreams. She handed you a tissue, helping you fix your slightly smeared makeup with a reassuring smile before you finally let out a solid breath and gave her a nod. She only dropped your hand once you hit the doorway of the room, letting you find your way around the table to drop into a chair. The team was used to having you around, even after losing Emily you were someone they consulted with relatively regularly and considering the case, no one batted an eye to you being there today.

You did your best to focus as voices began to fill the room, eyes flitting from one person to the next, your heart thundering in your chest so hard it shifted into your ears. No matter how much you tried to listen to the information all it turned into was a pulse in your head, voices drowned out by your brain telling you this was all your imagination. Until you heard the gasp beside you, the voices speaking their disbeliefs, the sound of footsteps stalling in the doorway to the roundtable room and with one deep breath the scent of her shampoo invaded your scenes from across the room.

“But… we buried you…” It was Spencer’s voice that brought you back to reality, surging you back to the day you’d watched her coffin sink into the dirt and you glanced up at him.

A few other comments were said as you tried to gather your composure, watching Emily cautiously moving through the room, her lips spewing apologies as she went. It wasn’t until your eyes finally landed on her that you let out a shaky breath of relief. She was real, she was there and she was suddenly a foot away from you in a now empty room.

Emily’s hands were shaking, her gut churning harder with every step she got closer to you, she could taste the bile creeping its way up her throat. Somehow coming back from the dead was more anxiety inducing than actually dying. She knew this was going to be intense, she knew it would be a lot, and while Hotch had warned her you’d been looped in, he’d failed to mention that you would be in the room.

“I’m so—” She hadn’t even gotten the sentence out before you’d launched out of the chair and for the briefest second she thought she was about to be hit. Instead you wrapped your arms around her, tighter than she’d expected and she let out a little squeak, causing you to leap away, hands shooting to your mouth.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” You muttered, “are you okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, no!” Her hand jumped up to your arm, tears blooming in her eyes, “I just… I didn’t exactly expect any warm welcomes.”

“So… you’re really okay?”

“It was touch and go for a while.” She admitted after a heavy sigh, “and I wont lie, things still hurt like hell every so often but yeah… I’m healed… I’m okay.”

“Oh god.” You launched back around her once again, your arms wrapping around her shoulder so tightly you thought you’d never let go.

Emily let herself melt into your embrace, she’d been so worried how everyone would react and somehow you ended up being the single person who seemed to not hate her today. You clung to her with every ounce of love you ever had for her before all of this happened and she very happily buried her face into the crook of your neck. Soaking you in, breathing in the scent of your perfume, the feel of your skin against hers for the first time in months, aching to never let you go.

“We don’t have much time.” You murmured, your lips brushing against her neck and she shuddered.

“Why don’t you hate me?” She asked, her voice shaking as she finally pulled far enough away from you to gaze down at you and you choked out a laugh.

“How could I?” Your lips broke into a grin, “I love you, and you’re alive. How could it get better than that?”

“But…. I abandoned you.” Her voice softened, her hand coming up to caress your cheek, “and the team… and they don’t seem too happy.”

“It’s not your fault!” You nearly laughed, “Doyle…” your voice began to shake as tears flooded into your eyes, “I mean…. He did everything he could. If we were further from the hospital… who even knows…” Emily’s chest tightened at your words, her hand squeezing at your arm.

“You.. you were there?” She asked and you nodded.

“Hotch wouldn’t let me on the scene but I was in the ambulance with you. And I’ve never been more scared in my life. But that doesn’t matter.” You brushed away a tear, your hand reaching out to Emily’s cheek to wipe away her own, “what matters is you’re here now. And before you ask again, no, I will never hate you. Em… Doyle thought he killed you and your life depended on him thinking that he did.”

“You’re not mad about Paris?”

“You had no choice.” You squeezed at her hand, “you’d already ditched both of your phones, the only burner you had left no doubt he destroyed before the warehouse. It’s not like you had any way to contact me. The choice wasn’t yours and was made before you were even out of the coma. Sure, I missed you to hell and back, and every inch of my being wishes that I could’ve been put into hiding with you, but… I feel like then it would’ve been obvious you weren’t dead. And that means you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Emily grasped your hands in hers, taking the plunge to lean in and kiss you and your right hand quickly came up to caress her cheek, letting out a soft whimper at the feels of her lips finally against yours again. She never wanted to pull away, wanted to remain in that moment forever but she knew there was so much more to work though. When she finally did she found her hand playing with yours, cool metal meeting the tips of her fingers before she glanced down and her head tilted.

“You’re still wearing your ring?” She glanced up to you and you smiled, a huff of a laugh escaping your lips.

“I never wanted to give up on you.” You shrugged, “because the only future I saw was with you. The only future I wanted was yours. Even if you didn’t come back.”

“Oh sweetheart.” She stroked at your cheek again, her fingers affectionately pinching at your chin, “I never once stopped thinking about you, never stopped loving you.”

“I know.” You smiled before the two of you jumped at the sound of a knock on the door, glancing toward it as Hotch spoke.

“I hate to intrude, but Emily, we need you now.”

“Yeah.” She nodded toward him, glancing back to you who nodded.

“Go.” You squeezed softly at her hands, “just fucking come home to me in one piece this time, alright?”

“I will. I promise, and I don’t make those lightly.” She replied, leaning in to kiss you gently, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible.”

The rest of the day felt like a blur, every time you caught yourself staring blankly at your computer you were certain that you’d dreamt the entire thing. That you would wander up to the BAU’s floor later with a smile on your face only for it to be replace with tears as the fantasy came crumbling down around you. Instead, you were met with extreme relief when seven p.m. was closing in and you felt a warmth on your shoulder, followed by Emily’s perfume invading your senses and you looked up with a bright smile. While she looked a little worse for wear, and you could tell she was utterly exhausted, she was there, a tired smile on her cheeks as she gazed down at you.

A tired smile that grew large when you jumped out of your chair to wrap her in the tightest hug, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. She had been so scared about coming back, about how everyone was going to react and after getting the cold shoulder from her team all day she was certain that you would’ve had time to process everything and you would be mad too. Instead of cold, she was met with your hand grasping hers, fingers interlacing and she felt the warmth bursting through her body starting from her fingertips shooting all the way down to her toes. A warmth she hadn’t felt in seven months, one that she had nearly forgotten what it felt like and the one that she had missed more terribly than anything else in the world.

“C’mon.” You murmured, squeezing at her hand, “let’s go home.”

———————————————-

@alexusonfire @mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @melindawarnersgf @itisdoctortoyousir @emilyprentiss4life @somethingimaginative17 @temilyrights @alexxavicry @daddy-heather-dunbar @aliensaurusrex @rustyzebra @ilovemycrayons @mandy-asimp @thegrantwater @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @m00nkn1ghts @supercriminalbean @daffodil-heart @msvenablesbitch @its-soph-xx @going-gray @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess @kdaghay @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @awolfcsworld @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @s1ut4nat @midnight-sapphic @scorpsik @prentiss-theorem @unsubologyy @strongsassysexysloane @svushots @overtrred28 @happenstnces @sapphicprentiss @heidss @geekyandgay98 @pagetboobstarcomments s @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @aws-l

[angelthemanspanker]

13, 16 and 22 for the ask game??

13. Worst blorbofication

I'm gonna assume this is basically fandom flanderization and say I feel a certain personal animosity for any interpretation of Drusilla that removes the danger of her. Like having her be so out of it that the Scoobs could just wander up and start chatting and she'd be perfectly civil bc she's just so crazy she doesn't even know they're her enemies, or just writing her as being just a tall hot child who's nice to everyone bc she doesn't know better and wouldn't even think to hurt anyone if Daddy didn't say so. I think people get tripped up by the fact that we don't see her away from the Whirlwind or just Spike very often and she's VERY affectionate with them and pays most of her attention to them rather than their food, but with humans she is very much a dangerous vampire who gets genuine delight out of torturing and killing people and lets not forget killed a Slayer. Respect my girl she didn't kill all those people for nothing

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

why are there so many fics where Xander gets powers. the fuck is he gonna do with those he has work in the morning

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

I'm not sure if this is a fair answer bc it's more that I've never seen anyone talk about it but the buffyverse vision mindscape is. So fascinating to me. Slayers get prophetic dreams but once there's two they seem to share them. Doyle and Cordelia and Birthdayverse!Angel all pass around a link to "the visions". Drusilla has "the sight", which seems to be different in that its always on, she can always see beyond herself, she can see the stars through the ceiling during the day. Lorne can feel when Cordy is about to have a vision and presumably gets similar glimpses of the future when he reads people. Buffy's spirit guide knows she's going to die and what will lead her there. When Faith and Buffy are both unconscious on the verge of death they can have a full blown conversation in a psychic space thats in one or both or neither of their heads, they're not sure, and while she's there Faith even feels that Buffy is going to die in 730 days but neither of them can make sense of the jumbled info as Faith got it ("Miles to go, Little Miss Muffet counting down from 7-3-0"), like Cordy sometimes gets visions she can't understand. There's something about how it seems like all the glimpses into the future come from the same place ("the visions"). Slayers have a natural link to it they can access unconsciously in dreams or consciously for a cryptic warning from the spirit guide in the desert, agents of the PTB can be tuned into it for a few agonising moments at a time to get the bare minimum info they need to act on, rare people like Dru and Lorne can passively perceive some aspects of it, it's just so MUCH. And it's ALL THE SAME THING they all just perceive it differently. I obsess.

Thanks for the ask 👏

[statelysapphic]

Letters to Emily

Emily Prentiss x Reader

Summary: When Ian Doyle takes away the one person you love, you find solace in writing her letter.

Warnings: Typical talk of Emily being dead. Hurt. Let me know if I missed something<3

A/N: Hi friends! It’s been a while. I’ve been working on this for a while, and idk how I feel about it. I very lightly edited this. Feedback is appreciated as always. Ao3 Link. Enjoy!<3

July 26, 2011

Emily,

I accepted the job. I’m not sure what would piss you off more though: the fact that it’s a desk job or the fact that it’s in Phoenix and I’m leaving Quantico. Leaving the team. I know you’d tell me that I’m making a huge mistake but it’s just too painful.

JJ brings me coffee every morning, just like you did, and even though I know she means well, it’s a painful reminder that you will never bring me coffee again. When I look up from my desk in the bullpen to see the empty one across from me, I’m reminded that I won’t be able to watch you work anymore. I loved watching you pour over files, watching the gears turn in your head. Putting the pieces together and catching the bad guy. You were brilliant.

Emily paused as her vision blurred, the burning sensation of tears threatening to spill catches her attention and shifts her focus. She was angry. Angry at Doyle for forcing her into this mess. Angry at JJ for not telling her that you transferred. Angry at Hotch for even approving your transfer request. Angry at Derek, Spencer, and Penelope; Did they even try to convince you to stay? She took a deep breath, and then another. As she felt her heart rate return to normal, she wiped the tears away from her cheeks and continued reading.

Everything here is a painful reminder of you. Everything. I walk past a framed photo of you every single day and it guts me. Every single time. I can’t keep doing it, so I’m running. I know you’d be so disappointed in me. Virginia isn’t home without you, Em. It stopped feeling like home when JJ told me you “never made it off the table.” I don’t think I’ll ever find your feeling of home again.

I’m not sure how to tell the team about the transfer. Maybe I’ll buy them a round after this case and break the news to them then. Booze and karaoke should soften them up, right?

I don’t think they’re going to take it well. I just hope they skip the guilt trip.

I hate to end this on a sad note, so I will say that I think Arizona will be good for me. Lots of sunshine and wide open spaces. New people, new experiences. I actually think I’m excited, even though I feel guilty for it. I suppose that will get better with time. I don’t know if I’ve told you this, the one item on my bucket list is to go rockhounding out west. Maybe I’ll treat myself once I get settled.

I miss you so much, Em. But I love you even more. Always.

Emily refolded the letter and slid it back into its envelope. As she placed it on the coffee table in front of her, she finally allowed herself to cry. She had done everything in her power to protect you from Doyle and her past. Although you were physically safe, it was clear from your letters that the emotional toll was severe. She was only about halfway through the stack that she found in your bedside table, and she still had three months worth left to read. She knew she wouldn’t finish by the time you got home, but that was okay.

The raven haired woman sighed, picking up the next letter in the pile.

August 12, 2011

Emmy,

Fuck I miss you today. I wish you would’ve been here to ground me though that. Or kick some ass for me. The movers were nice enough to break my bed frame while bringing it up the stairs and then denied doing it. I watched him drop it, babe. I wasn’t even mad until he denied it. Don’t worry, I called the manager and received a full refund for the trouble.

I wish you were here to cuddle on this couch with me. I miss the way you’d hold me. I felt untouchable when I was in your arms. I think you’d like this new apartment though. The master bedroom has a killer view AND a balcony. It also has plenty of south facing windows for my houseplants, and room for many more. My collection has grown exponentially since you’ve seen it last. As odd as it sounds, they’ve helped me through this.

Sorry for the short letter today. Who knew moving halfway across the country would be so tiring? Could’ve fooled me. I love you, Emily. Always.

Emily chuckled lightly at your sarcasm, but soon felt the tears return.

Sadness began to fade within Emily, and anxiety soon took its place. She was unsure of how you would react when you came home after a long day at work to find your not-actually-dead partner sitting in your living room, reading your private letters, no less. Sure, they were technically addressed to her, but she knows you never thought anyone would read them. Maybe this wasn’t the best way to do this, but Emily vehemently rejected all help that the team offered. Hotch offered to call your Supervisor to have them sit you down to talk you through it. JJ nearly begged Emily to help in some capacity, already feeling immense guilt over the situation. Though, she almost let Rossi accompany her when he offered, and she was beginning to regret not doing so.

The regret faded almost instantly as Emily heard a key in the front door. Her heart rate increased and her chest became tight. The reality of the situation had settled in for Emily, and the uncertainty was paralyzing. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, a sorry attempt to calm her nerves, as she braced herself to face you. She heard the door shut, followed by footsteps that grew louder and louder until there was silence. Emily didn’t dare look up. Even as she heard the loud clatter of what she assumed were your keys colliding with the hardwood apartment floor.

“E… Emmy?”

~

[tulipe-rose]

I was asleep, and sick pretty much all day, which is why I haven't posted anything for the birthday boy 🥲 I am so sorry you little mackerel. I feel a little better now though.

On a different note, in one of my dreams, I had a vision of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle being somewhat of an inverted version of Rampo. Like a dirty Blonde Brit with a slightly withdrawn, yet easily triggered. Very insecure boy.

Anyways, more on the how much of polar opposites they could be: Arthur has an ability for one, and he absolutely hates it. He hates it, because no one ever acknowledges anything he does outside of it. He works so hard, and even altogether neglects his ability until he got pressured by his family to use it again, so he ends up doing so begrudgingly. He eventually runs away from his family home, and ends up working odd jobs while pretending to be Ability-less until he gets recruited into whatever organization, probably the order of the clocktower but idk.

[mybones537]

Time Chapter 1

Moriarty the Patriot x Fem Reader

I have posted this on Wattpad as well undre the same username

Warning there is mentions of blood, death and probably more but this is a MTP fanfic so it is expected

(name) (last name) is a South African doctor who works as a paramedic from the year 2023 but one day while on the way to a heart attack victim she ends up in London in the year 1875. Come travel with (name) as she meets various people and see how she plays a part in the Moriarty plan without even knowing it.

All rights to the characters and main storyline except my own and some plot points go to Sir Arther Conan Doyle, Ryosuke Takeunchi and Hikaru Miyoshi

   Pietermaritzburg, KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa 2023 

“(Last name)! We got a call, heart attack victim in Victoria street. Let’s go” Waydon my senior calls

“Coming!” I grab the necessary medical supplies and run to the ambulance. Waydon starts the engine and drives away.

“Do we know anything about the situation?” I ask hoping to prepare myself for what’s ahead.

“All I know is that the victim is a man in his mid 40s and a little bit overweight” Waydon answers as he drives onto the bridge.

“God I hate this bridge. There are so many accidents here because people don’t think when they drive” l say as I look out the window, “This is the same bridge my parents crashed on”.

“Tell me about it. I’ve been on at least 5 calls for accidents on this bridge. It’s only Tuesday for crying out lou…” 

“Watch out!” I shout interrupting him as I see a truck coming straight for us.

The truck hits the side of the ambulance with so much force that it knocks the ambulance off the bridge. As the ambulance falls it feels like time has slowed down. 

“(Name)!” Waydon shouts as he tries to get ahold of my arm.

The ambulance hits the water passenger side first.

With the force of the ambulance hitting the water my head is pulled back and hits the window with so much force that it makes the window crack. 

My head throbs, I can barely register what is happening, my vision starts to blur, my ears ring. I feel the strength leaving my body as I battle to breathe. I see movement in front of me, it looks like Waydon but I can’t tell what he is doing. 

I slip in and out of consciousness, I try to stay awake but I fail and end up blacking out.

                                   Waydon’s pov:

As the truck hits us I immediately look at (name) hoping she is okay. I feel the ambulance start to fall off the bridge. We fall at a rapid speed, I’m terrified. I try to grab onto (names) arm as I shout for her, I fail to grab onto her. I closed my eyes to brace myself for impact.

We hit the water with so much force that I jolt forward but my seatbelt prevents me from going forward.

I open my eyes and look around to see if I’m injured. I then look at (name) to see if she’s okay but what I see chills me to the bone. (Name) is laying there unconscious, blood seeping out from her head. The window behind her is cracked, she doesn’t look like she’s breathing.

 I turn around for a moment to get something to stop the bleeding but when I look back I freeze in shock.

She’s no longer there.

The blood is still there, the cracked window is still there. There is no way she could have opened the door and left, the ambulance is laying on the passenger side in the river. There is water, rocks and rubbish everywhere. How could she have just disappeared?

I frantically unbuckle my seatbelt to go look for her. I fall to the passenger side when my seat belt comes off, some blood gets on my hands. I climb over the seats to the back of the ambulance, I see all of the medical supplies are gone.

“What the hell is happening?” I say as I clutch onto my head, I feel like I’m going insane.

“How did she just disappear into thin air?”

I checked all the doors of the ambulance, they are all closed shut, no way to open them at all. 

I make my way back to the front to take my phone. The screen is shattered,I can’t even switch it on. I throw my phone in rage.

I take the ambulance radio and try switching it on. 

“Come on, work!”

The radio finally switches on, I take the microphone and contact the department.

“Ambulance 154 to department over”

“This is the emergency service department, what’s the current situation Ambulance 154 over” the department says on the radio 

“Ambulance 154 has been in an accident on the way to a heart attack victim. Ambulance was hit by a truck and sent over the bridge leading into Victoria Street. Ambulance is now lying in the Duzi river, over “

“Are there any casualties, over?”

“I don’t know “

“What do you mean you don’t know? Over”

“(Name), she was in her seat unconscious. I look away for one moment and I… she’s gone “.

“What do you mean by gone? Over “

“She just disappeared”

[prose-for-hire]

Third Eye Blind

Pairing: Doyle x reader

Request: Doyle with a reader who also gets visions. Good suggestions: they both knew of each other beforehand, they did not know and found out and it's just like "same!!", reader is somehow just,,,, unaware of what they mean and tries to ignore them. I'm not sure of which scenario I'll let you pick. Thought of this when we were talking about him earlier

Requested by: 🏜 anon - I’m so sorry it’s taken so long !! 💖

Warning: Alcohol consumption.

You were happiest alone. Or perhaps, you had become so used to it you weren’t able to fathom letting anyone into your life. People tended to misunderstand you, you could see things that they couldn’t.

Even your family had turned their backs on you, you were always too quick to point out if they were hiding something. You couldn’t help it, you felt it inside. Nobody got why, not even yourself. You just supposed you were meant to be alone. Never understood.

You were incredibly observant, and people just didn’t seem to like that. People kind of got spooked when you knew too much. You saw through people and you didn’t really understand how. You just knew.

You weren’t too concerned about the how and the why, mostly because it didn’t really matter. You had always guessed you were lucky really. You just sort of ended up getting the right gut feelings about things. Your daydreams were blurred, your thoughts abstract. And some days they gave you one hell of a headache. But they worked for you. Helped you pay the rent.

You had set up a one person PI firm, not mystical or geared towards demons. You didn’t even know they existed. The boring kind where you spent long hours in your car and took pictures of people cheating on their partners for a profit. You took every case you knew you would make money on, that was the thing about your visions, you saw when the client was wrong about their partner and only took the cases worth your time.

You were sat sideways in your beat up car, legs over the passenger side as you waited for the moment you knew was coming. Your leather jacket draped over you like a blanket as you waited. You were having one of those blurry daydreams again, where the picture moved like a film behind your eye except through an incredibly thick fog.

You were so used to it, you assumed everyone thought in the same way. But they didn’t. You were getting visions. Some days so painful you stayed in bed all day, only dragging yourself out when you felt like you needed to go outside and do something. You always ended up stumbling into helping someone out.

Nobody knew you personally but people knew of you. Knew of how you helped.

You saw someone moving. That was your guy. You grabbed your camera, ready to take a shot of him with this woman that was definitely not your client. You were about to get the perfect shot when your vision was obscured. The lens was blocked by something. Twice in one week? Maybe you weren’t so lucky.

“Hey, hey!” You slammed the door of your car in exasperation, “Doyle! Not again!”

“This one’s mine, darlin’” he collared the guy, who was wearing a human skin suit but you really didn’t need to know that.

“So not a darling. And he’s so not yours either” You insisted, grabbing the sleeve of the mark. Moving him towards his companion as if to will them to kiss with you and Doyle as your audience.

This had never happened until Doyle had arrived in town. It was like he followed you around, swooping in at the last moment to snatch up the people you were tailing. It was almost as if his gut feelings were similar to yours.

You always ran into him like this, he had honestly irritated you to begin with, but you suppose even your luck had to run out at some point. You ended up doing this every other week or so. Fighting over who got to take the glory and in your case the money home. What, you liked helping people out but you had to eat didn’t you?

What you didn’t know is that Doyle was saving the woman from being drained dry. He was a vampire but he had a reputation to maintain, he was a high up lawyer at some law firm you had never heard of and so hadn’t started to attack in case it may ruin his upcoming promotion.

At first he fought with you when the charm didn’t work. Trying to convince you to let him have them. He didn’t have the heart to tell you these people were evil.

Later on though, once he got to know you a little more, he let you have it. Put up less of a fight. After speaking to you, he realised your bills rested on this. He also realised that he liked you. You were strong, independent and he was completely head over heels for you. He eventually just circled back later and brought the demon in to Angel. The vampire ran off, at an almost inhuman pace you noted.

Tonight, neither of you got what you wanted. Or so you thought.

You frequented the same bar. Eventually you started meeting together, you both worked irregular hours and you both appreciated the company.

You enjoyed spending time with him, but you could never let yourself relax around him. You kept people at a distance, you didn’t like making people uncomfortable and that’s all you seemed to do. You kept him at arm’s length, just like you did with everyone.

You liked him, his charm definitely had an effect on you. You wanted to let him know you, but even with the warmth of the liquor sliding down your throat it had never given you enough courage before.

You leaned against the bar, lost in his eyes as you smiled softly, damning yourself for letting any potential with this attractive man pass you by. You met your glass with his before you both downed your drinks.

You were hard to read. But he searched for any scrap that he could find. He loved it when you laughed and the sound of your voice, especially when you were annoyed with him, drove him wild.

“Maybe it’s the liquor talkin’ but I see something in you” he shook his head and looked into the bottom of his empty glass.

“Yeah, I think it’s the liquor…. Kiss me?” You surprised yourself more than him. Perhaps the powers themselves had intervened, you surely would have never spoken your thoughts aloud if they hadn’t. It was all he had ever wanted to do, you didn’t have to ask twice.

You reached for him, your hand grazing his upper arm as he pulled you into him. His hand clasping the base of your skull as his lips met yours. He kissed you as if you were going to disappear when he opened his eyes again, he savoured every touch you graced him with. He was memorising the way you felt, the way you tasted, how you kissed with such intensity.

Your visions had been hazy for so long. So hazy they hadn’t even registered as anything other than a daydream. Your (second) sight blurred, a supernatural water wash. Until now. Until him.

He had suddenly made everything so clear. Even in your tipsy state. It was fireworks, shooting stars and any other cliché under the sun. But you felt it, honest to God, you felt it.

Clarity.

You were meant to meet. You were meant to understand. To finally see the way that you were supposed to. To use your gift, your visions, because that’s what they were, for good. For a purpose. A purpose you didn’t realise you had been craving until now.

He felt it too, he must have. The ground had shaken. The Earth had tilted on its axis. It made everything intense, especially the kiss. He reached for you, pulling you closer until you nearly toppled from the bar stool you were sat on.

That’s when you parted, he smiled as your breathy laughter bubbled over. God, he loved that laugh. Love, what a funny thing it was.

A flash, like flipping through an old photo album in reverse…

Green skin. Soft bed. Doyle’s smiling face glowing in candlelight. Your lips on his, his hand in yours. Running through the streets, scared but on top of the world. Tailing something big and violent. A tall man in a trench coat hugging you and Doyle, and smiling. Your life suddenly feeling fuller. Hope sprang from deep within.

“That was…” You couldn’t find the words. But he knew.

“Oh, yeah,” He nodded, recognition in his eyes, “Why didn’t you say?” He meant about the visions. He knew all to well why you might have hidden your feelings.

“Why didn’t you?” You asked trying to pretend you knew what he was talking about.

“You didn’t know, did ya?”

“Know, uh, know what?”

“You got the sight, welcome to the club, darlin’. Not exactly a winner, that I’ll grant you, but nobody said the good fight was a fair one”

“Uh… the club?” It was a lot to take in. The sight? Good fights?

“You want more, don’t you? You want to do somethin’ that isn’t sitting around waiting for some idiot to cheat on his partner, which I would never do by the by” he raised his hands in surrender as he said it, which made you smile. Nodding slightly at his words.

You did want more. You wanted to live, not to just survive. You wanted to be someone, do something worthwhile. And you knew for sure that you wanted to do it by Doyle’s side.

“I know a guy I want you to meet. Well, not so much a guy as a-”

“What, now?”

“No better time than any,” he shrugged before hesitating, “Uh, maybe after one more-” He was going to say drink. But you both knew he meant kiss. You crashed your lips to his, addicted to the way he tasted. This feeling could get your drunker than any liquor this place had to offer. You had never felt for anyone like this. Never understood someone, felt such a connection.

And just like that, you had joined the good fight. Doyle took good care of you, helped talk you through everything in that disarming way that made you feel safe even when you were being chased by demons. He doted on you and ensuring he always had pain meds handy whenever you needed them. Even though you always insisted he should take care of himself in the same way but he always told you that’s what he had you for. You were each other’s biggest support.

He was a good man. A good demon, you later understood. You could never love anyone more. Your visions complemented each other’s. You received messages that he didn’t and together, they created a bigger picture. Easier to understand than jut one of you alone.

You were soulmates, in every sense. And loneliness had become a long distant memory.

[liaromancewriter]

Dolphins and Sharks

Premise: Max and Sienna paint the baby’s nursery, and an old rivalry resurfaces.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Sienna Trinh x Max Valentine (M!OC) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 930

A/N: This fic was requested by @kyra75 for Maxenna: paint. Submission for @choicesprompts Flufftober, @choicesoctober prompt: 'Partner' and @choicesflashfics week 54, prompt 3

Sienna Valentine stood in the doorway of the smallest of the spare bedrooms and took in the bare white walls, dark hardwood floor and single window overlooking the alley below. It didn’t have the best views in the apartment, tucked away as it was in the corner down the hall, but it would do.

She suspected the original builders had probably envisioned the room as a den or home office. Before she moved in last year, Max had used the space as a library. Later, they converted the room into storage when her things from Boston arrived, as well as the boxes of keepsakes and paraphernalia she’d left with her parents in New Orleans.

The room’s location, close to the master bedroom suite, and size made it perfect for their Little Bean’s nursery. She couldn’t wait to bring her vision to life.

“Ready for our painting date?”

Sienna leaned back as Max slipped his arms around her from behind, resting her head against his shoulder. His hands covered hers, and they cradled their unborn child together.

“Definitely ready to put you to work,” Sienna teased, giggling when he pouted.

“Are you sure this is safe for you and the baby?” He nuzzled the side of her neck, and she shivered, her eyes closing as his hands drifted up to cup her breasts. “It’s not too late to hire someone.”

Sienna’s eyes snapped open, and she pushed herself out of his embrace, turning to face him with a fierce expression.

“Nice try, Rich Boy, but I want us to decorate our baby’s nursery, not some stranger,” she reasoned. “Besides, given the amount of time you spent researching non-toxic paints, I think we’re safe.”

He smiled wryly and shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “Okay, but don’t complain if the end result sucks.”

Sienna patted his cheek and grinned. “It’s cute how you believe that I will let you leave here unless the room is picture perfect. Just follow my lead.”

Max swooped in to capture her mouth in a searing kiss that had her insides melting.

“I love it when you take charge,” he murmured against her lips. “Can I persuade you to seduce me tonight?”

“Only if you’re good,” she quipped. “Now, let’s get to work.” She pointed at the plastic roll. “Step one. Cover the floor with a drop cloth.”

A couple of hours later, Sienna hummed along to a catchy tune drifting from the Bluetooth speaker. The playlist they’d chosen cycled through Top 40 pop, indie and rock songs and suited the mood.

She stepped back from the wall she’d half painted and glanced sideways to check on the progress with the accent wall. Her eyes narrowed in contemplation at the expert way Max handled the paintbrush roller.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” she accused when he turned around and caught her staring. “You’ve done this before.”

“Oops, you caught me,” he said glibly. “I’m a hotelier by day and house painter by night.”

“Max…” she sighed, not in the mood for jokes.

Her back was killing her, and her stomach had been growling for the last twenty minutes. She did not want to admit that Max was right about having her take it easy and letting him do all the work.

“Sorry!” he said sincerely.

He must have sensed she was out of sorts for a different reason, for he walked over and eased her into a chair. She was grateful when he didn’t say, I told you so and just tucked a shawl around her shoulders.

“Remember my friend, Doyle?” he asked, crouching so that they were at eye level.

“Of course. We went to his wedding in the summer.”

“Well, he used to flip houses once upon a time,” Max explained. “All of us got roped into helping whenever he needed free labor. Painting, hammering nails into two-by-fours, installing grout in bathroom. You name it, we did it.”

She regarded the walls he’d already painted, and her lips curved into a teasing smile. “Well, if the bottom ever falls out of the hotel industry, you’ve got a second career as a house painter.”

He burst into laughter. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He rose from the floor and held out his hand. “Come on. Time for a break. You might be Superwoman, but all that hard labor’s made me hungry.”

The next day, Sienna and Max stood side by side, staring at the underwater-themed decals they’d just finished installing on the accent wall. Once the furniture arrived next week, the crib would go against this wall.

She sighed dreamily at the thought of their Little Bean guarded by a dolphin and a shark while he slept. She’d had her heart set on wallpaper originally, but her husband had been right. This was so much better. And they could easily change the decals as their son grew older.

“Go on, say it,” Max smirked, nudging her shoulder.

“… You were right,” Sienna grumbled, not wanting to admit defeat, but her smile gave her away.

She stretched on her toes and kissed the underside of his jaw. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

Max wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed the side of her head. “You’re welcome, but we’re hiring out for the next one.”

Sienna laughed, nestling into his side, and stared wistfully around the nursery. Their son would have the best of both of them, and that was everything she wanted.

As for the next one, she eyed Max shiftily. Well, she had plenty of time to change his mind.

Bonus

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Max & Sienna only: @aallotarenunelma @storyofmychoices @kyra75

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi! I saw that you were theorizing before about Sherlock so I really want two things let out of my chest since I saw the series and I am curious what you think.

First of all, I have always had this theory that Moffat and Gatiss wanted Johnlock as their end-goal. I studied Film and screenwriting which taught me a lot and there is NO WAY they made all those things suggesting that their relationship is keep building from colleague to friends to something else in the first two season just by share accident. There are so many ways they could have done it and I don't believe it that they wanted queer baiting just for the sake of it THIS much without a resolution. I especially not believe it since Gatiss is gay and he should know more. Not to mention that the interviews around the first two seasons were quite telling sometimes that they were not opposed to the idea. Then something happened. My theory is that either the BBC or whoever was charged of Doyle estate and Sherlcok Holmes right (which became free from this year), or maybe even both of them could see where this is going and let Mofftiss know that they can't do that. They are bringing the money and they can call the shots even though they are the creators so they needed to compromise. And you can see they clearly made a turn from Season 3. And I think you can tell about the interviews as well from that period. I believe that's (one of the) reason Martin had enough by the end probably and they just did the job they had to do. That's what I felt. Like they were acting but it didn't really have the....spice if you know what I mean. What do you think? I have always had this theory but since studying film and how film production work and the writing progress I am convinced that they thought it through and they had a clear intension, a long game but they need to stop. 2. This second one is not a theory but it always really bugged me. In the last episode, the Final problem when Sherlock had to call Molly to make her say I love you (let's not talk about the part how rubbish it was), why Molly looked so...pardon my language...shit? She looked so done, like she was crying for hours before and it was just super weird. What was the intention behind it? It was never really explained. Or did they want to suggest that she had a shitty day and she has no patience today for Sherlock or what? She was so completely different than normally. (And I try not to rage about the fact how they underminded her character but that's another story). What do you think about that one? Honestly it really bothered me when I saw that.

Sorry for the long post. This is something I have in me for years and I didn't really have anyone to share with. If anyone else wants to comment on it, go ahead. (And english is not my first language so sorry if there are grammar issues)

Hey Lovely!

Sorry for the delay in a reply, I always need to switch my brain into Meta Mode™ to answer these types of questions, and since I don't do that much anymore, I have to go back and see what I used to theorize, LOL. So, let's go:

ONE:

Your theory aligns mostly with my own: either the (at the time) Doyle estate got involved since they saw where the plot lines were leading to post-S3, OR – and this is the one I lean more heavier towards – BBC interference. I believe there was a turnover of higher-ups at BBC at the time, if I recall correctly, and perhaps their vision for the show differed from what the story was being told. I agree with you – there is NO WAY that they DIDN'T see what they were doing...

Which then leads me to the third (and, I fear, the actual answer) option – queerbaiting to bring in the numbers. Moffat has done projects in the past where he never follows through with the queer romance or they die / happens offscreen, and Gatiss has openly admitted to using homoeroticism to bring in an audience after the downfall of S4. So It's also likely that they got too full of themselves, and without a third writer to reign them in and make a cohesive narrative (at the VERY least make S4 make sense to the other previous episodes with or without Johnlock endgame), they wrote something no one liked at ALL (even though they LEGIT thought TFP was great enough to nominate for an Emmy, if I recall correctly, and backed down on that claim after it was critically panned), including the critics AND general audience, basically told everyone they were stupid, and picked up their ball and went home. And they refuse to say if Sherlock is done at this point because the Brand™ gets them money still.

None of the actors seemed very happy after S4, even though they worked SO hard to make the best with what they had been given. Martin was DONE in interviews, Ben is SO bad at faking it, but he tried, bless his heart, and I think at this point, with both Martin and Ben busy with their own careers and side projects, I don't think we're getting anything within the next 5 years. But I've been surprised before.

TWO:

Ah, yes, the Molly Thing in TFP™, one of the things that just... ruined her entire character, devolving her back to ASiP Molly. The running theory – or at least my theory – is that she is a placeholder character for John in John's coma nightmare. She is John's inner feelings, the ones John himself feels like he can't express to Sherlock because he fears the rejection from Sherlock. I PERSONALLY think that's how we're supposed to read that scene, because otherwise any other context is weird and demeaning to her character arc.

But then again, the entirety of S4 is one big FU the series without an S5 to clean it up.

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I hope I helped a bit with this response! Sorry if I missed anything, I'm exhausted and need some sleep LOL.

Feel free, friends, to add your own thoughts.

[skkfujoshi]

I’m stuck with you

“Ugh…Where am I?”Chuuya asked to the air more than anything else 

He could feel and hear the dirt move against his head as he riggled on the floor.

Truly he could be anywhere.On the side of some abandoned road,in a weirdo’s basement,the woods…

With his vision as bleary as it was now,he honestly couldn’t tell.

“Don’t worry,Chuuya.You’re still in Surubachi.”

He turned rapidly,sitting up.He blinked a couple times.The two men stood above him,the blonde bare chested,his shoulder now bandaged.Chuuya looked feverishly around himself,trying to look for the knife,only to realize it was nowhere to be seen.

“We put it in the van.Sorry about that but we just need you to li-Are you trying to get out as I’m talking to you?!” “…What’s it to you,dipshit?”

The black haired man with glasses sighed.

“I told you he’d be unreasonable,Herbert.” “I know,Arthur,but still.This is just astonishing.” “Listen you two,I don’t know who you think you are,but if you think you can just kidnap-“ “We’re not here to kidnap you,Chuuya.We’re here to save you.” “From what?!” “A cult.The wicks of the black flame.”Herbert said “And what would they want to do with me?” “Get Ahrahabaki out of you.”

Chuuya froze.Nobody outside of Mori,Elise and Dazai knew of his title as the incarnation of Ahrahabaki.

Was it possible that his…No his father would never let that secret slip.And as much as Chuuya might’ve liked to blame Dazai he was way too anti-social to have any links outside of work.

“How do you-“ “I’m a very good detective,let’s just leave it there.”Doyle interjected

Chuuya glared,before Herbert cleared his throat.

“Regardless,they’re a cult dedicated to worshiping that creature inside you.And they will stop at nothing to rip it out.”

Chuuya sat with that for a moment,the fear subsiding as he realized the possibilities of what this might mean.

“You mean take it away?” “Yes.”Frank said gravely

He’d be free of it…A normal ability user by every metric.The weight,the fear off his back…Forever.

His father would be mad,of course,but…If Chuuya framed as if he had been kidnapped and simply couldn’t do anything about it…Suddenly it would be out of his hands,beyond blame and thus beyond frustration.

“Let them do it then.I don’t want it.”

Herbert sighed as if he were dealing with a very unperceptive child.

“Chuuya,for him to be free you’d have to die.Your body is as much of a vessel as it is a prison.” “Yes,because hurting their presumed god totally seems like a reasonable thing for a cult to do.”Chuuya said with an eye roll 

Herbert opened his mouth presumably to give the same spiel again,only for Doyle to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.The two shared a look before the detective turned to Chuuya.

“Listen,kid,I know you don’t exactly have much reason to trust us but-“ “You got that right!Especially after you sicked a giant worm on me!” “But you have to understand that we mean no ill will.Our trail on you had been cold up until a year ago and by extension so has theirs-“ “Ok,so they had their chance to kill me for a year and just happened not to act on it.How convenient.”

Another exasperated sigh,this time from the detective.Chuuya idly considered what to do if one of them does it again.Punching either of them in the face seemed like a good idea.

“Convenient or not,it is the truth of the matter-“ “So why am I not dead,then?”

He could see the black haired man’s eyes narrow in frustration,Herbert speaking before his partner could presumably snap at Chuuya.

“They need to do a ritual to get him out.” “Oh I see,by the way there’s some snake oil I wanna sell you!”Chuuya snapped

Arthur groaned,wiping his glasses against his sweater.He turned towards Herbert who simply looked up at the sky,probably praying for patience.

They began talking to one another shortly after,Chuuya not making much of an effort to listen.Instead he focused on undoing his bindings.

He turned his head to take a look at the type of knot.Constrictor.

One of the toughest knots to untie.Dammit…

Then Chuuya noticed something.A snake.It appeared black.Completely black.As if any and all light or colour deliberately avoided it.

Before Chuuya could even blink,its mouth opened wide revealing a pair of shiny fangs.He tried to yell,to scream and while he could feel his own mouth moving no sound came,not even a whine.

He shut his eyes and when he opened them again,the world was spinning,his head was thrumming like crazy.

He tried to focus on remembering what the snake had looked like,but any retention of that was fleeting,his memory of the thing just as blurry as his vision was becoming.

Though…It probably wasn’t poisonous…There was an absence of pain,a lack of scrambling in his system.A lack of violent reaction…

Chuuya hadn’t drunk alcohol often but when he had,this is what it felt like.

A headiness in his mind,a weakness in his legs and a heat in his body that leaned on searing.

A sense that his bones had all gone liquid and his body was now heavier than he could bear.

A pleasant fuzziness just at the edge of his brain…

A mellowness in his muscles…

He closed his eyes.Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…To just take a small,tiny nap…

-

“Fuck this…I’m not looking  for him all across Surubachi,Elise.We’re wasting our time.”

Dazai wasn’t sure if they had been literally walking in circles,but he knew it sure felt like that.

“Have you forgotten that you don’t have a choice,Osamu?” “I know that,it’s just…The sun’s setting and I would really like to not get shanked by some Sheep member around here.” “Pussy.” “You can’t feel pain,so politely,fuck off with that.”

She sighed,stopping in her tracks.She turned on her heel,tossing her long hair over her shoulders.

“Then what do you suggest we do,mummy boy?”

Dazai hummed,stroking his chin.

“Well…The police is out of the question,obviously…But a private investigator…Yes,that could be it.”he said walking forward hand to his mouth

Where would they find such a person here though?Sure,it wouldn’t have to be in Surubachi but if they didn’t they’d have to go back to Yokohama,which would waste their time.

And he’s already had way too much of that today.So again,where could he find such a person in this shit hole?

He heard Elise’s footsteps stop.

“Hey brat,keep moving,will you?”

he said,not looking up from his feet 

A likelihood of a private investigator this deep in was unlikely.Maybe if they got close to that big tower in the middle,they’d be a bit luckier.Seems a lot more architecturally complex so maybe there was a gaggle of mildly respectable people in there.

“Osamu.”

No,seems way too conspiratorial.Then again-

“Osamu!” “What!?”Dazai said turning on his heel to glare at her

She tilted her head to the left,

Dazai following her gaze,blinking in confusion as he spotted it.

A squat,seemingly two story building.Several shingles of it’s roof laid destroyed a few inches away from him and Elise and on it’s door was nailed a small board with the following text.

Private Investigator:

Arthur.C.Doyle

“Huh…Well,that’s convenient.”he muttered

The two exchanged looks and before Elise could stop him he picked the lock much to her chagrin.

“Truly you have no tact…” “Do you want tact or do you want results?”

She groaned closely behind him in place of a proper rebuttal,as Dazai observed.

The front room was clearly an office,with a work desk,chair and name plate all front and center.

However,there was a sense of off about it.A strong smell of insense,parchment rolls peaking out from the half open drawers.A map of the entirety of Yokohama spread out with Surubachi having been aggressively circled.

Dazai tucked it all into the back of his mind as he took the first step on the creaky stairs to the top floor.

The key of the upstairs room was on the outside which gave Dazai a grave dilemma a of whether he found such stupidity hilarious or insulting.He opted not to dwell on it,pushing the door open.

Him and Elise were met with the backs of two men,one with blonde and the other with black hair.They were shuffling around a bunch of drawers,pulling out a weird dagger,and several gun cartridges.

Dazai made a brief mental note at that.

Maybe he won’t have to lie as much as he thought he ‘d have to.

He kicked at the doorframe,despite the fact that the expression on Elise’s face,panicked and scolding,was telling him not to.

The two turned to them,eyes wide and clearly surprised to see two children standing there.

“Now of all days…”the darker haired one muttered  “Hi gentlemen .”Dazai said pleasantly “Which one of your names is on that door downstairs?”

The blonde pointed at his friend,going back to the drawer,probably to fish out more weaponry.

“Lovely,so,Mr Doyle,me and my…” “Younger sister.” “Right,yeah,whatever…So,me and my sister here need help finding someone.”

The bespectacled man glared at them.

“Look,kids,we’re really busy right now.”

Dazai put his hand on the grip of his gun as he cleared his throat.

“We’re looking for a man called Chuuya Nakahara.Perhaps that will help with your priorities.”

They both tensed.

“Did you say Chuuya Nakahara?” “Yes.Will you help me look for him now or do you need more convincing?”

Doyle adjusted his glasses,eyes widening and lips pressing tightly together.

“Wait a…You’re Osamu Dazai,the-“ “Black Wraith of the Port Mafia?Yeah,that’s me,great we established all that.Now,will you help me or not?”Dazai gritted

He was already sick of walking around in literal circles.Must he walk in metaphorical circles too?

The blonde spun to him and blinked.

“Black Wraith you say?” “Frank,I don’t think-“ “Arthur,please.”he implored his companion,with pleading eyes

Even though Arthur hadn’t turned,it seemed the look had the intended effect.

The detective’s shoulders slackened as he exhaled,his partner coming to stand beside him.With a hand on his shoulder,Doyle had crumbled completely.

Dazai sighed,rolling his eyes.If only Chuuya was so cooperative they wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.

“How good are you with guns,Dazai?”the blonde asked. “Very.” “As expected of the Demon prodigy,I suppose.Very well,but leave your sister here.”Doyle grumbled  “Oh,don’t worry.We made that up,she’s just Mori’s ability.She can handle herself.”

Elise gave him a glare as the men gawked at them both in shock.

“Yes,yes,the ability of the Port Mafia boss is a little girl.Shocking,I know.Now can you get your jaws off the floor and get a move on?”she bit,turning to the duo

After a few moments they obliged,packing their weapons up and gesturing for Dazai and Elise to follow them as they walked out.

Note:Herbert and Arthur aren’t my OC’s.They’re my boyfriend’s and he let me use them.

First overall AU info post

Previous fic part <—- Next fic part —>

[itsstrange]

Mystery Bird

Fandom: MW2

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Rozlyn “Ace” Doyle (OFC)

A/N: After many weeks/months I’ve finally finished this one! Been coming back and forth with this one for a while now and I’m so glad it’s finally done! I just wanna thank and give a huge shout out to @ebbandfleur for collaborating with me on this one! They definitely deserve it! Thank You Love for bringing my vision alive! Much Love!

With that being said, hope all y’all Ghost sluts enjoy this one! And maybe stay tuned for a mini series 👀

Summary: Ghost is not a hypocrite.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings ⚠️: (No, Maybe?) Fluff, Curious Simon, Cuteness, a little bit of angst.

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Enjoy! ✨

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Simon “Ghost” Riley was not a hypocrite by any means. Well.. at least that’s what he tells himself. Everyone who lives, works, or knows of the 141 crew, all know that Simon “Ghost” Riley is one secretive man. Nobody knows his story, nobody knows anything from him— well.. minus Price, he knows snippets of his story— but other than that nobody else knows and he liked it that way. Easier to handle, especially out on the field, if he were to get captured, again, nobody would know anything about him.

He hopes.

It was better. Safer. Why give any information at all? Especially in his line of work, it’s always better to keep thing’s limited. Besides, nobody needs to know anything about him except for the way he works, the way he gets shit done without question and nothing else. There’s nothing to know anyways, just a dark, painful story that he honest to god would rather avoid. There’s no need to bring those dark times back, no need to share such information, he doesn’t need nor want to, ever, so he doesn’t.

But again, he’s not a hypocrite. But then again he is. Just don’t ever tell him that, unless you’ve got a death wish and are looking for different shades of pain.

Now why hypocrite? Well, maybe because the moment he laid eyes on her frame he has been wracking his brain in trying to figure her out. By her, he means Rozlyn Doyle. Or better known as Ace by the rest of the team, or Roze, the nickname Ghost—Simon has claimed for himself.

It’s been around.. five to six months since she’s joined the team, and from those months, Ghost hasn’t been able to figure her out, figure her story, her secrets. How ironic right? He doesn’t even share his own. She was just hard to fucking read, and that alone held the Lieutenant in a tight grip. He didn’t know why he couldn’t brush it off, brush her off, normally he would, but for some reason he just couldn’t let this go. Just like his job, he was determined in figuring out the rest of her story. He tried asking Price that same month she joined, making it seem like he was just curious on who he was going to be working with alongside on the field, but the older man only lets a short chuckle escape while a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

‘Ask her yourself Simon,’ Is what the old man told him, patting him on the shoulder as he turns to walk away with a fresh cigar in between his lips,

He did not ask her. Obviously. Otherwise he wouldn’t be staring at her from dark corners trying to figure something, anything new that he doesn’t know already. Despite already knowing her incredible hand to hand combat skills, incredible speed, phenomenal aim, he did in fact learn new things about her while lurking in the shadows. As creepy as it sounds he learned things from keeping a close eye on her. For instance, in the first month of her being in the team she had managed to get shot in the arm, it was that same day he learned she was ambidextrous. After that it was the little things, like her favorite drink, whiskey, neat. On exhausting, traumatic days, she’d go for Tequila, 5 shots. If it’s one of those brutal tough days, she’ll drink till she forgets. (He’d know of course since he’d be the one to carry her back to her personal quarters once she’s passed her limit. Yet, she didn’t need to know that). Then there’s her Coffee, sometimes black or with 3 sugars and five creamers. Favorite foods, pizza, sushi, but honestly he’s noticed she’s not picky, she’ll eat whatever is available. Then came the habits, from twirling a knife with her fingers whenever she’s bored, smoking whenever she’s anxious about something, going to the gym whenever she needs to blow off steam, which happens to be on a daily, specifically whenever they come back from a mission.

Then came the annoying habits which were, tag teaming with Soap to annoy the shit out of him, bickering with Soap over ridiculous things, like seriously they were just alike in various ways it’s no wonder they are always arguing over the dumbest things.

One thing Ghost honestly loathes from her would be, not getting help for her injuries, again, ironic right? He alone doesn’t even step foot in medical, usually takes care of himself in his room, unless it’s serious then he’s being dragged by Price or Soap. But that wasn’t the point, she has the habit of hiding her injuries, like the time she got shot in her arm, it was dark and raining that day perfect coverup, but it was when they made it to the safe house where he found out. She was sitting on the broken down bathtub, aid kit wide open on the floor, bloody rags littered the ground, blood oozing down her arm as she shakily stitched herself up. It was a fucking massacre, literally as if someone had been butchered in the bathroom, and boy did he talk her ear off as he took over in patching her up.

Every time he learned something new from her he couldn’t help the way his chest fluttered, the way he was more interested in learning new things about her. Whether it was good or bad, he wanted it all. Wanted to know everything there is about her. Yes, he did know certain things about her, the little things, the snippets, but that wasn’t enough. He wasn’t satisfied with what he’s learned and he knows it’ll eat him alive if he doesn’t figure her out soon.

He really doesn’t know why, but he wants to feel that feeling every time he learns new things from her. It’s a feeling that settles in his chest, he doesn’t know how to explain it other than it brings him peace, admiration and.. happiness. Something he definitely has not felt for years but oh how much he craved it, knowing she was the reason for it only made him want to feel it once again.

Like now for instance, he laid on the ground with an arm propped behind his head as he kept his gaze up at the molded ceiling, mind constantly wondering back to what he had seen a couple hours prior. While meeting with Alejandro’s informant, an ex gang member who had new information about where Valeria is possibly hiding— after she was taken—broken out of their custody— they had been interrupted by a little girl no older than 6 years old. She was collecting a couple of coloring books and crayons, completely oblivious to their conversation or the fact that there are seven armed soldiers in her kitchen, however, before the little girl can intervene any further Ghost watches how Roze quietly makes her way towards the girl, considering she’s the closest to her and quietly whispers something to her before helping her with the rest of the crayons and walking outside with her.

Ghost, who stood opposite side of the room next to Price, silently stared at the whole interaction. He didn’t know why, but the way a small smile appeared on the Sergeants face as she sweetly spoke to the child made an unfamiliar feeling stir at the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it was actually quite the opposite, it was a warm feeling that dissolved into pure utter happiness as he watched her around the child. Something that has never ever crossed the Lieutenants mind. However, that same feeling only grew stronger as he stepped out the house.

Once they were debriefed on the whole Valeria situation, Ghost and the rest of the soldiers made their way out of the home, where they see Doyle sitting on a small kids table coloring and chatting away with the little girl. It might’ve seemed odd, an armed soldier with an M4 resting on her back while coloring with a nearly 6 year old child, but for Ghost.. it was a sight. Even more so when he catches a glimpse of the sergeants work on the paper.

She can draw? Is what he questions with furrowed brows, yet, interested eyes. On the paper laid in front of her was an identical drawn out portrait of said little girl, exactly the same.

She can draw. Is what he’s been saying throughout the whole day. He just couldn’t seem to get the new fact out of his head, even worse now, as he laid on the makeshift bed on the floor besides Soap, who was snoring like a damn hurricane on a beaten up couch. He already doesn’t sleep much as it is, but if it wasn’t for knowing something new, so innocent and raw about Roze, then he definitely would blame Soap and his brutal snores for his lack of sleep. But he wasn’t to blame. It was Rozlyn Doyle who he couldn’t keep his mind off of, he was too invested in her, he just could not stop thinking about her, everything about her was just so captivating and Ghost—Simon knew, he had fell hard.

Shaking his head with a heavy sigh at the foreign feeling, he pushes himself to a sitting position. Softly groaning from the way his shoulders feel tensed and tired from carrying a vest all day and possibly from laying on stone like floors. Popping the aching muscles from his neck and shoulders, Ghost looks over at Soap—who remained in a deep sleep with an arm perched behind his head— and quietly gets up from the floor. As quietly as his feet can, he makes his way towards the door that leads out to the roof.

Quietly stepping passed Garrick who was fast asleep on a smaller couch by the stairs and Price who was also asleep on the floor, arms crossed over his chest with his iconic hat slightly bent covering his eyes, he successfully makes it to the door without awakening his teammates. However, he just remains standing still by the door frame when his eyes land on her, Roze, who was currently sitting on a foldable chair while quietly looking down at her hands, who were fiddling with something. Darkness surrounded them, only the light from the moon and the small LED lantern by her feet illuminated her beautiful features. From where Ghost stood he noticed the way her brows met in the middle, tongue slightly peeking through her lip as she kept her focus on whatever it was she was doing with her hands, who then realized held a blade on one hand and another object in the other.

She was so engrossed in her task that she hadn’t sensed his bulking figure by the entrance, yet, she had the vision of an eagle and hearing like a moth. Then again, Ghost has always blended well with the shadows, either that or she just wasn’t aware of her surroundings at the moment, which would defeat the purpose of her assignment of taking first watch. With a soft snort and a shake of his head, Ghost finally emerges from the door frame.

“Get some sleep Ace, I’ll take over,” His baritone voice causes the woman to glance up from her work, that happens to be some sort of small wooden block,

Roze gives him a smile, eyes following his large frame until he settles beside her on an empty chair, “It’s okay, I don’t really sleep much.. wouldn’t mind the company though,”

Ghost looks over at her, catching that little smile on her lips before averting his gaze outward, definitely feeling the way his stomach buzzes from the small affection. Silence quickly settles in between them, neither saying anything, it wasn’t an awkward or uncomfortable silence, it never is. At least not with her. The sounds of crickets chirping, coyotes howling every so often, and the way Roze’s blade scrapes along the wooden block can be heard around them.

Speaking of.

“What are you doing?” He finally asks her after watching her scrape her knife against the wood for five seconds,

A wide smile spreads on her face, without glancing up from her work she responds, “Wood carving,”

“Wood carving?” Ghost repeats her response in a question, one brow raised while his brown orbs continue staring at her soft, skillful hands,

“Mmhm,” Her smile still visible on her face as she continues carving whatever it is she’s carving, “Wanna see?”

She suddenly asks, bright hazel eyes staring into his own brown orbs, which of course only ignited his feelings towards her even more by the way she looked at him. Not being able to help himself, Simon’s eyes drift from her hazel eyes to her soft pink lips— that looked slightly red due to her constantly nibbling on them— and back towards her eyes again.

He really did fell for her and that honestly scared the shit out of him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on watch?” He asks her instead, eyes not once parting away from hers,

She shrugs a shoulder, same smile on her face, “I get bored of staring out in the darkness alright now c’mon.. put your hand out,”

Ghost rolls his eyes at her but obliges by extending a gloved hand, palm facing the sky and waits patiently as she bends down to her right. With a wide, childlike smile she excitedly places her woodwork on his hand.

“Dog,” She proudly begins by balancing a small wooden dog on his palm and continues with, “Cat. Horse. And a bird,”

Ghost stares at the small wooden objects with an unreadable expression, yet, he couldn’t help the way his heart swelled in his chest when he sees that bright, wide, gummy proud smile on her face. The way her features illuminated beautifully from the moon light and the LED chandelier on the ground was something Ghost would never grow tired of. He would absolutely do everything in his power to keep that same smile on her face, would do anything to not have it disappear from her face because that smile gives him life.

“It’s not my best work but..,” She claims with a short shrug when she watches the way the lieutenant stares at her work in silence, not saying another thing she carefully begins removing the wooden objects from his palm,

Slightly feeling a little insecure from the heavy silence radiating from the brute, she never did believe she had artistic skills and the way he stared down at her art with an unreadable look only made her insecurity overcome her confidence.

However, before she can remove the small bird, Ghost repositions it to grab it with his gloved fingers. Skull fingers gently holding the small wooden bird as he carefully observes the little details she had carved onto its little body.

“It’s weird, I know,” She jokes with a nervous chuckle, eyes looking down at the other little wooden pieces in her palm,

“No,” Ghost quickly corrects her, eyes still observing the small wooden bird, “It’s mysterious. It’s a Mysterious bird.. like you,”

At his words he turns around to face her, immediately locking eyes with wide hazel orbs but catch the moment they switch from wide to soft in a matter of seconds, then catch the way a small, shy smile tugs on her lips. He didn’t know if he saw correctly due to the lack of lighting, but he was certain he caught a glimpse of red forming on her cheeks.

“I’m not that mysterious,” She argues back, hazel eyes falling to the ground, shy smile still plastered on her face,

“Have’ta disagree sergeant. You’re like a rubrics cube that’s difficult to solve. Once the colors finally match.. it’s like I’ve won the lottery,” Ghost. Simon partially admits on how he feels, come to think of it he’s never really shared on how difficult she is to figure out,

Roze couldn’t help but chuckle as she turns to look at him again, “What why?”

Simon stays silent for a few seconds, just enjoying the way her eyes shine beautifully from the small light illuminating around them, “Because I unlock something new about you. Hence mysterious,”

Again, a wide smile spreads on her face as she takes in his words. She didn’t know it, but a small smile also tugged on his lips beneath the mask. He really did love seeing that smile on her.

“Well.. all you gotta do is ask if you really wanna get to know me better,” She gently shoves his shoulder, same smile on her lips,

No. Because it’s dangerous. Dangerous for me. He thinks to himself, brown eyes observing her beautiful features in silence.

“I don’t like to pry,” He claims, averting his eyes out to the darkness when he hears a twig snap in the distance,

It was a lie, obviously. And he knew she knew it too, but was glad she didn’t call him out on it. Instead she only lets a soft chuckle passed her lips as she sits back in her chair, arms crossed in front of her chest while her eyes glance out towards the darkness. Mind constantly repeating the lieutenants words in a loop. Mysterious Bird. She didn’t know why, but she just loved the sound of it, probably because it came from him most likely, or the fact that this brute of a man who can easily break an enemies neck with his bare hands had just gave a her a heartwarming nickname, another nickname which only widened her smile even more and made her cheeks just a little warmer.

Comfortable silence surrounds them. Again, only the sounds of coyotes howling every once and a while, crickets chirping, an owl hooting somewhere in the distance, and the calm soothing sounds of each others breathing. Ever since she’s met the Ghost, she knew he’s not one to engage into a conversation, let alone start one, but luckily she just didn’t need to have a conversation with the Brit. He preferred silence, observing his surroundings, and she respected that because deep down, she too preferred just sitting in silence with someone. Enjoying the view, the sunset, a movie, just enjoying each other’s presence without any words and she knew she had that with Ghost. Now don’t get her wrong, of course she’d love to talk to him, she usually does, just a few words here and there, at least thats how it was in beginning when they first met, now she gets more than three sentences from him. But she knows he’s not one to talk, at all, at least not with her, she’s seen and heard him have a full conversation with Soap and Price, so maybe it’s me? Maybe he just doesn’t like talking to me? She thinks to herself as she continues to stare out into the darkness. But little did she know, the lieutenant was just too nervous to speak to her, afraid to say the wrong thing that’ll have her distance herself from him, and he didn’t want that. So he limited his choice of words when it came to her, besides, despite wanting to actually talk to her about anything and everything, he truly did enjoy her presence—company in silence. It was something they both built without knowing, but surely enjoyed it.

After 10 minutes or more of comfortable silence, Roze quietly reaches down to her right and picks up a slightly beaten black leather journal with a small golden rose in the center. Something Johnny had gotten her one day after finding out about her hidden talent. The poor thing has seen and been through more things than she can count; from dirt, mud, water, rain, concrete, sand, sour cream for some odd fucking reason that she can’t remember, bullets, blood, vomit, sweat, tears but in other words it’s been through hell and back. Till this day she doesn’t know how it’s still usable or how it even managed to survive every torture she put it through, but is still grateful for its immortality.

Gripping the journal in one hand she maneuvers her chair to the side where the lantern resting on her feet gives her enough lighting. Placing one foot on the small rotten crate in front of her she lets the other swing on top of her other leg, ankle resting just above her kneecap when she places her journal down on her lap and begins doodling away.

Ghost watches her every move in silence. Dark eyes observing her from the corner of his eye. Taking in the way her skin lights up beautifully with the small lantern on the ground, watches the way the light illuminating her skin only makes her look younger, breathtaking, astonishing. It was fucking dangerous. For him. Why did he have to come outside? Why couldn’t she just take his offer to go rest up inside the building? Why does she effect him this way? What the fuck is she doing to him? Question after question piled in the lieutenants head, questions he had no answers for, questions that have been digging into his skull for past couple months.

He really needed to get his shit together, otherwise he’d be making a mistake that’ll only hurt both of them, a mistake that’ll most definitely cause her to leave, for good. And he couldn’t have that, he wouldn’t have that.

So, after what seemed like eons of just staring at her, observing her, he silently inhales deeply through his nose as he reaches in one of his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. Plucking one out from its beaten box, he slips it in between his lips before fishing out his zippo lighter. One that Johnny had gifted him with one day while staying at the Los Vaqueros base. He was relaxing with the gang on a old couch, having a beer or two when the Scot had plopped down right next to him with a pink plastic bag of necessities. With no explanation or any other word, Johnny reaches inside the bag and tosses him the lighter before rummaging through it and pulling out a couple snacks for the men and a chocolate bar for Roze. Simon sat there, staring at the lighter in silence, rubbing his thumb against the carved skull, feeling the way his lip slightly curls upwards beneath his mask before slipping his new lighter inside his pocket without another word.

He doesn’t like gifts, never has. Yet, here he is igniting his cigarette with a gifted lighter.

Comfortable silence surrounds them once again. The weather slightly picking up it’s temperature, but nothing too extreme where they both have to switch to their jackets, it was nice and fresh. Perfect weather for the middle of June.

Besides the chirping sounds of crickets, coyotes howling in the distance, trees swaying with the wind, it was a peaceful night. For once. The past few weeks have been so chaotic since they’ve arrived in Las Almas, from gun fights, to driving to various locations for different information on where Valeria can be, it is finally nice to have some sort of peace and quiet. They were still on guard considering they were only 5 miles away from where their next target is holding, but luckily this old beaten mansion hidden amongst trees allowed them to get the rest they desperately needed.

So, to past the remaining time they still have, Roze goes ahead and sketches random things in her journal. From birds, buildings, burned cars, stray animals, street vendors, or as she learned “El Paletero” the ice cream man/woman or “El Elotero” a corn on the cob. She then goes ahead and begins sketching things that have caught her eye, like the little girl, some elderly couple holding hands, a not so good sketch of Soap trying on a sombrero, her M4, birds, roses, Price smoking his iconic cigar, and finally those eyes. She sketched his eyes from different angles, then transitioned to his masked face in different angles, his gloved skull hands, his actual hands that have beautiful scars that she has noticed every so often when he’s either tuning his gun, writing on something, smoking a cigarette or simply just slipping on his gloves.

Yeah. She lurks observes too.

However, due to the exhausting day of traveling from one place to another getting different information, running into the cartel which resulted in a 40 minute fire fight, then chasing one of the surviving gang members through the woods where she had tackled him into a small river and ended up having a leech latched onto her fucking neck, which of course she didn’t spot it right away, it was Soap who had pointed it out but it was Ghost who had carefully removed it from her. A relived thank you slipped from the sergeant along with her cursing under her breath and hoping she wouldn’t catch any sort of diseases.

So due to a hectic day, it all creeped up on her very slowly. One minute she was sketching, shading, and the next she feels her eyelids shutting on their own. She fought to keep them open, fought to keep herself awake, but her exhausted body fought back and before she knew it she had already dozed out. Head slightly leaning to the side, pencil holding dearly between her fingers and her journal resting on her lap as she slept the remaining hours of darkness.

It was the sudden silence and the way he couldn’t hear the way her pencil scraped against the pages that made him look over to her. Only to feel the way his heart fluttered heavily in his chest as he noticed her sleeping form.

Fucking Hell. Even sleeping she looked beautiful. Peaceful and for some weird odd reason, she looked younger. From the way the small lantern by her feet illuminated her features only made her younger and only made him fall harder.

There was nothing more he wanted than to just watch her sleep, to take advantage of just memorizing her sleeping form, from the way her lips slightly pout in her sleep, from the way a few strands of hair make their way across her face, from her brows knitting together every so often, from the way she just looked peaceful, happier, calmer, and safer. He wanted to memorize as much as he can before doing the unwanted.

The thought of waking her up from her peaceful sleep brought guilt in the pit of his stomach, but he knew had to. It’d prevent her from getting a lecture from Price, not that the old man would give her a hard time for falling asleep when he’d be on guard right next to her, but he mostly wanted to prevent her from getting a sore neck. He genuinely wanted her to be comfortable, to get a good amount of rest before having to wake up in a few hours to head out for the mission.

So with a regrettable inhale Ghost reaches over to shake her awake. While leaning towards her space his eyes cast down in hopes to not knock over the lantern, but instead they land on her opened journal where a beautifully hand drawn portrait of him can be seen.

Wide brown eyes scan the page in front of him, every little detail she had made, every stroke from light to dark, he was so mesmerized and in awe to look away. He couldn’t. Not when he knew she had sketched every single detail of his features, and that alone caused a foreign feeling in the center of his chest. So many things can be said about the portrait, she probably got bored of drawing trees. Was she drawing trees? Does she even draw trees? She probably didn’t have anything else in mind so she went ahead and drew a full portrait of me, right? People do that, besides what can she draw when the only speck of light she has is by her feet, everything else in front of her was nothing but pure utter darkness.

Fuckin’ hell she’s a bloody minx. If only she knew how fuckin crazy she makes me. Can never go a day without her clogging my bloody mind. Ghost—Simon thinks to himself as he continues to stare at her sleeping form, not realizing how he had reached a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. God, what he wanted to say to her, what he wanted to share with her, what he wanted to do to her. Yet, he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t appropriate, things would get complicated rather quickly if it were ever to go that far, and the most important thing, he knew he’d hurt her. One way or another.

He only knew violence, hurting people, killing people, he lives for it, no good thing ever stays with him. Even if it did it would fade away all too quickly. And if it wasn’t him who would hurt or push her away, it would be the job. Hell, he definitely doesn’t know what he’d do if her ever lost her, yet he knew one thing. He’d go insane. On a rampage, only this time he doesn’t think he’d ever come back from it. Not this time.

So, in order to prevent any of that from happening he had to keep his distance, had to not let their relationship go any further other than teammates, had to be her superior who needs to push her into being better, not risk both—her life because they were to busy being worried about one another rather than focusing on the mission at hand. He couldn’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen. As much as it honestly pained his dark, broken heart, he knew it was best for her, not him, for her.

“I can’t have you… Bloody hell I want to, but I can’t,” Simon whispers to himself, brown eyes still observing the sergeant, watching the way her brows furrow, probably dreaming of something or someone,

Whatever it was, she won’t ever be able to dream or have a nightmare again if she stays with him. He’s bad luck, a land mine that is waiting for someone to step on for it to go off and ruin everything and everyone around him. She’s good for him yes, but he’s not good for her, at least that’s he sees it.

“Sergeant,” Ghost softly calls her by her rank, but sees it didn’t do much so goes ahead by calling her name with a shake to her shoulder, “Roze,”

That makes her eyelids crack open. They quietly scan his eyes before averting them out in the darkness with a silenced yawn.

“Get some proper sleep Sergeant, I’ve got it from here,” The lieutenant claims before averting his eyes towards the dark,

He doesn’t look at her, not even when she nods her head with a soft yawn or when she stands up from her chair. It’s only when she grabs her rifle from the floor and makes her way towards the door when he allows his eyes to watch her frame.

He fell too hard. It was dangerous. She is dangerous, she is his weakness, and little did he know he is hers as well.

He would never ever want to put her in any harm, would never want to hurt her, so it was better if he kept his distance, remained as her superior, a teammate and a.. friend.

Better than having to carry her casket, having to mourn for her, cry for her. He can prevent that by not giving in… right?

Right?

Right.

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-Hey loves! I’m so glad I’m back with another fic! My god it’s been a wild one writing this one. You have no idea how many times I’d come back and forth with this one, I’d write for a week straight then completely abandon it for the next few weeks.

Lordy was it freaking annoying but thankfully I got my ass to finish this, it’s been way too long and I’ve been wanting to get it out there for y’all.

-So again, I hope you enjoyed this one! And stay tuned for more of this Handsome man!

-Make sure to Turn On Post Notifications!! 🔔🔔 For more Updates!!

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